Chapter 52
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
GUNNER
In that moment, it’s not my family’s potential doom that shreds my heart to pieces.
It’s not the thought of my father’s crushing disappointment.
Or my mother’s tears.
Or the inevitable shunning that will come from every Kinsey alive.
What kills me is Rebel Hart’s defeated posture.
My whole life, Rebel was something like a mirage in the distance, a shining jewel I could never, ever touch. She breezed through the world with her shoulders straight, her smile brilliant and her steps so light she was almost floating.
But tonight, her shoulders slump and she doesn’t lift her head once as she plods down the ladder.
She didn’t break up with me.
At least not yet.
The thought of losing Rebel makes it hurt to breathe, but I knew the risks when I told her.
Whatever happens next, I’ll accept.
With a shaky sigh, I prepare myself for the next challenge—letting my parents in on the secret. That task is going to be difficult in a completely different way.
The wind turns chilly and I shiver in my thin T-shirt. It’ll be warm in the house, but I linger in the treehouse, procrastinating for as long as I can stand it.
After a few deep breaths, I bite the bullet and head to my family home.
The porch lights are on and a warm yellow hue beams on the steps. The wind stirs the wind chimes and they sing to me, doing their best to calm me down.
From here, I can hear mom’s laughter. She’s probably on a high after the family gathering. Mom loves having the people over. She was born to be a good host.
Heart hammering inside my chest, I take the steps one at a time.
Mom and dad are in the kitchen.
Dad’s at the sink, wearing pink rubber gloves as he washes all the dirty dishes and wine glasses. Mom’s sitting on one of the barstools, chattering excitedly.
“And that’s when Clarence said… oh! Gunner, where have you been? We were calling you. You missed your uncle’s welcome home party.”
“It wasn’t an official party,” dad says, giving mom an indulgent smile.
“ Everyone was here. The only person missing was you.”
“He was busy with his friends.” Dad smiles at me, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening. “Did you end up seeing Rebel? I ran into her at the grocery store and had a quick chat.”
Mom pokes dad in the arm. “You were talking to her ? You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“It was just a polite conversation. I am still, very much, on your side.”
Dad and mom smile at each other.
I battle the urge to run out the door, find Rebel and beg her to keep this secret buried forever. Is it too late to take it all back?
“Gunner?” Mom’s voice rings with concern. She pushes off the stool and patters over to me. Lifting a hand to my face, she breathes, “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I announce gravely.
Dad stares at me with the eyes of someone who’s put many a criminal in the back of his cruiser. Soberly, he slaps the faucet down and snaps his rubber gloves off completely.
“Gunner, you’re scaring me,” mom says weakly. She sits down again, mumbling, “I have a feeling I should be seated for whatever this is.”
Dad places a supporting hand on her shoulder.
“Go ahead, son,” he says, his gaze steady on me. “We’re listening.”
I force the words out, starting from my encounter with Uncle Clarence after Grampa Clay’s funeral and ending with my discoveries about the land that really belongs to Rebel and her mom.
The revelation sits in the air, swirling like an ice cloud.
Mom blinks as she absorbs my words.
Dad’s arm drops away from mom’s back.
I rub my hands over my face frantically, rubbing until it hurts and my cheeks turn red. “That conversation after the funeral, all the harassment Uncle Stewart has done to Rebel and her garage, the sudden visit from Uncle Clancy, it’s all to keep that truth from getting out. Our entire family profited from Uncle Uncle Clancy’s fraud. We built everything we have on stolen money.”
“That-that’s ridiculous!” Mom stammers. “I know Rebel resents our family, but this is taking it too far!”
“Mom…”
“Why are you putting your entire inheritance at risk for a girl you won’t even be with in two months time? Can you for once think with your brain instead of your?—”
“Do you have evidence?” Dad asks.
“Darling, you’re not taking this seriously, are you? Why… surely if this were truth, someone would have flagged it a long time ago?”
“I have evidence,” I say quietly. “But more importantly, Rebel has evidence.”
Mom goes very, very still. “Are you saying that girl… who hates the Kinsey name … might go around telling people about this nonsense?”
“I don’t know what Rebel will do now…” My breath hitches because after giving it thought, Rebel might decide a relationship with me is too complicated and that scares me to my bones. “But is that really important right now? Shouldn’t we be more concerned about how to make this right?”
Mom suddenly grabs her head and moans.
“Carol!” Dad yells.
“Dan.” Mom squeezes his hand, her eyes pulled shut with lines of distress running across her forehead. “This can’t be right. He must be mistaken. Tell me he’s mistaken.”
“I’ll look into it. Let me help you to bed first.”
“Take me to the sofa instead. I want to see this so called ‘evidence’ too.”
Once mom is settled, dad grabs the laptop he uses for work and accepts all the documents I’d gathered, including the voice recording of Uncle Clancy.
After checking through them, he hands them to mom who looks it over as well. The rustle of documents and the clack of fingers over the laptop keyboard resounds for a long time.
Both my parents get very sullen when they hear Uncle Clancy recording.
Mom groans and buries her face in the couch.
Dad just blinks rapidly.
As my parents visibly lose their minds, I feel strangely relieved. The matter is far from resolved, but at least the most important people in my life know the truth.
Mom grabs my phone again and swipes through all the photos. Then she sets the phone down as a numb expression crosses her face.
Dad’s hands shake slightly, but he sounds more put together when he says, “This needs to be properly investigated but, from what I can see… you’re right, son. The will was tampered with. Your uncle confessed as much. But whether the will ever involved the Harts, there isn’t evidence here to say.”
My eyebrows draw close together. “But you heard what Uncle Clancy said.”
“Recordings that the other party aren’t aware of can’t be used in court and Clarence might argue that he never said these words or that he was misunderstood.”
I frown.
Dad gathers all the maps together neatly. “You’ll need the torn half of the original will or some other key evidence before you have a case.”
“And if he finds that evidence?” Mom trembles. “Then what?”
Dad sets his glasses down and rubs at the little imprints they left in his nose. “Then that would mean the Kinseys, every one of us, would become penniless in an instant.”
“P-penniless?”
“This isn’t a small sum, Carol. Everything we have would need to be transferred to Rebel and her mother. At best, we can hire a lawyer and work out a settlement out of court. At worst…” Dad blanches. “We can only pray Rebel and her mother don’t press charges because if they do, plausible deniability or not, it’s not going to end well. For any of us.”
Mom’s eyes dart back and forth. “If it’s that bad then… what if we never find the evidence?”
“Carol.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Dan. Our entire world is going to crash around us if we lose this house. And the farm! Do we give up the farm?”
“Are you suggesting we ignore this, Carol?”
“Yes! We’re not the ones who lied and stole. We didn’t deceive anyone. This isn’t our fault! Why do we have to suffer for something we had no part of?”
“Can you live with yourself if you did nothing?” Dad challenges.
“Can you live with yourself if we lose everything!” Mom shrieks.
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.” Dad’s voice is hard as granite and he draws away from mom.
Tears cropping in her eyes, mom sobs. “I am not the bad guy here, Dan. I’m thinking about my family. Is it wrong for me to want to protect them?”
Dad looks away.
Mom runs, crying to her room. The door slams shut a moment later.
Bitter silence falls on the living room and makes me squirm.
That… did not go well.
Mom and dad have only sat with the truth for a little over ten minutes and they’re already tearing at each other’s throats. If the evidence we need is never found and the truth stays buried with us, then all I did tonight was drag my parents into my own personal hell with nothing to show for it.
“I’m sorry, dad,” I say hoarsely.
“You did the right thing, Gunner,” dad says, squeezing my shoulder. “You did the right thing.”
But it doesn’t feel that way. As I watch my father trudge up the stairs, looking just as defeated as Rebel did at the treehouse, it starts to feel like I sent the puck hurtling in the wrong direction at the final moments of the game.