Beautiful Fall

by Jordyn White

  Connor and I exchange relieved glances. With that business settled at last, maybe we can wait even longer before meeting again. There are a handful of beneficiaries who are quite young, whose assets will be under the umbrella of the trust for some time. George has already told us that once we get past the initial business of settling the estate, we’ll only need to meet with him once a year to get updated on things, unless there’s some compelling reason to meet more often.

  “Right,” Rayce says, leaning forward in his seat a bit. “I have a question about that. Is Mason Reeves a relative?”

  George pauses slightly, folding his hands on top of his desk. “No. I told you, he’s a friend of your dad’s.”

  Rayce’s question seems rather odd to me since, as I recall, all the people who’ve been “missing” are friends of some sort. While we didn’t know about some of our more distant relatives, George had the contact information on all of them.

  For some reason, George’s answer doesn’t seem to appease Rayce. The agitation I sensed in him earlier is rising. He pulls his copy of the Grant and Sharon Rivers Trust out of the folder and starts flipping through it. It’s just slightly dog-eared. Clearly it’s been read more frequently than mine has. He gets to the desired page rather quickly and puts his finger pointedly on a paragraph near the top as he looks back to George.

  “Then why did he inherit property?”

  I’m slightly disturbed by Rayce’s question. Well, his tone more than his question. I don’t even understand the point of the question. But when I turn my attention to George myself, my level of discomfort increases.

  Is he hesitating? Or is it my imagination? “It’s what your father wanted him to have,” George says in a measured voice.

  I don’t know why I don’t like that answer. Judging by Rayce’s expression, he doesn’t like it either. “Well, that would make him the only non-relative to get anything other than cash.”

  Well, that can’t be right.

  Nonsensically, my mind goes to Corrine first, as if that’s proof. But then I realize she’s the only cousin who inherited property. Our many other cousins all received generous cash sums, but in addition to cash, Corrine also got a stock portfolio and one of dad’s investment properties, a multi-family unit of four condos down in south Swan Pointe. She was the only cousin raised near us and has really been more like a sister than a cousin. I don’t think it struck anyone as strange that her inheritance was different from our other cousins.

  But as for property? I’m trying to remember if anyone else in that long, long trust inherited property, but I don’t remember. Still, Rayce has obviously gone over the document pretty thoroughly.

  “How old is he?” Rayce asks.

  George scratches the back of his neck, his eyes still on Rayce. “Almost twenty-seven.” My age. I turned twenty-seven over the summer. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Are you sure there’s no relation?”

  “Yes,” George says slowly, but I have a crawling sensation on my skin.

  Rayce closes the trust and looks hard at George.

  “What are you trying to say?” Connor asks.

  “I’m saying it doesn’t make sense. Dad leaves assets to all these people, but the only ones to get actual property were his three children, his niece who was practically like a daughter to him, and this guy? Why is that?”

  I blink, seized by a sudden, horrible thought. Oh God. Surely, Rayce isn’t suggesting...

  “Why not?” Connor says. “There must have been a reason. We don’t know how they knew each other.”

  “We don’t,” Rayce says, “but does he?” He nods his head in George’s direction and I’m shocked he’s referred to him in the third person when he’s sitting right here. He has better manners than that.

  “Rayce—” I begin.

  But Rayce ignores my warning tone and faces George once more. “How did Dad know him? Who is he, really?”

  Almost against my will, I watch George expectantly. Yet again, he doesn’t reply right away. His thumbs rub firmly along his hands, still laced together, and he examines Rayce openly. He’s definitely hesitating. Is he hiding something from us?

  He takes a resolute breath. “I’ve been instructed not to say. I’m sorry.”

  My mouth parts slightly and I slowly sink back in my chair. Rayce’s jaw hardens. Connor scoots to the end of his seat, holding up one hand and closing his eyes briefly. “Wait. Let me see if I understand you correctly. You’ve been instructed not to tell us about... what? Mason Reeves specifically?”

  George maintains his pose. “That is correct. I’m sorry.”

  “But...” Connor says, still trying to work it out. “We’re supposed to know everything that goes on with the estate.”

  “And you do.”

  “But you can’t tell us how they knew each other?”

  “No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “You keep saying that,” Rayce says. “What exactly are you sorry about, I wonder? That you can’t tell us, or that you’re lying about it?”

  In spite of yet more rudeness from my oldest brother, no admonitions escape my lips this time. Heart pounding, I examine George’s face as he looks at each one of us in turn.

  “I’m sorry,” he says gently, “because, to be quite honest with you, I believe the three of you have every right to know. For the record, I did not agree with your father on this. However, I have given my word that what he wished to remain private will remain private. At least...” and here he glances at his clasped hands before looking at each one of us again. “Any information forthcoming will not be from me.”

  Several minutes later, I leave George’s office with my skin crawling. We tried asking a few more questions, but George wouldn’t answer any of them. When we reach the top of the stairs, Rayce bites out, “I think we can guess, anyway.”

  “You can guess all you want,” Connor says sharply, “but Dad would never do that.”

  “I’m with Connor,” I say. But as we descend the staircase in silence, a black wondering settles deep in the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter 27

  Lizzy

  “So what do you think it means?” Brett asks.

  I shrug and pick at a loose thread on the hem of my running pants. It’s nearly ten at night, and we’re sitting cross-legged on the trampoline in Brett’s backyard. The moon is hidden behind some clouds, so the evening sky is dark above us. I went on a run after work, trying to release some tension. It didn’t help much.

  “Do you think your dad had an affair?”

  I drop my head between my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. “No, I don’t know. No. I can’t see him doing anything like that.” I lift my head and look at Brett.

  He gives me sympathetic look, like he thinks I just don’t want to see the truth because it’s unpleasant.

  “You don’t understand. He loved my mother. If you knew them, you would know my dad could never do that. Which is why I don’t understand how Rayce can think it. How can he think my dad would cheat on my mom?”

  But what about that inheritance? I think for the millionth time. Because now that Rayce pointed it out, it’s been nagging at me all day and into the night. Why did our father leave property only to his children, my cousin who was practically like another daughter to him, and this Mason Reeves? Why?

  “I get a sick feeling every time I think about it, and I feel like a traitor every time I wonder if he’s my father’s child.” Hot tears leak out of my eyes. “I wish I could just ask him. This isn’t right that we have to wonder. Why the hell won’t George just tell us? I don’t like that he’s hiding something from us. We’ve trusted him for the last year to take care of everything. We’ve trusted him.”

  “And now you feel like you can’t?”

  “Well...” I hesitate, frustrated with what I know is the honest answer to that question. Frustrated with everything. “No, I do trust him because he did admit that he knows something. He did explain that my dad just didn’t want
us to know, but what didn’t he want us to know?”

  “He also said this guy isn’t related to you.”

  “Maybe he had to say that. If he’s the product of an affair my dad didn’t want us to know about, he can’t say we’re related.”

  I get that sick feeling again and clasp my arms in front of my chest. I fall back onto the trampoline, which bounces slightly. My knees tuck up and rest together. “I hate this. I really hate this. If Dad didn’t want us to know so bad, but he still cared enough to leave this person what he did, what does that mean? All signs point to exactly what Rayce thinks it is.”

  I start to cry more freely, my hands covering my face. The vinyl mesh of the trampoline bounces and dips slightly as Brett comes around and lies next to me, pulling me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest and cry harder. The thought of my dad doing something like that to my mom. I can’t stand it. I can’t.

  “He loved her,” I say miserably, when my crying has abated a bit. “How could he do that?”

  “Well,” Brett says softly. “Sometimes people can let us down, even if they love us.”

  Even in my grief, I don’t miss the significance of him saying what he just said. “I’m sorry she let you down, too.” My voice is still choked with tears. I squeeze his waist, holding onto him for both of our sakes.

  “Look, I think you need to remember that you don’t really know for sure. I understand why you guys would be worried, but the truth is, you don’t know. You’re speculating.”

  “Yeah... but... whatever it is, it can’t be good. Because my dad convinced George not to tell us.”

  “Maybe. But, maybe not. Why assume the worst when it could be something else? Who knows what his reasons were? It could be all sorts of things.”

  I sigh. “I guess.”

  “Whatever it is, maybe you should just try to let it go. Worrying about it is just going to make you sick. Besides, it’s in the past. You can’t change the past.”

  “I know,” I say resignedly. But this gives me no comfort, because that is the thing about the past I like the least.

  I do something I’ve never done before. I fall asleep in Brett’s arms, in his bed after we made love, even though Max is here. I jolt awake close to midnight, realizing what I’ve done, alarmed and apologizing, waking Brett in the process. But he soothes my hair back from my face, gives me a gentle kiss, and tells me he set an alarm for five o’clock in the morning, well before Max will be up.

  “Stay,” he says. “I’ve got you.” So I do.

  We never make it to the five o’clock alarm. At 3:36 that morning, I’m pulled out of a groggy sleep, barely aware of Brett’s phone ringing, and him scrambling to the nightstand to answer it.

  “It’s my ex-wife,” he declares, as if I don’t know her ring tone by now. But the thing that’s really starting to pull me into consciousness is the concern in his voice. “Hello?”

  Her high, rushed voice comes through the line. He sits up straighter, and my heart starts beating rapidly. I’m waking abruptly now.

  “Wait,” he says. “Wait, slow down. What?”

  Her voice comes through again, high and frantic. I can tell that she’s crying, but I can’t make out what she saying. My first alarmed thought goes to Max. I’m afraid that he’s hurt and this has to do with him somehow. Then I remember he’s sleeping safely in his bed in his room down the hall, so I know it isn’t that.

  “Jess,” Brett says firmly, panic in his voice. “Are you hurt?”

  His concerned tone makes me remember that there was a time when he loved her. I realize that right now, in this moment, he would care about her welfare whether he loves her still or not. I know this. He’s not a brute.

  I’m not a brute either, and I’m concerned for her welfare as well. But that’s not enough to chase away the selfish fears that are rising to the surface. As I continue to listen to Brett’s call with his ex-wife, my heart beats uncomfortably, my skin creeping with dread.

  Chapter 28

  Brett

  Jess is crying on the line and I can’t hardly make out what she saying. I’ve never heard her voice sound like this. It’s more than her just being upset about something. Her words are slurred—severely slurred—and my immediate thought, for some reason, is that she’s overdosed. She’s still talking rapidly but all I can make out is “I can’t,” and “I’m sorry,” and “Max.”

  “Jessica,” I say firmly, trying to contain the panic I feel. “Slow down. I can’t understand you. Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself?” There’s a long pause. When she speaks again it’s still frightening, but I can understand her better. “Can you come over here?”

  “Where’s Kurt?”

  “Gone.” She starts crying again in great, shuddering gasps. I look at Lizzy, alarmed.

  “Do I need to call 911?”

  “No. Just—” She’s struggling to talk, trying to contain her sobbing. “Will you come here? Please?”

  God, I hate the look on Lizzy’s face. Concern and fear, all mixed into one. I’m not so stupid that I don’t know why. I’m torn between the woman on the phone and the woman in front of me, but my concern that there might be something seriously wrong with Max’s mother wins out. “Where are you?”

  She replies, but I can’t understand it.

  “Are you at your house?” I repeat. I strain to understand her answer, which sounds like a yes. “Yes? You’re at your house?”

  “Yes.”

  I scramble out of bed, turn on the lamp, and glance around for my clothes. “Okay.” I spot my pants but not my underwear. I’ll just go without. I grab my jeans and shake them on, balancing the phone between my ear and my shoulder. She’s crying even harder now, the desperation in her voice doing nothing to calm me down. “Don’t do anything stupid. Please. I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” God, she sounds pitiful.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to call 911?”

  She starts crying harder and I hurry to my dresser to extract a pair of socks. “Jess? Fuck. What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I just... will you please come?”

  “Yes. I already said I would. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

  We hang up at last and I grab a shirt out of the drawer, wrestling it on.

  I hurriedly turn to Lizzy, who’s out of bed and getting dressed too. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Something’s wrong.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but she sounded really bad. I’ve never heard her like this. I’m so sorry.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head but looking alarmed too. “It’s okay. I can stay with Max.” I glance at the clock on the nightstand and register the time. I don’t know if I can deal with whatever is going on and be back before Max wakes up, and I don’t want this to be how he and Lizzy meet.

  As we head into the living room where my shoes are, I do some quick thinking. “I’ll call my sister. I’ll have her come over so you don’t have to worry about waiting around.”

  “I don’t mind. What time does Max wake up? Do you think you can be back before then?” I’m relieved she understands my concern without me having to say it.

  “He’s usually up around seven.”

  “You can call someone else if you feel more comfortable with that, but I don’t mind waiting as long as you need me to. Maybe you’ll be back before then, and you won’t have to bother anyone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, stepping into my shoes and bending down to get the heels in. When I straighten and look at her, my heart pinches at the expression on her face. The last thing I want to do is leave Lizzy so I can go hunting down my ex-wife. I can only imagine that she doesn’t want that either, but there’s nothing to be done.

  I rush to her, take her face in my hands, and look at her hard. I almost tell her I love her. I almost do it. And though I think those words would give her comfort in this moment, I don’t want this to be the moment she hears them for the first time. Instead I give her a firm kiss and ho
pe she understands, then hurry out the door.

  When I get to my ex-wife’s house and knock on the door, I’m waiting long enough that I almost knock again. I wait long enough that I worry if she’s alive in there or not. But she answers the door, looking like death on drugs. Her pink hair is hanging limply around her reddened eyes, which are smudged with yesterday’s heavy eyeliner. One hand is on the doorknob, the other gripping the inside of her elbow as she huddles in on herself. She steps back and opens the door wider so I can come in.

  As she shuts the door behind me I glance around, looking for any signs of her boyfriend. “Is he here?”

  She shakes her head and starts crying again.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  As she launches into a hurried explanation, I’m relieved to hear she’s less slurred. My fears that she may have overdosed finally start to abate, but here I still am, firmly gripped in whatever drama this is.

  She tells me she and her boyfriend got into a fight. The latest of many. He left around midnight, the woman he’s having an affair with on his arm, apparently on his way to her place to crash for the night, leaving Jessica instructions to get her shit out of the house and be gone by the time he’s back in the morning.

  “I have nowhere to go.”

  I suggest some possibilities, a couple of friends of hers that I know she has. But apparently she’s burned her bridges with them and they won’t take her in.

  “What about your parents?”

  She shakes her head and starts crying again. She falls back against the wall, her hands over her face, shaking her head again and again and again. “They don’t know, they don’t know.”

  “What don’t they know?”

  “About the drugs.” She cries harder, sliding to the ground into a pitiful little ball.

  This movement breaks something hard inside me. As angry as I’ve been with her, as much as I blame her for everything she’s going through, for everything I’ve been through, for everything our son has been through, I can’t help but have pity on her in this moment. I watch her for a minute, sobbing uncontrollably.