Chapter 4 #3
Hatch widened his eyes almost comically. He took a step back and looked around like an invisible audience might come to his defense. When no one did, he crossed his arms and gave my dad the same intense stare he’d been giving me. “Want to fill me in on the details here, Tate?”
“The details are hazy, but from what Otis tells me, it sounds like they revised the will last minute. George called him the day after he got diagnosed.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did.”
“He would have told me if he’d changed the will.”
“Hatch…” My dad ran a hand through his messy hair and shrugged in a way that suggested this was above his pay grade. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a copy of the will.
Hatch read the document slowly, painstakingly, until the truth finally registered. Then he turned away and rubbed his hands down his face like a man waking up in the morning. “He changed it,” he said in a low voice, meant only for him to hear, for him to process. “He changed it.”
My dad looked pained. “For what it’s worth, this wasn’t the only change. Otis said he designated some new charities and earmarked a few things for the Rustin endowment fund.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Hatch said in that same far away voice.
“It doesn’t change anything,” my dad said placatingly. “The sale will still go through.” He hesitated. “Only difference is that George’s slice of the pie goes to Louisa now.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Hatch snapped into sharp focus again, his blistering eyes swinging from Dad to me. “Which means I have to navigate a sale with a teenager who doesn’t even remember me.”
Dad seemed surprised. He turned around and gave me an expectant look. “Louisa, you don’t remember Hatch?”
I stared suspiciously at the ornery old man. “I think I’d remember someone with such a sparkling personality.”
Dad was still searching me with that expectant look, like maybe I would suddenly remember. “Honey, you knew Hatch when you were little. He was Uncle George’s, uh…”
“Partner,” Hatch said gruffly.
The word seemed to come from far away. I stood speechless, staring between my father and this crabby old man.
First I’d learned Uncle George was gay, now it turned out he had a romantic partner?
A partner I’d met when I was younger? Where had this man been in the intervening years?
Why wasn’t he mentioned in the obituary?
“‘Was’ being the operative word. We broke up years ago,” Hatch went on. He paused, and his voice turned to acid. “George was too damn selfish to have a real partner. If I wasn’t sure of that before, I am now.”
Dad swallowed. “I don’t think he was trying to screw you, Hatch.”
“Course he was. This was one last ego trip for him and he’s using your kid as the pawn. Reaching beyond the grave to let me down one more time.”
A fresh rush of anger swept through me. Why did Hatch assume Uncle George’s bequest had anything to do with him?
“Hatch, I’m sorry,” my dad said heavily. “Look, I’ll make this as easy as I can. I’ll guide Louisa through the preliminary paperwork, and when it’s time for closing, I’ll fly her back down to sign—”
“Don’t speak for me,” I snapped, surprised at the volume of my voice.
Both men turned around, finally giving me their full attention.
“Uncle George left this bar to me. He wanted me to see it, he wanted me to know it, and he wanted me to decide what to do with it.” I paused and took a deep breath. “And I’ve decided not to sell it.”
There was a loaded silence. Then Hatch let out another bitter laugh. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want to sell it,” I repeated.
“Well, that’s too bad, because the plan’s already in motion, darling. Has been since long before you set your shiny little sneakers on Alabama soil.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” my dad said sharply. Hatch raised his eyebrows, but Dad held his ground. “I mean it. At least hear her out, Hatch.”
My heart bloomed the tiniest bit. I wasn’t sure if Dad actually wanted to hear my two cents, or if he was just trying to make up for our conversation last night, but either way, I was grateful.
Hatch turned to square off with me. “All right, Louisa, I’ll humor you. Say we don’t sell the bar. Are you planning to move here and run it? ’Cause last I heard, you’re starting college in the fall.”
I tried to match his steely gaze. “Exactly. The fall. That gives me the whole summer.”
“Then what? You go off to be a big-time college girl and leave me here to do everything? Call me once in a while to check in on sales?”
I hadn’t exactly worked this part out yet, and I could tell from Hatch’s smirk that he knew that.
I could either bullshit him, or I could say what was on my heart and hope it resonated with the man my uncle had once loved.
“Look,” I said, thinking quickly and doing my best to sound respectful, “finding this place last night—it—it was like a lifeline. Walking through that door was like nothing I’ve never experienced before.
I can’t just up and leave without giving it a fair shake.
” Hatch puffed up, ready to interrupt, and I rushed on.
“For better or worse, you and I are chained together now, and we can’t move forward until we agree.
So just—just give me thirty days. That’s it.
If you still want to sell at the end of those thirty days, I won’t stop you. ”
Hatch scrubbed a hand through his bristly white beard. He looked at me the way Hannah had last night, like he was trying to see beneath the surface.
“Hatch,” my dad said. His voice had gone soft. “George wanted to let her in.”
Hatch clenched his jaw. “It’s too little, too late.”
“Maybe it’s not. At least give her the chance to see what you built together.”
Hatch sniffed and cleared his throat. I watched his expression change and knew he was going to relent.
“You wanna stay here and flit around for thirty days, fine,” he told me.
He was still trying to sound tough, but he mostly sounded exhausted.
“But if you’re here, you’re working. And I’m not paying you.
You can keep your tips, but no hourly rate.
I’m not teaching you, I’m not asking your opinions, and I’m not giving you money to spend on crazy whims. You might fancy yourself an owner, but I’m still the boss, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s business as usual until the sale goes through. ”
I gave him a small smile. “You have a deal.”
Hatch reached out and clasped my palm for the briefest second. “You’re as stubborn as he was,” he grumbled. In a strange way, it seemed to be a compliment.
“Maybe it runs in the family,” I replied.