14. Colson
FOURTEEN
COLSON
Jittery isn’t the word to describe how I feel as Aunt Bess, Uncle Thad, and I walk into the law offices of Langlon, Tucker, and Rosenburg.
I didn’t expect Violet to show up at the cemetery. Something tells me Sebastian had something to do with it. I don’t know if I should be happy about him interfering or punch him in the throat for even considering it’d be a good idea.
He has to know that I’ve pushed her away along with everyone else, though I’d be downright lying if I said I didn’t feel the smallest amount of relief when my girl quietly sat down in the seat next to me. Sure, my head was elsewhere, filing through the memories I’ve had with Mom throughout the years and the sad fucking truth that she was minutes away from being buried six feet under, but the bombardment of it felt a little bit lighter with her there.
I loathe knowing she has that kind of ability over me.
That it’s so easy for her to sidetrack me and pull me from the shit that’s going on in my head. When I pulled her hand in mine, I knew I wouldn’t be able to let her walk away without talking to her. Without hearing her voice wrapping around me and scaring away the negative energy I always seem to find myself blanketed in.
I physically ache for her. Miss her so damn badly that I want to compare it to withdrawal—even if I don’t know exactly what it's like. Was this how it was for Mom? Having one true love and always chasing it but never being good enough to catch it half the time?
Violet broke off a tiny piece of herself and let me have it. She was the corner piece of a chocolate bar, and I greedily ate it up, licking my fingers clean of the smudges that melted against my heated skin just to immediately want more.
But today, she rejected me.
I can’t get it out of my head that she told me no. I’d never pull the same kind of shit Nelson did the night in Lucy’s and take a woman’s innocence and choice from her, so when she pulled away, I let her go.
I’d be lying if I said I was okay with her throwing my words back at me. Fucking friendship? That’s what she’s offering me after repeatedly hurting her?
I want nothing and everything to do with it.
I want my fingers flying over my phone’s keyboard, texting her about the kind of day I’ve had. About the thoughts that constantly stream through my head on a never ending current. About how desperately I want to hate my mom for the years of neglect but also love her like hell all the same. How I still wish I could’ve gone back and helped her in ways that mattered. Ways that didn’t involve paying off her drug debts.
I want Violet in my bed at night, her lithe waist pulled back and pressed into me. I want her mind and heart and soul shackled to me forever.
A pang of guilt pelts me like hail. I nearly keel over as we step into the elevator. I clear my throat, and Aunt Bess glances over. I don’t make eye contact. I stay in my own lane, keeping my eyes forward until the doors spring back open and we exit.
Aunt Bess checks in with the receptionist before we’re taken back to a private room. In the middle of it is a long conference table where I’m sure all kinds of meetings are held. How many times have people had to sit here and listen to every detail of a loved one’s will? Just thinking about the amount makes my stomach twist with sickness.
“This should be quick,” Aunt Bess states. She’s holding a stained envelope in her hand. The one I gave her when I showed up at the cemetery this morning. Turns out it wasn’t too hard to find my birth certificate. I just had to sort through half the shit in Mom’s closet. I slipped my social security card in it for her, too.
I stand by the wall near the table. I sat long enough at Willow Creek Cemetery, and my legs are too restless to sit.
“We’ll get this over with then be on our way,” promises Aunt Bess.
I don’t know why she chose to do this after burying Mom, but I guess time is of the essence. If we wait too long, thousands of dollars will be handed over to the bank. Once that happens, there’s no way in hell they’ll entertain the idea of giving it back.
Stingy motherfuckers.
Can’t say I blame them, but this is the last thing I need this morning.
Mom was already too much. Add in Violet fucking with my head more than she already has, and I’m ready to say screw it all and buy another bottle of Jack to replace the last one.
I know it won’t solve my problems. Despite the possibility of addiction running through my veins, I know I can’t continue to turn to it when life feels like too much. I don’t want to end up like Mom or even her dad, but I don’t know how else to cope with all the loss.
Resting my back against the wall next to the door, I focus on the fancy fluorescent lighting. Chandeliers that cost more than an entire year's salary for most hang overhead, shiny metal leaves welded onto it and stretching out like they would on a branch.
Little time passes before the door opens and a man in one hell of an expensive looking suit strolls into the room. He’s about my height but older. Way closer to Uncle Thad’s age. He has a thick, dark beard with grays mixed in.
“Hello,” he greets, addressing me the second he notices me near the door. “You must be Colson. Stewart Langlon,” he introduces as he extends a hand and props a folder under his armpit. “Circumstances be damned, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
I swallow down my thanks and give his hand a firm shake before sinking mine back into the pocket it was in a second ago.
He undoes the button on his suit jacket before gesturing for me to take a seat. I’d rather walk out of this room than sit and listen to all the legal jargon that’s about to be crammed down my throat, but I remind myself that this is what’s left of Mom.
I owe it to her—and myself—to mind my manners and get this over with.
“Let’s get right to it, Stewart,” Uncle Thad encourages. He’s barely said a word today, but that’s how Uncle Thad is, light on his words. “It’s been a long morning already.”
Stewart smooths his palms down on the table before opening his folder where an abundance of paperwork lies. My attention skates over the pages covered in text. My head swishes with this funny feeling. I chalk it up to not eating since midday yesterday. Stomaching food isn’t exactly easy after losing a parent and going through a breakup.
“Right,” Stewart agrees. “I can imagine.”
“Just a few signatures and we should be set?” Aunt Bess reaffirms with her question. She’s looking a little worse for wear this morning, too. I couldn’t see it earlier. My head was too far up my own ass to notice, but I see it now. It’s there in the little lines creasing around her eyes when she gives Stewart a brief smile. The way her shoulders slump even though she’s repeatedly tried squaring them and sitting straight.
“Well…” Stewart raises his bushy eyebrows. “There’s actually something we need to discuss. Something my paralegal found last night that I didn’t get a chance to call you about.” Aunt Bess glances at Uncle Thad, and my stomach sinks to an impossible depth.
My aunt claimed this would be easy peasy, but Stewart is making it seem like there’s a roadblock in our way.
“Why didn’t you call?” she asks.
“It was late.” He waves his hand in the air while rifling through a few pieces of paperwork until he plucks one out. “I didn’t want to disturb you and figured we could discuss it this morning.”
“What is it?” Aunt Bess questions, her tone lacking patience.
Stewart looks up, and I gotta say, my entire body twists into knots with the way his expression suddenly falls. He was doing a decent job at keeping his spirits up for the sake of us, but now that we’re getting down to business, he wears his emotions on his sleeve. It’s the exact opposite of reassuring. I file it away as one of his flaws.
“When I work with families who have lost someone, I typically have my paralegal dig a little deeper into family history. Distant relatives have the tendency of coming out of the woodwork like roaches. We’ve known each other for a long time, Bess, and you know I like to be prepared for everything. When wills land in my office and relatives insist that part of what’s in it belongs to them…well, normally, it’s pretty simple to handle. If your name isn’t on the will, you get nothing.
“What’s problematic is when a loved one passes and there’s no will. No legal document that binds certain family members to what remains.”
“Mom didn’t have a will?” Then again why would she? Her attention was always elsewhere.
Aunt Bess clears her throat. “I tried getting her to sign off on one after your grandmother died, but she wouldn’t do it.” A grim line draws between Aunt Bess’s brows. “What are you saying, Stewart?”
Yeah, Stewart, get to the fucking point.
Stewart slides the piece of paper in his hand over to my aunt and uncle while briefly giving me a look of…remorse?
I swallow my nerves and flick my eyes back over to my aunt, who suddenly has a look of horror on her face. That’s the best way to describe it. Along with the fleeting gasp that rolls out of her mouth onto the table in front of us.
“The point is that we initially thought Colson was next of kin for your sister. As you can see on that paper there, he’s not.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Mom doesn’t have anyone else.
I drop into the chair next to Aunt Bess and rip the paper out of her hand.
“This can’t be right,” says Aunt Bess. I don’t know what her face looks like, if it’s still holding that expression from a second ago, because my eyes are planted elsewhere.
“I’m afraid it is,” says Stewart.
“What does this mean moving f?—”
The sheet of paper is so damn glossy, like that premium photo paper you buy at office supply stores. It’s a copy of the original. Marriage License stares back at me in that fancy old-time government script and below it is Mom’s name.
Janie Moore.
I drop the paper as if it burns me when I read the name next to hers. It sails, ever so slowly, to the conference table. My chair skids back from the strength of my legs against them, the ones that were restless a minute ago but have now solidified into rock.
My world collapses to pieces.
I’m in a brick building getting hit with a goddamn cannon. Broken shale sprinkles down over me. The shrill, overpowering boom of the heavy artillery coming in through the wall causes a ringing in my ears. I swear my vision blacks out.
I sweep my hand over my head and hate how itchy this stupid sweater is on me. Panic settles into my chest as I pace to the other side of the room, my head spinning out of fucking control.
Aunt Bess, Uncle Thad, and Stewart talk in the background, but I can’t hear a goddamn sound. My brain focuses on one thing, and that’s the person who my mom has secretly been married to all these years.
As if the universe is trying to tell me something, four very hulking words— just like yer father —pop into my head at the exact moment I overhear Aunt Bess say, “There has to be a paper trail leading back to a divorce.”
What I think she means to say is, This has to be total bullshit.
I mean, props to Stewart for finding this but…
I walk back over to the table and grab the paper again, bringing it so close to my face that it practically bops my nose. I’m hoping I read it wrong the first time.
But nope…
This is definitely happening.
“She never said a word about this,” my aunt says, and I believe her because this is the first I’m hearing about it. Janie always had a way of keeping shit to herself. “Why wouldn’t she tell us that she was married. Much less to him? Everyone who’s ever stepped foot in Harrison Heights knows he’s bad news.”
I toss the piece of paper back on the table a second time, glad to give my fingers a reprieve from its scalding heat.
I finally speak. “Would you want to go around telling your family that you married the best of the worst?”
“What was she thinking?” Aunt Bess murmurs rhetorically.
“We’ll never know the answer to that,” replies Stewart.
Mr. Captain Fucking Obvious.
“This changes how we move forward. Spouses are next in line to receive what’s left behind, Bess. I’m sorry but intestacy laws state that the one hundred and thirty thousand dollars, along with the house, will be inherited by the surviving spouse, which in this case is Clyde Lincoln.”