Stepbrother’s Inheritance

Chapter one

CHAPTER ONE

I don't know why this all has to fall to me. My stepmother's dead and Dad's a wreck. She was his entire world and my stepbrother, well he's off doing his own thing.

My fingers trail along her shelf of bells. She had bells from all over the world, every state, every place she ever visited. I pick up a delicate glass one with doves and a small volcano pressed into the front. "Hawaii" it reads. A slight twist of my wrist and its delicate tinkle falls into the silence of the room.

The life is gone from this house.

As a stepmother, Meryl was all right. We weren't close but she wasn't 'evil' or 'wicked'. She made my dad happy and that was all I really wanted from her. After my biological mother left he was so depressed. I thought he'd never be happy again. Now that Meryl's gone he's a wreck again, buried at the bottom of a bottle and I don't expect him to come up for a while.

Opening the hallway closet there's a box of pictures and scrapbooks on the bottom shelf. I'm supposed to be sorting her belongings but this looks more interesting. I grab the box and carry it to the dining room table. It's heavy, there must be a lot of books in here.

The pages crackle as I open the first one expecting to see childhood memories. Instead it's filled with articles, carefully cut from papers and magazines and placed under laminate.

Ben. Of course.

Prince Benjamin Brandt Sets World Water Speed Record! The first headline reads.

Prince of nothing. He's not really a prince, that's just what the media has dubbed him. We're Americans, I think there's a law against us even having a title. I shake my head as I turn the page trying not to look at the grainy black and white photograph of him holding a trophy.

There are more photos of him at premieres with A-list actresses, club openings with socialites, he must be good to have so many beautiful women at his beck and call.

Benjamin Brandt To Build New Rocket for Speedboat

They go on and on. There's not a single photograph of childhood, just clippings of Ben's exploits. Knots tighten in my stomach as I turn each page, anger burning. It's always about him. Ben's so perfect. Ben can do no wrong. Slamming the book closed I go over and jerk the fridge open but the door refuses to open.

"Damn it!"

I pull with all my weight but it refuses to budge. Jerking on it, the door opens with a pop and I fall backwards into the center island bruising my kidneys. I stare into emptiness. Of course, they've already gotten rid of the perishables leaving empty shelves lit up and waiting to be filled.

Tears fall unbidden. The door slowly closes and I sink to the floor. Those empty shelves seem the perfect analogy for my life. Lit up and waiting to be filled. I don't try to stop my tears as they fall.

I feel awkward and alone. Unwanted. Dad did his best. There are scars left on you though when your own mother abandons you. I have only vague memories of her. A smile that doesn't really have a face to go with it. A scent. The smell of her sticks with me. After she left Dad got rid of every trace of her he could find.

My last memory of her is the two of them arguing when I was six. I crept to the top of the stairs after their yelling woke me in the middle of the night. Something slammed, a pot maybe, then she yelled. Those last words of hers, those I recall clearly still. They echo in my mind, sometimes, in the dark when I'm deep asleep I hear them.

I hate you, she yelled.

My chest contracts hard as I sob. I hate you .

She may not have said them to me but she meant it. There hasn't been a single word from her since that night. No birthday cards, no phone calls, no letters.

That night I heard the kitchen door slam shut and had run to look out the window. She stormed into the garage, backed her car out before the door was even open and sped away into the night. She didn't look back. Not once.

I hate you.

At last the tears slow leaving me an empty void. Rising from the floor I head into the bathroom to wash my face. I don't look in the mirror until after I've splashed cold water on my face. It doesn't help much. My eyes are puffy, my face is red but who do I have to impress?

I take a deep breath then go start sorting in the bedroom. The dresser has pictures of Ben and I as kids. I pick up the picture of us at Disney World with Mickey Mouse. Our first 'family' vacation after Dad and Meryl married. I was ten, Ben was fourteen. Neither of us knew what to do about each other.

I was shy, awkward, in braces, and felt as gangly as anything. He was already filling out, the school's champion wrestler and a football player, too. He was cool and popular. I was an outcast, rejected by even the rejects. Ben would have people fighting to sit at his table during lunch but no one sat with me. Even in a crowded cafeteria I was alone.

Meryl loved this picture but I just see the tension. Our smiles are forced. Ben's arms are crossed over his chest showing his well defined biceps as he stares off past the camera. I'm trying to smile without showing my braces. My eyes, even in the picture, aren't on the mouse, they're on Ben. He used to be my hero.

I remember the first day in the cafeteria after our parents got married.

I always held back going to lunch during school. It made me feel less like an outcast if I chose to sit on my own instead of watching all the kids look at my empty table then choose to sit somewhere else. I walked in, my books clutched to my chest as usual, and made my way through the mostly empty line. As I got done two guys stepped up in front of me. I tried to step aside but they stepped with me. I kept my eyes to the ground, just wanting to sit down. The entire lunchroom was watching. I could feel their eyes burning into me, waiting to see me humiliated.

"Excuse me," I murmured.

"Excuse me," one of them mocked me.

They were jocks, I don't remember who they were but they had on their letter jackets and lots of patches. One of them flipped my tray so that it spilled covering me in food. I looked down at my ruined clothes tears leaking from my eyes.

"Clean that mess up," one of them taunted.

I closed my eyes and prayed it would be over soon. I knelt and started to gather up the mess trying to clean off my books.

"Don't."

I knew that voice but it couldn't be. He wouldn't get involved.

I looked up and there, surrounded by a shining halo of fluorescent light created by my tears, was Ben. Massive, strong, stable Ben. He reached a hand down to me. I took it without thinking and he helped me to my feet then he turned on the two boys.

"Hey Brandt, what your problem?" one of the boys said.

I wiped at my tears, knots in my stomach as waves of nausea passed over me.

"Leave her alone," Ben said. Ben was never loud.

"Why?"

I didn't clearly see what happened then. There was a blur then the one who spoke was on the ground screaming and blood ran between his fingers. The other guy backed off with his hands up. Ben just looked at him.

"Hey, sorry man. Keep the loser!" he said while slowly backing away.

"She's not a loser, she's my stepsister."

She's my stepsister. I smiled so wide my jaw hurt and my braces shone.

That was the single greatest moment of my childhood. The day he stood up for me. After that Ben was always around. All the way to the end of his Senior year.

When he left, he never looked back. Just like my mom.

I put the picture down in its place and return to sorting. After a few moments I look at it again. I walk back over and place it face down so I don't have to look at it anymore.