Chapter 3 #3
It had been snowing off and on for the last thirty-six hours, and it was still coming down when Abel Bandy’s alarm went off.
He woke with a start, then groaned at the thought of leaving Lilith, who was snuggled up against him in their warm bed.
But the alarm was still beeping, and he didn’t want to be late for work.
His boss didn’t expect much business in this weather, but Abel had a repair job to finish at the garage, so he turned off the alarm.
“Stay in bed until the house warms up. I should be home by noon,” he said, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Can you believe it? We became parents seventeen years ago today.”
Lilith groaned, then threw back the covers and got out of bed too. “And that baby is now as tall as you,” she said. “He will also be up before you can get out of the house. I’ll make you both some breakfast.”
* * *
Tate had been awake for hours, waiting for the sound of his dad’s alarm to go off. There were two days left of their Christmas vacation, and then school would resume, but it was also his birthday. He was turning seventeen.
He’d long ago accepted that he would never be the kid invited to parties, and he rejected all mention of having his own because he knew no one but Briar would come, and it would hurt his mama’s heart far more than it bothered him.
He got up quietly and looked out the window.
The wind was blowing the snow sideways. Not a good day to be outside.
Maybe when it stopped snowing, he would get the scoop shovel out of their shed and get the snow off the sidewalk in front of their house.
The hill at the north end of the park was great for sledding, but he’d outgrown his kid-size sled.
Maybe Briar would call and they could go to the park and build a snowman. He ran to the bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair, then went back to his room to get dressed.
His jeans were almost too short again, as were the arms of his sweatshirt, and his toes were already at the end of his boots.
He was outgrowing his clothes. Some days he imagined he could actually feel his bones stretching, which was a fanciful thing to imagine, but that’s how his mind worked.
Fact and the faith he had in his abilities were one and the same.
When his mama hugged him now, her head was way below his chin, and he was eye to eye with his dad.
Abel would forever be Tate’s idol in every way that counted.
He wanted to be just like him, but he wasn’t.
Would never be. Because Daddy had not been born with “the knowing,” and while Abel accepted it as fact, he would never understand it.
Tate could smell coffee now, and bacon frying, and pancakes!
They were having pancakes! Birthday pancakes always came with chocolate chips.
He threw on some clothes and bolted out of his room and up the hall like he was trying to outrun the devil, then slid sideways in his sock feet as he reached the kitchen table.
Abel was at the table with his first cup of coffee, and Lilith was taking the first stack of pancakes from the skillet when he arrived.
“Just in time,” she said. “Happy birthday, son.” She gave him the first stack.
Abel grinned. “What’s your hurry?”
“Birthday pancakes!” Tate said.
“Is it your birthday? I guess I forgot,” Abel said.
“That’s okay. Mama’s pancakes are my best present ever,” he said.
Abel winked. “Happy birthday, Tate. Eat them while they’re hot.”
Tate grinned as he reached for the butter and syrup.
A short while later, they were all at the table, crunching bacon and passing butter and syrup around the table. Tate was down to his last few bites when there was a knock at their front door.
Abel frowned. “Who the heck would be out this early, in this weather?”
“It’s Mister Gibson,” Tate said, without looking up.
“Curly? What in the world?” Abel said, got up in a rush and hurried to the door.
Whatever was happening must be bad or he would have just called.
He opened the door. “Lord, Curly, get in here before you freeze to death,” he said, and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting out the blowing snow and cold wind.
“I’m sorry for intruding on your breakfast,” Curly said.
“You’re not intruding. Come sit. We have coffee in the kitchen.”
“I’ll track snow all over your floors,” he said. “I’ll just talk right here on the entry rug if it’s okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” Abel said. “What’s wrong?”
But before Curly could answer, Tate came into the room. “His daddy died,” Tate said.
Curly’s eyes widened. He’d gotten glimpses of this child’s knowing for years, but it had never referred to him, and it was both daunting and amazing to witness it.
Abel gasped. “Curly! I’m so sorry.”
Curly’s hands were shaking. “Thank you. I’m closing the garage until the weather passes and we can get my dad laid to rest. Yes, I could have called you for that, but I came because I need a favor from Tate.”
Tate gave Curly an intent look, then nodded. “Ask.”
Curly sighed. “I have six brothers and sisters, and they’re all already fighting about Dad’s property and who’s going to get what.
I know Dad had a will, but we couldn’t find where he put it, and that’s why I’m here, Tate.
I was wondering if you might be able to help us out here and stop this fight before it becomes a feud. ”
“I’ll help,” Tate said. “Do you have anything with you that belonged to him?”
Curly groaned. “No. I didn’t think to—”
“Never mind,” Tate said. “You belonged to him. Don’t talk. Just hold my hand.”
Curly looked down at the boy’s outstretched hand and grasped it.
For Tate, it was like turning a page in a book and seeing new words written there. He could see himself standing in a house he’d never been in, watching an old man walking up a set of stairs holding a white envelope, then down a hallway and into a room with an old treadle sewing machine.
“Upstairs. In the room with a funny sewing machine. Bottom drawer on the left, beneath the spools of thread, underneath a piece of red felt, like the kind they use to make Christmas stockings.”
Curly’s heart skipped. “Oh my word. I hope you’re right, Tate. This will mean everything. I wonder why he put it there?”
Tate let go of Curly’s hand. “He changed the will because he was afraid of someone,” he said, then glanced at Abel. “Daddy, there’s more. Do I tell him even if it’s bad?”
“If Curly wants to hear it, then it’s okay,” Abel said.
Curly’s eyes widened. “What else, Tate? Tell me.”
“What made your daddy die?” Tate asked.
“He was old. The doctor said it was likely his heart.”
“Who’s Reggie?” Tate asked.
Curly’s eyes widened. “He’s my sister’s husband.”
“Reggie put something in your daddy’s nighttime cocoa. Reggie did a bad thing to your daddy for money. That’s all I saw.”
Curly staggered backward against the door. “Oh lord…oh lord.”
Abel steadied his boss until he found his footing.
“First things first, Curly. Under no circumstances do you accuse Reggie. Don’t confront him.
Don’t point a finger. Just tell the doctor that you need a confirmed cause of death from an autopsy for his life insurance policy.
Ask the coroner to check for any kind of poison or illegal substances in his body.
If he was poisoned, it will tell. Retrieve the will and take it straight to the lawyer’s office.
The rest will play out as it’s meant to be.
Say nothing about coming here. You keep my son out of this, understand? ”
“Absolutely. I will take this to my grave,” Curly said, and then glanced at the boy again.
“Tate, what a blessing you are to this world. Thank you.” Then he shook Abel’s hand.
“Thank you for allowing your son to help. Consider yourself on a little vacation with pay until all the shouting is over, okay?”
Abel nodded, then watched as Curly made a run for his truck.
He got through the blowing snow with some difficulty, then backed up and drove away.
When Abel turned around, he noticed Tate was gone, and then he heard him talking and laughing with Lilith and thought, thank God, he sheds what he knows like water off a duck’s back.
Before the day got any older, his parents presented Tate with an adult-size sled. A boy was never too old to slide down a snowy hill on a sled.
Tate was elated. “Best birthday ever! Thanks, Mom and Dad! As soon as it quits snowing, I’m gonna try it out!”
* * *
Curly found the will where Tate Bandy said it would be and took it straight to Rocky Morris’s law office. Then he went to the coroner and told him the story Abel had suggested about needing autopsy confirmation for insurance purposes.
Sure enough, instead of a heart attack, the cause of death was changed to poisoning. Once the poison was identified, the police searched the homes of each of the old man’s six children and found a bottle of what had killed their father in a gardening shed on Reggie Landers’s property.
Reggie confessed.
His wife was horrified that her husband had murdered her father. Embarrassed and ashamed of what he’d done, she promptly divorced him and moved away.
The siblings’ fight over property ended, and Curly kept his promise. He never breathed a word of having sought the help of Abel Bandy’s son.
* * *
Tate’s life still revolved around home and Briar.
She had always been his best friend, but in his heart, their friendship had turned into something more.
He wanted her to see him as a boyfriend and a friend, but he was unsure of what to do with the changing emotions for fear it would destroy their relationship as it was, and so he let it slide until the end of their junior year in high school.
By then, he was so madly in love with his best friend that he didn’t know what to do with his emotions.