9. Jake
Jake
This afternoon, I realize how critically important it is to have something to look forward to.
My day at the house is all slammed doors and seething resentment. The atmosphere in the house could be sliced and served with gravy, but it still wouldn’t be very palatable. My father’s second family all hate me and have no qualms making sure I know it.
It’s awful. I’m accustomed to telling people things they don’t want to hear, and in denying them whatever they expect of me. It doesn’t usually bother me. Maybe that’s because, most of the time, I can walk away. I leave the meeting, end the call, go home from the office for the day. Que sera sera.
Not today. I’m trapped in this house until Mackenzie picks me up, no earlier than seven-fifteen, and it may kill me.
Somebody tossed all my neat piles of paperwork onto the floor while I was at Rhodes Vineyards at lunch and kicked them around, eliminating all of the work I’ve done sorting and stacking.
The cream in my coffee this afternoon was sour.
Someone is listening to heavy metal music at full blast, the base thumping through the walls.
Every time I initiate a conversation with anyone, they scream or shout in return.
It is hell in this house and I’m amazed that three people – four, if you count the housekeeper; seventeen, if you count Candace’s various service providers – could make my existence so miserable so quickly.
Of course, they’d probably say the same thing about me.
The noon reprieve of visiting Augustine Rhodes was necessary – otherwise, I might have murdered someone and been condemned to spend a sizable chunk of my future in jail.
(I do not look good in orange.) Seeing Mackenzie was a gift.
Lunch was civilized, the way I’ve always imagined other families had meals together.
Augustine talked proudly of everything, including his grand-daughter, and it was sweet how she rolled her eyes and blushed a bit.
Imagine having a relation who is proud of you – and says so. It boggled my mind, in the best possible way.
And then there was Mackenzie herself. In a hundred little ways, she convinced me that we have the same hopes for tonight.
A little sidelong glance. A brush of my hand when she passed the sandwiches, one that seemed inadvertent.
Her gaze clinging to mine when I thanked Augustine for lunch and headed out.
Never mind the way she said thanks for finding the title when we were standing at the door. I really think she might have kissed me if her grandfather hadn’t been hovering nearby – and really, he didn’t need any encouragement to get ideas about family unions.
The prospect of seeing her again is the bright light on my horizon.
If there’s anything more than dinner, I may just die a happy man before morning. Ha. That would leave someone else to sort out my father’s garbage.
It’s tempting, but then I remember that I don’t even have a will. There’s no one assigned to pick up my slack. It might be entertaining to watch them argue over who gets stuck with the dirty work, but being dead and all, I’d miss out anyway.
Better to survive, even better with Mackenzie.
Whatever happens after dinner, if anything happens, will be her choice.
I hug the sight of her all afternoon. Jeans, boots, and a cotton button-down.
Her hair was slept up in a ponytail and she wore no make-up.
She came in with a mug of tea, looking all windblown and vital.
She was everyman’s girl-next-door fantasy up close and personal. Her nose was even sunburned a little.
Perfection.
It’s after six when someone knocks on the door – 6:23 – and I’m surprised to find the housekeeper at the door. “There’s a call for you,” she says primly, even though I didn’t hear the phone ring recently.
I pick up the receiver, skeptical, only to have a woman chastise me. “Jake? Is that you? When are you going to talk some sense in that tart your father was fool enough to marry?”
Aunt Grace in Alberta. My father’s younger sister, every bit as blunt and opinionated as he was. She has an unmistakable voice, one that sounds like forty years of Scotch and cigarettes.
“What exactly is the issue, Aunt Grace?”
She snorts. “Cremation is the issue. How dare she even suggest such an option for Patrick?”
“Well, it’s in his will that he wanted to be cremated.”
“He never did.”
“He did.”
My aunt swears under her breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. My job is to fulfill his expectations, as laid out in his will. That’s what he wanted.”
She harrumphs again. “I guess there’s no rush for a funeral then.”
“I have no idea what Candace has planned.” I haven’t even thought about that, actually.
“What did he leave the boys?” she demands.
‘The boys’ are my cousins, Kade and Nick, hardly kids anymore. Kade is my age.
“Nothing,” I admit, flipping to the copy of the will buried on the desk. “They aren’t even mentioned. He left you a family Bible, a photograph album and copies of the family trees.”
She makes a sound of disgust. “The ones he wouldn’t copy for me when he was alive.”
“Probably the same ones.”
“But nothing for the boys?”
“To be honest, Aunt Grace, there might not be much for anyone.”
“What?”
“He appears to have been deep in debt. Very deep.”
“That tart,” Grace growls. “She spent all his money, just like I warned him she would. Oh, she was never any good, but he wouldn’t listen to sense. How can anyone be so stubborn?”
I leave that one alone. If memory serves, Aunt Grace can be every bit as stubborn as my father was.
“And now,” Grace continues. “And now, she insists that your father can’t be buried beside Dianne.
It’s not enough that she’s going to have him cremated, but she’s going to keep him from his place in that shared plot, the one by the cedars.
How dare she insist that he be buried somewhere where she can be beside him, instead of his wife and the mother of his children? ”
This is a diplomatic disaster and one I really don’t want to adjudicate. I certainly am surprised to find myself defending Candace. “Well, she was his wife, too, and they had two kids together.”
“It’s not the same, Jake, and you know it. It’s not right. I expect you to fix it. Your mother deserves better.”
With that, she ends the call.
I’m thinking that since my mom was trying to leave her marriage when she died, she might be good with my father having his eternal rest somewhere more distant.
It’s not two minutes before Candace knocks and marches through the door.
(She must have been listening.) She halts into the middle of the room, a woman on a mission.
“The hospital called. They want to know about the arrangements and where to send your father.” Her tone is adversarial, but she can’t hold a candle to Grace.
I assume she wants reassurance than the bill from the funeral home will be paid but before I can say so, she continues.
“I told them he has to come home.”
She says this as if she’s expecting an argument. Truth be told, I am a little worried about the decorative theme of the living room. There is no sarcophagus in there, yet.
Candace glares at me, taking my silence for dissent. “I’m having him cremated. It’s what he wanted, no matter what Grace says.”
“It was what he wanted,” I agree. “It’s in the will. I told her that.”
“Then you aren’t going to stop me?”
I know there are people who disagree with the practice of cremation, but I am not one of them. I hold up my hands. “Not me.” Aunt Grace can fight this battle on her own.
“And I don’t want a service now. I have to think about this. I have to grieve. I don’t want to talk to people about Patrick, not yet.” Her tears well and her mouth works.
I really hope she doesn’t cry.
“But if he’s cremated, there’s no deadline. You can plan a celebration of life whenever you want.”
She eyes me warily. “Why are you being nice about this?”
“I think it’s a good idea.”
“Grace didn’t think so. She was ready to fly out, and she planned to stay here.” Fire lights in Candace’s eyes. “With both of the boys.” She huffs. “Abbie expected there to be a funeral this week, too, but I can’t even think about that, not yet…”
“And that’s fair. It’s totally up to you, Candace.”
“It is?” Her relief is palpable.
“It is. I remember it being a special kind of hell the last time Grace and the boys came to stay, and that was over twenty years ago. I don’t blame you for wanting to delay the pleasure.”
“Oh Jake!” She says this as if I’m some kind of hero, but it’s just common sense. She’s my father’s nearest and dearest. The funeral plans are totally up to her. Later works better for me than sooner.
The atmosphere in the house eases slightly once Candace is relieved. I can live with that and I get a lot done after she leaves the study to start planning the celebration of life.
I do manage to find a key to my father’s study, although there’s no telling whether anyone else has one, as well. I lock up when I finally leave, and like the click of the key in the lock.
That’s the sound of freedom.
I wish I could shower and change, even shave again, but this morning, I wasn’t planning to go from here to dinner. I wash up in the guest bath, run a hand through my hair and straighten my tie, then assess my reflection. Less than optimal, but I’ll have to do.
I won’t fall asleep this time, that’s for sure.
I still haven’t found any money, but Mackenzie’s payment for the parcel of land will cover this month’s credit card bills at least. I’m counting that as a win.
I’m thinking also about Luke’s offer and its implications, but am not sure I can sell more property so quickly.
I’ll have to talk to Richard Bradshaw about that.
Tomorrow will be hell, but I’ll escape back to Toronto in the afternoon. If Mackenzie crooks her little finger at me tonight, my luck could finally change. My life could settle back on track.
I step out of the bathroom to find Madison waiting for me, arms crossed over her chest and fire in her eyes.