20. Don’t Tell Will
20
Don’t Tell Will
Friday morning, Will and I went through Dad’s stuff. We separated his things into a few different piles. One, which consisted of mostly clothes and limited personal effects, was labeled for donation. The second was a box of paraphernalia that Uncle Rick might want to sift through in search of memory-laden tokens. Will had a small pile of keepsakes that he wrapped carefully and placed in his travel bag to take home with him and whatever was left was mine to keep or discard.
Some things did go in the trash, like his toiletries and files full of paperwork from his job. His boss had personally come by to gather anything important and to give his condolences while I’d been in the hospital, but the papers that remained found their way into the garbage.
We cleaned out his bathroom and made his bedroom into what could easily be viewed as a guest room. Anything personal such as photos were removed from the room, claimed either by Will or me, or placed in the box for Uncle Rick.
I glared at my mother’s suitcase where it lay next to Dad’s bed, but neither Will nor I commented on that particular elephant in the room.
It was harder than I thought it would be to part with Dad’s stuff. I found myself agonizing over simple things like his Old Spice body wash or the ratty shirt that he always wore when he washed the cars in the driveway when we were young—things that didn’t matter, yet were nearly impossible to discard.
I allowed myself to keep one of Dad’s old shirts that I remembered wearing to bed when I was a child. Old Spice lingered in the fabric, and I pressed the shirt to my nose and inhaled deeply.
In the last drawer of Dad’s dresser, Will and I found his treasure chest. It wasn’t full of money or jewelry or anything costly. No, it was full of the most mundane and worthless items imaginable, but we both cried as we cleared the drawer.
It was full to the brim with crude drawings, homemade birthday cards, and macaroni sculptures—things that neither Will nor I even remembered making or gifting to our father. Our baby books rested on the bottom of the drawer with one or two very old, very tiny baby rompers that he’d kept, the tags labeled with Will’s name or mine. Drawings of stick figures or formless blobs that were supposed to be animals were stacked in piles along with old pictures from family vacations.
He’d kept everything, and I never knew.
Our cry fest lasted almost as long as it took to empty the drawer, but the longer we looked through the things that Dad had deemed invaluable, the lighter the burden of grief became. The pain was still there—I feared it always would be—but it was marginally easier to breathe around.
I placed Dad’s keepsakes from me in a small, unadorned cardboard box, and Will placed a comforting hand on the back of my neck as I folded the top closed.
“So, I’ve been talking with Cora,” he started, his hand falling from my neck as I turned to face him.
“About?”
“About what happens once everything is wrapped up here.” He sat back on his heels, picking at his worn jeans. “We’re meeting with the lawyer later to talk about Dad’s will, and Uncle Rick is taking care of Dad’s life insurance stuff. The house will be in both our names, and I’ve already contacted a realtor—”
“Hold up. A realtor?”
Will cocked his head, genuinely confused. “For the house.”
“But I live here,” I said, and he grimaced.
“That’s what I’m—Cora and I want you to come back to California with us. We have the extra bedroom—”
“The baby room,” I corrected.
“The baby can stay in our room for a little while,” he said, but I was already shaking my head.
“I can’t move, Will. I’m two months away from graduation. All my friends are here. My life—”
“I can’t stay here with you.” His expression was pained and apologetic. “I can’t. Cora’s doctors are there. Our apartment. My classes and job. And I know it’s not fair for me to ask you to uproot your life, but you can finish high school out there, and you can still go to New York in the fall, if that’s what you want.”
Reaching out, I placed a hand on his arm. “I’m not asking you to stay here.”
“So, you’re asking me to leave you here alone? You’re my kid brother—”
“I’m eighteen. I’m legally allowed to live on my own. And I’m not alone. I have my friends and Uncle Rick. I have Aunt June and Uncle Henry. And Ben. I don’t want to leave Ben.”
Will scoffed at that, and I glared. “And what about that… guy. Your stalker.”
“We have restraining orders, and we can install a security system here at the house. And I won’t be alone very often. Ben will probably stay here a lot.”
“You’re only eighteen,” he argued weakly.
“And it’s only a few months. I’m going to NYU in the fall, and even if we try to sell the house now, it will still take a month or two—and that’s if we’re lucky. It could take ages.”
“Uncle Rick will be our POA. If the house sells, he can sign for us.” Will took my hand, thumb brushing over the barely-there scars left by the shards of glass. “I can’t, in good conscience, leave you here.”
“You can, and you will. I don’t want to go to California. I want to finish school. I want to have a graduation party with my friends. I want to spend my last summer being stupid and maybe a little irresponsible in my little hometown before I start college somewhere new and terrifying. Please, Will, don’t…” I squeezed his hands. “You have to go back, and I have to stay here.”
He sighed. “Fuck. When did you get like this?”
“Like what?”
With a shrug, he chuckled. “I don’t know. Grown-up?”
I snorted. “Shut up. I’ve always been mature beyond my years.”
“Ha!” Will released a series of sarcastic chuckles. “I never knew you could be so funny.”
Flipping him off, I staggered to my feet, using Dad’s bed as a crutch until I located my cane. “Can you carry my box for me? You know, since I’m an invalid and all.”
He stood and rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure.”
After dropping my box of mementos in my closet, he clapped me on the shoulder and smiled tightly. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay? If I need to stay, I can figure it out. Remote learning, maybe.”
I hugged him tightly, chin hooking on his shoulder. “Thanks, Will. It means the world to me that you’d give everything up, but I’m gonna be okay. Maybe we can start the process of selling the house, and if it sells fast, I can always crash with Ben for a while. Or Kim. Her mom likes me.”
“You should be with family,” he muttered.
“In the summer, I’ll come out and stay awhile, okay? Once Baby Brigs is born.” I stepped back and squeezed his biceps. “And I’ll be careful. I’ll lock doors. I’ll set the security alarm once it’s installed. I’ll try not to be alone a lot at night. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
He stared hard at me. “If that fucker messes with you, you call the cops and you call me. Okay? I can’t leave unless I know you’re gonna take care of yourself.”
“I will. I promise.” I scuffed my socked foot against the carpet as I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I was actually thinking… do you think my health insurance covers stuff like therapy?”
Will blinked in surprise. “Uh, yeah. There’s probably some type of coverage for that. But even if it’s not covered, I’ll pay for it.”
“I know my head’s pretty fucked up, and not just because of this.” I pointed to the healing gash above my ear. “I think, maybe, I should talk to someone. About stuff. Like Dad. And, you know, what happened with Boyt.”
“That’s real good, Silas.” Will tugged me into another impromptu embrace, and I patted his back. “I’ll make some calls, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“We should get dressed. We’re meeting with Dad’s lawyer soon.”
We separated, both of us stepping back.
“Right,” I said. “Is Mom coming?”
“She wants to. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Do you think he left her anything?”
“I have no idea.” Will scratched at his beard. “I don’t think that’s why she’s here, though.”
Reluctant to hope, I ignored that comment. “I guess she can come. But I ride shotgun. I’m not sitting in the backseat with her.”
With a snort, he shook his head. “I take back what I said about you being mature and grown-up.”
“I’m rubber and you’re glue,” I said in a snotty voice, and he laughed. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
It turned out Dad hadn’t named my mother in his will. He’d left everything to Will and me. The house, the bank accounts, his retirement and life insurance, his car. It was all ours. Any fears I had over paying the bills until I moved to New York were moot now. I would have more than enough. Hell, I could pay my first year of college out of pocket without worrying too much about making the money stretch.
None of that really mattered, of course. I would rather my father be alive than be rich. But another weight lifted off my shoulders as the lawyer explained the payouts. Even in the end, Dad was looking out for us both.
My mother sat in the back of the room, remaining quiet through Carl’s explanations. I couldn’t help but study her from the corner of my eye, scrutinizing her every reaction. Had she come back in hopes of getting something out of Dad’s will, or had she actually returned out of some sort of love? Was I pathetic to wish it was the latter?
Will and I signed more paperwork. Sometime between now and a month from now, the insurance would pay the debt we owed the funeral home, then disperse the rest between Will and me.
“Excuse me, Carl,” my mother spoke up hesitantly, and I couldn’t help shooting her a glare. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “I believe my name is still on the deed of the house.”
Carl, my dad’s lawyer, frowned. “I understand Charlie bought you out for the property.”
“That was the agreement, yes. But he couldn’t afford it all at once, so my name remained on the deed while he made payments. Remember?”
As Carl searched through his files, Will and I gaped at each other.
“That’s why you’re here,” I accused coldly, and she shook her head.
“No, Silas, it’s not. But it is something we need to address.”
“So you can claim part of the house sale?” I demanded, andshe inhaled deeply, like she was fighting for patience.
“If you’d let me finish.” Irritation added a bite to her tone, but she breathed through it, her voice calmer when she continued. “I’m here to officially remove my name from the deed. It’s your house, and Charlie would have wanted you to have it. Both of you.”
With a small smile, Will reached out and covered the back of Grace’s hand with his. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her responding smile trembled. “Of course.”
I glowered at their clasped hands, a burn taking up residence behind my eyes. I startled when Cora’s gentle palm came to rest on my forearm, and I turned away from Will and Mom’s little moment. Cora and I didn’t look at each other, but her hand remained on my arm, fingers tightening in comfort.
Will and Mom smiled at each other, and the expression of hope and abject yearning on my brother’s face made me sick. Betrayal burrowed into my chest, mixing with the anger and, yes, the jealousy.
Because the little boy I used to be wanted his mommy to look at him that way. And she wasn’t.
Unable to stomach another second of it, I stood abruptly and stumbled toward the office door. Cora’s hand fell away, and I nearly tripped when my bum leg hit the leg of Will’s chair. My cane caught me, and I ignored the pain lancing up and down my leg as I shouldered the door open.
“Silas?” Grace said, but the door slamming shut cut off her voice.
My throat was thick, and my eyes felt hot. Footsteps chased me out of the building and into the early spring air. A hand wrapped around my arm, and I spun, tongue sharpening as I readied to face down my mother.
But it wasn’t my mom. It wasn’t even Will. It was Cora.
We stared at each other, my chest heaving with emotion, Cora’s eyes heartbreakingly soft. My breath hitched. Her face crumpled. And then she was carefully, cautiously drawing me into a hug.
The swell of her belly met my stomach, trapped between us, but her hands were so gentle as they rubbed the top of my back. I stood immobile for several seconds, until another dry sob punched from my chest.
Then I was grasping at her back, fingers tangling in the knit sweater she wore. She smelled like what I imagined a hippie store smelled like, but I decided it wasn’t so bad. Maybe incense and crystals weren’t entirely stupid.
“I hate her,” I confessed into Cora’s shoulder.
“I know,” she said.
“But I don’t hate her too.”
And she said, “I know.”
I hid a few tears in her sweater, and her fingertips feathered over the back of my neck and the top notch of my spine as she made throaty, shushing noises. They were surprisingly comforting.
When we finally parted, I swiped at my eyes in embarrassment, rubbing my nose on my sleeve. “Don’t tell Will,” I whispered.
“Okay,” she whispered back.
Checking our surroundings to make sure no one was around to hear my next admission, I said, “I’m glad Will’s gonna marry you.”
Her eyes widened at that, and I blanched.
“I mean, he’s never gonna marry you. ’Cause he secretly hates you. So don’t expect a proposal. Ever,” I said, smoothing over my blunder beautifully.
Cora’s tinkling laugh filled the space between us before she leaned in, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I already found the ring. Don’t tell Will.”
I smiled. She smiled back. For the first time ever, I thought that maybe we had a chance at being friends.
“I’m gonna call Ben to come pick me up,” I said. “Can you—”
“I’ll cover for you.” She patted my biceps, and I shocked us both when I bent down and kissed her cheek.
“Thanks. I really am happy you’re here.”
A sheen glimmered in her eyes, but she blinked it away. “Me too.”
As Cora turned and headed back into the building, I brought my phone to my ear and called Ben.