Chapter 31
31
OPHELIA
S ome people might say that the most painful thing to endure is the feeling of your own heart breaking. But in reality, what’s more painful is having to endure watching someone you care about deeply as their own heart breaks.
And that’s what I’m enduring now with Malcolm.
It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day and the day of Marshall’s funeral. The weight of it can be felt in the entire house. Kolbi offered to hold the reception after the funeral services at his place since it’s large enough to hold the number of people who are attending. I know the significance Marshall had on Malcolm but I had no idea how much of a larger impact he had. Butcher and Block has been closed since his passing and the entire staff came to his services. People from the local sober community were in attendance as well as several people from Reese’s training center. There had to be nearly a hundred people sitting in the church pews as final goodbyes were given and multiple eulogies were read.
Reese and several other people who I’ve never met stood to speak during the service with Malcolm being the last to give a eulogy. There’s been a noticeable shift in him since Marshall’s passing. It’s as if he’s been floating through each day and the spark in him that once made him who he is has gone out. Trying to keep my promise, I insisted that he stay at my place or I stay with him just to make sure he’s okay. When he stands to speak about his lost mentor, I hold my breath and watch as he pulls his shoulders back, pushes out a breath, and seems to steel himself from the turmoil that’s raging inside of him. He’d put on an all black suit, pulled his hair back, and is wearing his glasses. If you can’t see the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt or dancing across the backs of his hands and fingers, you’d think he is a standard nine to five businessman like Kolbi is.
He speaks about the first time he and Marshall met and how Marshall was like a guide to anyone who was lost. How he believed in anyone and everyone who was willing to make a change to be better, to do better. Not a single tear falls from his eyes as he remembers his friend. Instead, I cry enough for the both of us. When he takes his seat next to me and his friends in the pew, I take his hand in mine and kiss him on the cheek as he uses his free hand to wipe a tear away as it trickles down my face.
Now we’re all back at Kolbi’s house, several hours having passed since the funeral with only a few lingering mourners still retelling their favorite memories. Bailey and Magnolia float around the room, making sure everyone has what they need, as Ms. Ruthie shuffles around as well. The pestering between her and Magnolia have given everyone a break in their sadness when Magnolia tries to tell her she doesn’t need to help and Ms. Ruthie tells her to hush up and mind her manners like a loving old grandmother would. Malcolm and I are sitting on the couch, his hand draped around my shoulders as my feet are tucked up under me, my heels discarded by the front door. I’m pretty sure I saw Ms. Ruthie put them away in a closet once I’d kicked them off.
“He was so mad, that crazy old man came barging in and snatched me by the collar of my shirt and hauled my ass home. I’ve never been so afraid of an old white guy in my entire life,” one of the cooks from the bar says, causing a communal laugh to break out amongst those in the room. Everyone except for Malcolm who sits with a stoned expression, his eyes fixed on the oriental rug below our feet.
“That’s nothing, let me tell you about the time he—” another staff member starts before he is interrupted.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but is Malcolm Kang here?” Every set of eyes in the room looks towards the voice to find a short and stout older man wearing a navy suit and holding an expensive looking leather briefcase. He’s holding a straw hat fedora across his chest and looking around the room. “The nice older woman let me in, I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s me, although I prefer to go by the last name Kacee. Kang is my Korean name, everyone knows me as Malcolm Kacee,” he explains, standing from the couch. He’d discarded his suit jacket when we got back to the house and his dress shirt is rumpled and half untucked from his dress pants.
“Mr. Kang, I’m here to read the last will and testament of Mr. Marshall Westing. Is there somewhere we can speak to go over it together?”
Kolbi, who’s sitting in an armchair across the room, stands and looks at his friend. “You can use my study, it’s just down the hallway and on the left.”
“Thanks, man.” Before leaving with the newest member of our party of mourning, he turns and extends his hand to me and gives me an expectant look. “Let’s go, princess.”
Taking his hand, he helps me from the couch and pulls me into his side, looping a strong arm around my waist. As we leave the room I hear Magnolia and Bailey whispering in the corner.
“Did he just call her?—”
“Yeah he did.”
“That’s the cutest thing ever.”
When the three of us make it down the hallway and into the study, Malcolm motions for the man to take the office chair while he and I sit in the other two chairs on the opposite side of the antique desk. It feels as if we are sitting in some professional office and not Kolbi’s personal study. As the man lowers himself into the chair, he carefully places the briefcase on the desk and opens it with the clearing of his throat.
“Mr. Kang?—”
“Please, just Malcolm.”
“Okay, Malcolm.” The man straightens his suit jacket and pulls a large stack of papers out before closing his briefcase again and setting it on the floor. “My name is Quincy Palmer and I acted as Mr. Westing’s attorney. Like I said, I’m here to go over his last will and testament with you. I helped him organize his estate and assets before his passing.”
“Why me?” Malcolm sounds stunned.
“Mr. Kang?—”
“Malcolm,” he corrects again.
“ Malcolm ,” Quincy sighs. “Mr. Westing left a great deal of his estate to you. Surely he told you this prior to his death.” Our hands are still intertwined as we sit in different seats and he looks over at me with wide eyes. Clearly, he had no idea any of this was going to happen. Unable to form words, he simply shakes his head slowly side to side. When our eyes met again I can see the overwhelm and confusion swirling behind them.
“Can you please share with us what Mr. Westing has left Malcolm?” I ask, hoping that by speaking up it will snap Malcolm out of the daze he seems to be in.
“Well, for starters, Malcolm—should he want it—has full ownership and rights to Butcher and Block. Mr. Westing signed over all the necessary paperwork for the ownership to be transferred to Mr. Kang upon his passing as well as the deed to the building the business is operated out of. Should he not want it?—”
“Of course I want it,” Malcolm snaps like a dog whose bone was just threatened to be taken away. I understand why the insinuation that he wouldn’t want it upset him, Butcher and Block is like a second home to him. It’s his last remaining connection to Marshall he has.
“All the same,” Quincy speaks with caution, “should you decide you do not want it, it’s to be sold and ninety percent of the sale is to be donated to local outreach programs for those battling addiction. The other ten percent is allowed to be kept by the seller. That would be you, Mr. Kang.”
Malcolm is staring at his hands which are in a prayer position in front of him as he leans over his knees. In an effort to comfort him, I place a hand on his back and slowly start to move it in small, circular motions.
“Is that it?” I ask.
“No. There’s two more things he’s left you.” The man leans down towards the floor and pulls a small cloth pouch from an inside pocket of his briefcase before sliding it carefully across the table. Malcolm watches the pouch reach our side of the desk but doesn’t reach to take it. “First, his ring. I’m sure you’ve seen him wear it, he never took it off. It was the first thing he bought for himself as a celebration of being five years sober and for opening Butcher and Block.”
It’s then that Malcolm extends a hand, unties the bag, and dumps the ring into the palm of his hand. A small, silver band tumbles out with a spiral stamped into the center of it. I feel my brows meet in the center of my forehead, confused by the meaning of the shape.
“It’s a symbol for resilience. Spirals, or a helix, are symbols of resilience you can find almost anywhere; nature, space, architecture. He told me that once, when I first met him, after asking about the symbol when I first saw it on his ring.” He doesn’t look at me while he explains and keeps his eyes locked on the ring as if in a trance or lost in a memory.
“And finally, a letter.” We both look at the man who was once a stranger when he speaks, both somehow forgetting that he’s there at all. He flips an envelope between his fingers before extending it out for Malcolm to take.
We wait to see if he opens it, but instead, he stands from the chair and tucks the letter into his back pocket. I study him for a beat and am about to ask him if he wants to read it when he speaks.
“Is that all, Mr. Palmer?”
Quincy remains in his seat, looking up towards Malcolm before dropping his eyes to look at me. I can tell he’s surprised by Malcolm’s hurriedness by the way his jaw hangs slack.
“Uhh, yes, I believe it is. If you would like to take over ownership of Butcher and Block?—”
“Of course I do,” Malcolm growls.
Quincy pinches his lips together in a tight line before standing from his chair. “Then in that case, my office will be sending over the necessary paperwork tomorrow. Expect it at your address by the end of day. Once everything is signed and legally turned over, the keys are yours.”
The two men shake hands before Malcolm reaches for mine and leads me out of the study. By the time we reenter the living room, the remaining guests have left and it’s just his friends who are sitting around the expensive marble coffee table.
“Everything okay, brother?” Kolbi asks, untangling the arm he has around Magnolia.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Look, Ophelia’s not feeling very well so we’re going to head out. Is there anything you need me to do before we go?” My sudden illness is news to me but I try to not let it show. When my eyes connect with Bailey’s I know she can tell he’s lying.
“Nah, man, we got it. You two go, we’ll help Kolb clean up,” Hank offers, pushing up from his chair and clapping a hard hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.
“I never offered to help,” Conrad groans with a curled lip. Bailey doesn’t miss a beat and smacks him hard in the back of the head. “Ow! I said I didn’t offer, not that I wouldn’t. We’ve got this, Malcolm, don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll see you at campaign night next week.”
“Don’t be late,” Conrad calls out as we head for the door and I can hear the sound of a hand meeting his head again and him crying out in pain followed by the sound of Bailey’s voice chastising him.
“Can you just not for once? Go be productive and ask Ms. Ruthie if she needs help with anything.”
We ride in silence the entire way back to my place. I want to ask him how he is, or why he suddenly wanted to leave after hearing about what Marshall had left him, but he seems too emotionally raw to talk about anything. So I welcome in the silence and wait for him to speak first.
But he doesn’t.
Not when we get back to my complex. Or as we ride the elevator up. Nor does he say anything when he strips out of his suit and leaves it in a balled up heap of fabric on the floor. He doesn’t say goodnight or make any of his standard remarks as I undress and slip into my nightgown. I wait for him to say something before we fall asleep next to one another, his body pressed into mine from behind.
But he doesn’t.
All there is is silence as he slowly gets lost in his grief.