Brett 1
The car is silent, save for the gentle swish of the wipers on the windshield. It’s raining just enough that I have to use them, and not quite enough so that they don’t make that dragging rubber noise as they squeegee across. Next to me, my mother is staring out the passenger window, watching the world fly by in a blur.
“Trudy, why don’t you let me cook for us tonight? I’d love to make a big pot of minestrone,” Maggie offers from the backseat.
My mother turns toward her with a faint smile on her face.
“You’re so sweet, Maggie, and I would love that, but why don’t we just heat up one of the casseroles that the neighbors have dropped by? I really don’t have room for all of them in my freezer.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll just fix a salad to go with it then,” Maggie suggests, determined to be helpful in some regard, no matter how minor.
“That would be lovely, Dear,” mom agrees, turning back to the window.
Ralph Fourquet has been our family attorney since before I was born. So, when we walk into his dark mahogany and leather office, he’s quick to pull my mother into his arms for a tight hug. He murmurs something into her ear that I can’t hear. She nods and wipes the tears that have sprung to her eyes.
Ralph shakes my hand, and I introduce him to Maggie. He ushers us to a sitting area on the far end of his office so that we are on couches, facing one another. He opens up a leather-bound pouch and produces some official looking documents.
“Okay, well, Trudy, you and Danny were very good about keeping your affairs in order so, thankfully, there isn’t much to be dealt with at this incredibly difficult time.”
He skims through the pile of paperwork and produces what I recognize to be a last will and testament.
“As we discussed last year, Trudy, you are the beneficiary of Danny’s life insurance policy and all joint savings and retirement funds will revert to your sole control. There is no mortgage on the house, and no outstanding debt to be paid, so this is all fairly cut and dried. As you know, Ray Page, Danny’s friend from Chicago, has made an offer to buy the business.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, leaning forward so fast that I nearly slip right off my tufted leather chair. “When did this happen?”
“A few days ago,” my mother replies quietly. “Ray and Pam would like to get out of Chicago and move here, to Owl Bridge.”
“And you agreed?”
I feel a little hurt not to have been consulted. She smiles at me sadly.
“Sweetheart, if you had even the least bit of mechanical inclination, I would have given the business to you in a heartbeat. But, you don’t want it. And Ray has always been a good friend to your father. Honestly, I rather like the idea of him and Pam being close by.”
I consider this for a second and realize she’s right. Ray and my father go way back to their days together as mechanics in the Navy. That was even before my father met my mother. And now that she says it, I also like the idea of the Pages moving to town. They can be another source of support for Mom when I’m not here.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be …”
She waves a hand at me.
“No, Brett, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner. I didn’t mean to exclude you from the decision, it just slipped my mind.”
“Brett, you don’t have to worry. The Pages are in fine financial shape, and have offered full value for the business. We’d be hard pressed to find a better buyer.”
I nod. It’s just so strange to hear them talking about my father’s life’s work this way.
“It’s not him,” Maggie offers quietly, as if reading my mind. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes hard.
“So,” Ralph continues, looking at me, “your mother and father discussed what might happen in this event, and they made the decision – which your mother still holds to – that you should be the beneficiary of any funds collected from the sale of the garage.”
I look at him, then my mother, then back at him again.
“But, Mom, you need that money …” I start to protest, but that waving hand goes up again.
“I have more than enough with the life insurance and our retirement savings. And I plan to keep working, Brett. Once I decide to retire from the school system, I’ll have a very generous pension and healthcare. I have more than I need.”
“Mom …”
“No,” she asserts firmly. “You and Maggie are getting married soon. You’re going to need that money to buy a house.”
“Okay, first of all, we just moved into the SOHO brownstone, so nobody’s going to be looking at houses anytime soon. And how the hell much money are we talking about here, anyway?”
Ralph consults one of the papers in his stack.
“Just shy of eight-hundred-thousand dollars.”
My mouth falls open. I know it’s not a good look, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t even speak, but my mother is amused.
“Careful, Son, or you’ll catch flies in there,” she chides.
“I can’t take it, Mom,” I protest.
It’s my mother who leans forward this time.
“This is what your father wanted, Brett. And it’s what I want, too. Please, I don’t need to be worrying about you. This will put my mind at ease.”
“Jesus, Mom, it’s not like I’m a substitute music teacher. I play viola with one of the biggest string quartets in the world. I do just fine …” I stop abruptly when I see the look she’s leveling upon me.
Trudy has decided. It is done. Enough said.
Ralph starts to go through the details of the sale, when something occurs to me. “Wait, wait, wait …what about Jeremy?” I ask.
They both look at me as if I’ve started speaking Swahili.
“You know, Jeremy? Your other son?” I remind her, which doesn’t go over so well.
“I’m well aware of who he is, thank you very much, Brett,” my mother snaps.
Uh-oh. I’ve definitely kicked a hornets’ nest. Luckily, Ralph steps in and tries to smooth things over.
“Brett, your parents changed their will about a year ago to name you as sole beneficiary of the business. You’re also your mother’s sole beneficiary and will receive the balance of the estate after her passing.”
“Mom, are you sure about this?” I ask a little incredulously. This is harsh. Really harsh for Danny and Trudy.
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” she declares flatly.
Ralph seizes the moment to jump back in and redirect the conversation. Or, at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing.
“Alright, then, with the autopsy results back, I assume you’re ready to make the funeral arrangements?”
“Yes, please, Ralph. You have the prepaid plan that we purchased from the funeral parlor. Please just ask them to follow those instructions. The church will take care of the service itself.”
“Whoa, hold on a sec …” I break in, shaking my head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father and I preplanned our funerals …”
“Not that!” I cut her off. “Why was an autopsy done? I thought it was a heart attack. Since when do they do autopsies for natural causes?”
My mother meets my gaze squarely.
“I requested the autopsy, Brett. It may have been natural causes that killed him, but I don’t think there was anything natural about the way he died.”
Now it all makes sense. The business, the will, the inheritance. She believes Jeremy had something to do with my father’s death, and I have no idea why, other than that my brother is a bastard. But, that wouldn’t be enough reason for her to make that assumption.
I’m missing something here. Something big. But I won’t be for long. I try several times to engage my mother on the drive home, but she shuts me down every time. “Mom, it’s just that …”
“Stop it. Right. Now,” she cuts me off sharply, turning to face me from the passenger’s seat. I almost pull off the side of the road.
“What?”
“How your father and I decided to divide our assets is up to us …was up to us,” she corrects her use of the present tense, my father being dead and all. “I don’t want to hear about this again. Do you understand me?”
She waits for an answer, and I feel as if I’m a naughty schoolboy again.
“Yes.”
We spend the rest of the ride in an awkward silence. I sneak a glance back at Maggie. She’s stunning, with her wild black curls pulled back into a severe bun at the back of her head. Even in the head-to-toe black that is the universal uniform of mourning. She catches me watching her and offers a weak smile.
All I can think about is getting back to the house so I can spend some time alone with her, talking through all of this. She’ll give me some perspective. I pull my mother’s sedan into the driveway and we all climb out into the crisp fall afternoon. I notice that the gutters need cleaning and the leaves need raking and add them to my mental ‘To Do’ list. With my father gone, the ‘man of the house’ duties now fall to me.
Maggie and I trail behind her on the walk up to the porch, the three of us still silent. Maggie looks at me, and smiles sympathetically. I give her a faint smile back as Mom gets the door unlocked and we follow her into the house.
“Honey, I need to lie down for a little while,” my mother is saying even as she’s crossing the living room. “I’m going to make a quick cup of tea and go to my room. Maggie, there are salad fixings in the fridge. I’ll be up to make dinner at about …”
My mother stops cold. Stops speaking and stops walking, standing rooted and staring into the kitchen from its doorway.
“Mom?”
I’m so busy looking at her, that I don’t immediately notice him.