Sycamore Row - John Grisham

too few square feet. Now, though, the walls were really closing in.
Anthony, the five-year-old, shifted in his sleep down by her feet. Lettie quietly eased
out of bed, picked up her bathrobe from the floor, put it on, and left the room without
making a sound. The hall floor creaked under the worn and dirty carpet. Next door,
Cypress was asleep in her bed, her mammoth body too big for the scrawny blanket. Her
wheelchair sat folded next to the window. On the floor were two kids who belonged to a
sister of Lettie’s. She peeked into the third bedroom where Clarice and Phedra slept
together in a single bed, arms and legs dangling. Lettie’s sister had the other bed, and
for almost a week now. Another kid lay knotted, knees to chest, on the floor. In the den,
Kirk had the floor while an uncle snored on his sofa.
Bodies were everywhere, it seemed to Lettie as she turned on the kitchen light and
stared at the mess from last night’s dinner. She would do the dishes later. She made
coffee, and while it was brewing she checked the refrigerator and found what she was
anticipating. Other than a few eggs and a pack of lunch meat, there was little in the
way of food, certainly not enough to feed the masses. She would send her dear husband
to the store as soon as he was up. And the groceries would be paid for not by wages
earned by Simeon or her, nor by a government check, but by the generosity of their new
hero, the Honorable Booker Sistrunk. Simeon had asked him for a loan of $5,000. (“A
man drives a car like that ain’t worryin’ ’bout no five thousand bucks.”) It really wasn’t
a loan, Simeon had said, but more like an advance. Booker said sure and they’d both
signed the promissory note. Lettie kept the cash hidden in a saltine box in the pantry.
She put on sandals, tightened the bathrobe, and walked outside. It was October 15,
and the air was chilly again. The leaves were turning and fluttering in the breeze. She
sipped from her favorite cup and ambled across the grass to a small shed where they
stored their lawn mower and other necessities. Behind the shed a swing hung by ropes
from a hemlock, and Lettie sat down. She kicked off the sandals, shoved back with her
feet, and began flowing through the air.
She had already been asked and the questions would return again and again. Why did
Mr. Hubbard do what he did? And, did he discuss it with her? The latter was the easier—
no, he never discussed anything with her. They would talk about the weather, repairs
around his house, what to buy at the store and what to cook for dinner, but nothing
important. That was her standard response, for the moment. The truth was that on two
occasions he had casually and unexpectedly mentioned leaving something behind for
her. He knew he was dying and that death was near. He was making plans for his exit
and wanted to assure her that she would get something.
But why did he leave her so much? His kids were not nice people but they didn’t
deserve such a harsh penalty. Lettie certainly didn’t deserve what he left her. None of it
made sense. Why couldn’t she sit down with Herschel and Ramona, just the three of
them without all those lawyers, and work out a deal where they split the money in some
reasonable manner? Lettie had never had anything and she wasn’t greedy. It wouldn’t
take much to satisfy her. She would yield most of the estate to the Hubbards. She just
wanted enough to start another life.
A car approached on the county road in front of the house. It slowed, then kept going,