Say Goodbye
All characters in this book are fictional, and any resemblance
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
©2019 Brett M. Wiscons
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this
book or portions thereof.
Printed in the United States of America
In association with MAD Diamond Entertainment
Edited by Rachel Carter
ISBN: 978-1-5439931-4-1
Thank you: Rachel Carter, Scott Isenbarger, Brian Kingen, Angela Palm, my wife, my daughter, my brothers, my sisters, friends, family and fans everywhere.
Dedicated in loving memory to Babs and Chavez
Suicide prevention hotline:
1-800-273-8255
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
SAY GOODBYE
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
ONE
My wife called with the news. My heart sank as I drove south down North Geneva Terrace. I felt the pangs of guilt for not being a better grandson to the now deceased matriarch of our family or visiting her more often. Grandma Bella Bella—aged ninety-six—suffered from dementia, diabetes and high blood pressure. Other than those afflictions, she had been reasonably healthy most of her adult life. And boy, back in her day, she was the Bella of the Ball. Vibrant and a killer on the dance floor.
Her husband Alvin had preceded her in death by twelve years and it had really taken a toll on her psyche. After his passing, her daughter, my mother, had her come live with her off of West 83rd Street in Chicago. They weren’t doing each other any favors though—what with the amount of Fox News they consumed or the level of vitriol they spewed towards former President Obama. As of six months ago, Bella Bella was transferred to Sunrise of Lincoln Park—an assisted living facility. It was at the corner of Clark and Schubert and only a quick, ten minute car ride, but I’ll be goddamned if I didn’t find an excuse damn near every week on why I couldn’t visit her. Maybe it was her political views. Maybe it was because I was a lazy, selfish prick. I’d later find out that the guest log would show that a person with the initials A.W. had stopped by quite often for two weeks before her expiration.
Just when I thought I was out of the game, I was about to be summoned back in off the bench.
I was on my way back home that morning after dropping both my daughter Hannah Jane and son Brock off at school. She was now in the third grade while he was in pre-K. They both attended Alcott Elementary off of North Orchard Street—less than a mile from our house on Fullerton. Some days they took the bus. Most of the time, though, since I was retired, I chauffeured them. It was Thursday, December 13th. On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
The wake would be on Saturday the 15th with the funeral the following Monday. Jen was always up to the task of dealing with these big-life moments and handled every situation with the utmost grace and courage. She impressed me on a daily basis. I still had a hard time understanding what she saw in me. But she always saw the good in people and situations. Even my crazy family. And, believe you me, they’re crazy. I was always more skeptical. On more than one occasion, I’d been referred to as a curmudgeon.
It was an unseasonably sunny, warm day in Chicago. The temperature was already a balmy thirty-nine degrees and there was talk of a high of fifty later on.
“Do my siblings know?” I asked Jen over the phone after she gave me the news.
“Can’t get a hold of Virginia. Maggie and Vinny do. Your mom called them first and then me.”
“I saw I had a missed call from Ma when I got back into the Squall after walking the kids in. Figured she wanted to bend my ear again on how the liberal democrats are going to ruin the country. How the hand basket in which we currently reside is taking a one-way course to hell. You know how she is.” I ho-hummed aloud, despite the news that sat heavy in my gut.
“I’m still surprised she didn’t disown us after she found out I campaigned for Hillary,” Jen said.
I started slowing down at the flash of brake lights in front of me. “Honest to god, babe, I think she thought you were kidding. Or she hoped you were. And now we’re stuck with the fucking childish orange man.”
There was a fender bender up the street a tad and traffic was backed up as the drivers—both women—were out of their respective vehicles and trying to sort out who was at fault. One of Chicago’s finest stood by, listening to them speak. His body language seemed to relay his annoyance at fielding such a trivial call. The police force in my town had been under intense scrutiny lately due to the mishandling of several cases, including an officer gunning down a seemingly subordinate civilian in cold blood. It was, of course, all caught on candid camera like damn near every other fucking thing in the universe. The officer was fired and sentenced to life in prison. Police Chief Tom Klotz was fired and treated as a pariah from that day forward. There are still plenty of great law enforcement personnel out there, though, that is for certain.
“When do you think you’ll be home?” Jen asked, cutting into my thoughts. “I’m getting restless.”
“You sure know how to make the most out of a dire situation. I love you for that. But aren’t you eight months pregnant already, Mrs. Whitman?”
“Right. And I’m also as horny as a lioness in spring time.”
I could hear our dog Addison—named after the street in Wrigleyville—yapping it up. “Well, I’ll—”
Jen cut me off mid-sentence. “Bear, someone is here. Let me see who it is.”
I waited. I couldn’t go anywhere anyway. Traffic was still at a standstill. Then suddenly there was an opening. I checked my rearview and blind spots and eased around the minor traffic accident that had held me captive for the last few minutes. I heard Jen walking down the creaky, wooden steps in our home. I meandered through the congestion, keeping my eyes forward.
“It’s your sister Ginny,” Jen said into the phone. “I’ll see you when you get here. I love you.”
“And I you.”
**********************
I returned home to our place on Fullerton Avenue at 8:57 a.m. I parked in the garage and entered the mudroom through the rear door. Ginny and Jen were standing in the kitchen sipping fresh coffee and catching each other up on both sets of kids. I removed my black and green running shoes and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. It had my insurance guy’s address and phone number emblazoned on it. The logo splashed across the porcelain showed a red hawk taking flight.
“How’s the coffee here?” I asked.
Jen smiled. “Cheap and free. But it’ll do the trick, cowboy.” She was dressed and ready for the day in jeans and a gray t-shirt with a white crow across the front. No shoes, a smidge of makeup, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Jen had left her job at the boutique law firm of Faires, Pertile, McKinney and Kamp a few autumns ago to focus mainly on raising our kids. Shortly after that, she worked as a consultant for Hillary Clinton’s campaign and hopeful entry into the White House. She had a political science background from her college days and was eager to put it to use. Although HRC didn’t make it into office, the Democratic National Committee caught wind of Jen’s prowess and made her an offer she couldn’t r
efuse—including the option to primarily work from home—and she gladly accepted. She’s now gearing up for the 2020 presidential election despite no clear candidate separating themselves from the pack. Although that Mayor Pete from nearby South Bend is making a compelling argument to lead the free world.
My sister, Virginia “Ginny” Whitman, was self-proclaimed to be ‘better off alone.’ She managed the dual role of mother to two and nurse to all with particular aplomb. From her light blue scrubs and black shoes, I could tell she was on the way to her shift at Presence St. Joseph’s Hospital off Lake Shore Drive. She always gave herself plenty of time to arrive at her destination, thus we were able to catch up in person today. She kept her hair in a tight bun on top of her head with her wire-rimmed glasses perched in the same locale. We favored each other in looks. She and her ex-husband Ralph ended their thirteen-year marriage a few months ago after his addictions to gambling and coke spiraled out of control and he refused help of any kind. Some of us had staged an intervention a couple of years prior, but he’d felt attacked and had even threw a wild haymaker in Vinny’s direction. Lucky for Ralph, he’d missed my brother or he would’ve had a whole heap of other problems on his plate. You don’t mess around with Vin. Ginny hung around for a while hoping he’d change, but she finally left their volatile home life for the sake of her children and her sanity. She was in a two-bedroom apartment only a few blocks from us in Lincoln Park. We shared many a Sunday dinner as a family.
“I just got off the phone with Grandma’s lawyer,” Ginny said as I leaned against the counter next to her. “Everything in her will is going to somebody with the initials A.W.”
“A.W.? Who could that be?” I asked.
“Maybe it’s your Uncle Albert out in Arizona?” Jen said.
I cleaned my left ear with a pinky and squinted. “Highly doubtful. They haven’t spoken in thirty plus years. Besides, he moved to Flagstaff in the ‘80s and turned his back on all us Whitmans. He’s dead to me. Or at the very least, he’s in a coma to me.”
“Well, it’s her brother, you never know,” Jen said. “It’s odd that only the initials are listed. I don’t know a lot about estate law, but Bella Bella’s lawyer should have told the heirs as soon as it happened. Especially the family.”
“That’s the thing,” Ginny said as she set her mug down on the kitchen table. “The lawyer said this was just changed a week ago. She signed off on it and everything.”
“Something doesn’t add up.” I fidgeted with my wedding band. “Maybe I need to pay a visit to this retirement community?” I said this more as a statement than a question.
Jen smiled at me. “I can see that faraway look in your eyes, Bear. I know you’re going over the scenarios in your head and chomping at the bit. But you’re retired. Let the professionals sort it out.”
I shook my head. “I don’t trust the professionals. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Lawyers are the enemy. Present company excluded, of course.” I smiled at Jen. “But, last I checked, my most recent dealing with one was an outright catastrophe. Besides, this is my grandmother we’re talking about. A blood relative. She had dementia. It’s hard to believe that she had the wherewithal to make this sudden change to her will. I need to do my due diligence. Something stinks and I intend to find out what is making the odor. I’ve been sitting around on my ass for damn near two years. I’ll have this wrapped up by Christmas morning. My hand to God.”
“Go—” Jen waved in my general direction—“and play. Just don’t die.”
TWO
First things first, I needed to get my plan in order. Then, I needed to organize a small team to better aide my process. No more than three others. Probably just two would be enough. Maybe an intern? Perhaps some office space? I shook my head. Putting the cart before the horse again.
I was walking east down Fullerton at that point, clearing my head in the winter air. The sun was out and it was more tepid than normal, but there was still a bit of a nip in the air. I popped in my earbuds, rubbed my ungloved hands together, hit shuffle on my music library and “Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home?” by Miles kicked things off. I tried to keep my eyes forward and focus on the matter at hand, but I was distracted at least twice by the idiots who had put reindeer antlers and a red nose on their cars. I wanted to throw rocks at them. Or Molotov cocktails. I’m not really sure. I made it all the way to the Lakefront Trail and paused to take a seat on a bench overlooking the lake. My lake. There was a lot of outdoor enthusiasts taking advantage of the sunshine and above freezing temps. Mostly joggers, bikers and runners. I still did a little bit of two of those things, but not as often or as intensely as I did in my true swashbuckling days.
As I looked out onto the tide ebbing and flowing, I took stock of my life. I thought of where I’d been over the last few years—in Saint Maarten sticking a neck out for a friend and damn near watching it all go kaboom, witnessing my brother get shot in a burned-out building in Gary, Indiana, and, most recently, getting coerced into a case in Indianapolis that almost ended my career, familial standing, and heartbeat in one fell swoop. I ran through every possible scenario about this most recent development involving my grandma—I couldn’t imagine what was coming down the chute. I fancied myself a sharp fellow, but it was almost as if my great investigative skills had atrophied and I needed to start working out that muscle group once again.
I also listed the pros and cons of stepping back into the lion’s den as it were. Truth is, I didn’t know how this would end. And if I did, I probably would have, as my wife put it, “Let the professionals sort it out.” But I was nothing if I wasn’t using my mind and unique skill set to try and come to a concrete conclusion of who the hell A.W. was and how they wormed their way into Grandma Bella Bella’s will. The more I pondered it, though, the more I realized she didn’t have any assets of real value that I knew of. Maybe I missed something. It was entirely possible that I had.
Or maybe A.W. wasn’t anyone shady at all. Maybe they were an old friend of Grandma Bella Bella who had suddenly popped up again in her life. But I wouldn’t know anything until I looked into it more.
After sitting there for twenty minutes, an hour maybe, I pulled my phone out of my pea coat pocket and dialed my brother Vinny. He and I hadn’t really spent much time together in the last couple of years. We’d see each other now and then around the holidays. He was busy with his life, wife and kids and business, and I was busy with mine. Or at least that was the excuse we always used when we did cross paths.
He answered in an annoyed voice though it was just after eleven in the morning. “Yeah, Bear? Hey, ah really busy right, right now. Can meet you tonight.”
Wherever he was, it did sound bustling at the moment. Lots of background chatter, loud music, and clanking bottles. I checked my Cubs watch again to be sure it read ante meridiem and not post meridiem. I was right. Where the hell could he be?
“Where the fuck are you?” I asked.
“Polekatz. Over by Midway,” he said.
“Yeah, I know where it is. That doesn’t sound like a place for a married father of five to be spending his nights, let alone his days. What’s up?” I tried to remain calm and give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I can’t do this on the phone, let’s meet for dinner tonight. Rosebud on Rush at eight, cool?”
“Yeah, whatever you say. I’ll bring my most non-judgmental self. How many dancers are you bringing with you? I need to know when I call in the reservation.”
“It’s not like that, Bear, I promise. Some things have, um… happened in the last few weeks and I didn’t want anyone to find out. Guess the cat’s out of the bag. But I made my bed.”
“Sounds like you shit in it, too. See you tonight.” I hung up. Maybe I had been a bit of a dick on the phone, but I was confused and frankly still reeling from learning of my grandma’s passing. My communication skills have been a work in progress for decades.
Grandma’s funeral will be the second one I’v
e attended in three weeks. A close friend from the old neighborhood took his own life a week before Thanksgiving. Nobody had seen it coming. I felt guilty I didn’t reach out to him more frequently. Perhaps it could have been averted if someone had just showed him that he was important and not alone. It’s possible my guilt stemmed from not visiting my dear grandmother more often before she passed away. I guess they’re right, if you live long enough, you’re going to have to say goodbye to the people you know and love.
THREE
I got up from the bench and decided to jump in a cab and ride over to Sunrise Senior Living to see if I could glean any information from anybody there. Upon arrival, I went directly to the check-in desk. I was greeted in a chirpy manner by a blonde woman with a name-tag that read Sunny. With a name like that it seemed as though it was her manifest destiny to work for that facility.
“Hello, sir! Welcome to Sunrise. How are you today?” she said.
“Hi, Sunny.” I gave her a tight smile. “I’ll cut to the chase here. Look, my grandmother was a resident until she passed away this week. I was wondering if I could take a look at your sign-in records to see who visited her in her final days?”
Sunny frowned. “We’re not really supposed to do that, sir. Confidentiality is one of our main focuses.”
I nonchalantly glanced over the counter and down to where her computer keyboard was and noticed the sign-in sheet was within sight and reach.
“Nobody respects confidentiality more than I do, Sunny. I hope you can find it in your heart to hear me out.”
She intently focused on my face.
“My dear, sweet grandmother was the light of my life.” I hung my head low. “I’m just heartbroken she’s gone. I was out of the country for the last six months on a government contract. A friend of mine with the initials A.W. told me she would stop by on a daily basis to sit with my grandmother and brush her hair and listen to her stories. My friend was somewhat hard up for cash, so in exchange for her kindness towards my grandmother, I promised her I’d pay her for her time.” Even I astounded myself with how quick and detailed my lying could be.
Say Goodbye Page 1