Chapter 3
Dylan didn’t sleep well. The storm had raged until the early morning, and normally that would’ve calmed his restless mind. He didn’t know what his next step would be, and he hated the uncertainty of it all. Now, the news of his grandmother’s decline made it worse.
His mother was silent through breakfast, and Dylan had been in no mood for conversation. He feared she would need to ask him to stay to help care for his grandmother. If asked, he wouldn’t even have to think about it. He adored his mamaw.
The drive down the mountain elicited no additional conversation. His mother was in her own world. She stopped at the church beside the road to her mother’s house. His father was buried in the graveyard beside it.
“I’m going to go visit your father’s grave. If you want another cigarette before we get there, here’s your chance.”
Dylan was thankful as he watched her go up the hill to the grave. He didn’t remember his father clearly, or the accident that took him. He’d been too young. When he was little, his mother would visit the grave often, and he imagined she still did.
He snuffed his cigarette and slid the butt into his pocket. His family had never been the churchgoing type, but he still felt it would be disrespectful to add to the discarded butts, no doubt left by the regular congregants.
He could see his mother standing halfway up the hill, and she hadn’t started back, so he made his way to join her.
“I miss him every goddamned day, Dylan.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “I know. I wish I could remember him. Gotten to know him.”
She was quiet for a moment. “He would be proud of you.”
He chuckled. “What for? Being unemployed and moving back home?”
She smacked his arm. “No smartass. Just for being you.”
Dylan nodded. “You don’t think he’d mind that I’m gay?” The question haunted him often, but he had never thought to ask before.
She laughed. “Are you kidding? He loved you. He wouldn’t have cared who you loved, though if he were still here, I’d be a little worried for Derek right now. Most of my fight’s gone. I’m just glad you’re not getting screwed in the breakup. At least from what you said you won’t be—other than the goddamn heartbreak. You’re a Coates. Y’all always land on your feet.”
She took his arm, and they walked back to her car. Her phone rang before she could climb inside. Dylan noticed her frown looking at the screen. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed and silenced the ringer. “Nothing. Just don’t recognize the number. Probably someone trying to sell me an extended warranty or some other bullshit scam.”
He laughed as she climbed into the passenger seat. He loved how no matter the time or the distance, he could count on her to always be the same. When they turned into his grandmother’s driveway, he noticed how little had changed. “I thought Tinah was going to fix the place up for her?”
“She is, but Mama don’t like change, so it’s mostly the same. Just fixing stuff when something breaks, or if she needs help with something like the ramp when the steps started getting tricky.”
He hadn’t noticed that a wheelchair ramp had replaced the stone steps that led up to the porch. He sighed, knowing that it was a part of aging, and that his grandmother was getting older, but he hoped she had many happy years ahead of her, even though he knew what his mother had described sounded like Alzheimer’s or dementia.
“How old is she, anyway?”
His mother chuckled. “Even if she’s having a good day, she’ll either tell you it’s none of your goddamn business or she’s twenty-one, but between you and me she’s eighty-two.”
Dylan nodded. He knew better than to ask or even mention he knew the truth.
Tinah appeared on the porch. His aunt’s skin was as dark as he remembered, her fiery hair bunched in a loose bun on the back of her head. She sat in the rocker and lit a cigarette, glaring at his mother. “Don’t you answer your damn phone, Merrin?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just got off the phone with my fucking ex. He said you weren’t answering your phone, and he needed to talk to you.”
His mother rolled her eyes. “First of all, I don’t talk to any of your exes, so which one and why the hell would he want to talk to me?” She turned to face Dylan. He knew she was about to dismiss him to go inside when Tinah spoke again.
“It involves him, too. No need to repeat ourselves.”
Merrin’s eyes went wide, as if she knew what was coming next.
“Dylan, go inside.” Her voice was stern, and he stepped forward to do as he was told.
“No Merrin. He’s clueless because of your goddamned anger, so he’s going to hear it.”
Dylan’s spine tensed. Part of him wanted to defend his mother, but he knew it was never wise to get between her and Tinah, though her lack of reaction caught him off-guard.
“Besides, he’ll be more confused if he goes in there first. David called to tell me that Homer Coates died over the weekend and they’re trying to notify y’all since y’all are his only relatives still alive, and like it or not, you’re technically still related to him.”
He watched his mother. Her face remained stoic, her only reaction was a slight slump to her shoulders. “So?”
“Well, besides the fact that he told me himself that his will leaves everything to Dylan, Mom’s saying that he stopped in to visit her yesterday and told her Dylan would come help make her better today.”
Dylan didn’t know Homer, but knew they were talking about his dad’s uncle. His mother had an irrational hatred of the man, and refused to allow Dylan anywhere near him, and forbid any discussion of his father’s family aside from his dad. He opened his mouth to ask questions now, though, when his mother put her hand up.
“So?” Her voice was indignant. “I can liquidate the estate for him, and he can be off to live his life.”
Tinah cackled. “David said he’s been dead for a couple of days, at least. Mom’s talking to the dead, and you still want to keep him in the dark? He’s an adult, and it’s his goddamn legacy. You don’t have a right to keep it from him.” She lowered her eyes and her voice softened. “You know that’s not what Anthony would have wanted. I get that you’re just being protective, but he’s grown now.”
Dylan’s head jerked up at the mention of his father’s name.
“Mom, what the hell is she talking about?”
His mother stared at the ground. Tinah shook her head. “Come inside, son. Mom knows the story better than us, at least our part in it. Hopefully, the rest will be at Homer’s house.”
Merrin looked up as if to protest. Instead, she shrugged, let out a deep sigh, and motioned him inside.