He could almost believe he was being plagued by gremlins. Every day seemed to bring another delay, if only minor. But, he told himself firmly, all the slowdowns were covered by the contingency account and there should be no financial overruns.
Right now, cross my fingers and knock on wood, everything seemed to be coming together properly and the project was still on track to be completed before the October 15th deadline. Tomorrow he would go north again. Up there, away from all this hassle, I can calm down, sort it all out, wait for Dad to get over his snit. No harm was done. Nothing happened. It’s all over. What is he so uptight about? We’re all adults here, aren’t we?
But as he walked into the office, Anita handed him an envelope. “This came for you. I was going to call and see if I should have your father take it to you. I didn’t know where you’d be this morning.” She grinned affectionately at him. “It’s nice to see you here.”
“I guess I have to show up once in a while.” The letter was from an attorney in Massachusetts he had never heard of. He glanced at Anita. “I didn’t do it. Whatever it was.”
She laughed. “I don’t like lawyer’s letters.”
“Neither do I.”
He sat down at his desk and opened the envelope. It contained a short letter and a smaller sealed envelope with Ken’s name handwritten on it. Mildly curious, he read the letter.
It was brief, formally phrased, and informed him of the death of one Gregory Carmond two weeks ago and that Ken had been named the heir to his estate. The attorney was the executor and was following Mr. Carmond’s instructions. The sealed letter was from Mr. Carmond, to be delivered after his death.
More curious but not alarmed, Ken opened the letter. It was written in a neat hand in blue ink and dated several years ago.
My dear son:
Because your mother asked, and James Weston demanded, you have never seen me, or even heard of me, since you were a year old. I have seen you many times, at school, at play, and lately at work with your ‘father.’ I saw you graduate from high school and again from college. I have been very proud of you.
But I kept my promise to Jim Weston. This letter will not be delivered until after my death. But by writing it, I’m keeping another promise. Now you know who I am, who you are, and that he has lied to you for years. I’m leaving you everything I own, everything I have worked for all these years. So that you can be independent from him. You don’t need him, for anything.
I promised him that, too. Good luck, Ken. I wish I had known you.
Gregory Carmond
Ken stared at the letter without seeing it. Dad always told me that he had died. At least I always assumed that he had.
He heard Jim come into the outer office, speak to Anita, and then go into his own office. Ken closed his fingers convulsively around the letter, crumpling the edges, and bit his lip. Well, no time like the present to ask him. He’ll have some kind of logical explanation. He always does.
Jim read the two letters and did not look up when he had finished.
Ken took a deep breath. “Well? You told me he died before you married my mother.”
“Yeah. That seemed the easiest way.”
“And these promises he made?”
“I’d forgotten about them. He said a lot that day, the day the divorce was granted. Your mother wanted to give him visiting privileges, but I was against it, I knew that it wouldn’t work. He was a vicious man and he would have made your life, our life hell. She agreed after a while. We arranged a settlement that seemed to satisfy him. He wrote when your mother died, asking if he could see you. I told him no. You were too upset at the time. You didn’t need him.”
Ken released a long breath. He was not comprehending it all. It was too much all at once. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been Ken Weston for almost twenty-eight years. I can’t suddenly be Ken Carmond.”
“Thanks.”
Ken took the letter back and kept his focus on it. “Were you a cause of that divorce?” He needed to know that.
Jim shook his head. “No. They had been separated for a few months.” He glanced up, then back at his desk, and sighed deeply. “I had known her before, before she married Carmond, way back when we were kids. I sort of knew him, too, back then. He had a way about him that had her under his spell, so to speak. He could be quite a charmer.” He looked up, didn’t quite meet Ken’s eyes. “No, he was abusing her and she got help in leaving, went into one of those shelter places to escape him. I met her at a friend’s party and we connected again.”
Ken stood still a long moment, watching Jim obliquely. He could see only annoyance, and believed him. “I’ll call this lawyer, see what I’ve inherited. Maybe I’m a millionaire.”
Jim snorted. “I doubt that. Carmond wasn’t that sort of man.”
“I’ll never know, will I?” Do I really wish I had known him? Is Dad right about all this? If he really was an abuser . . .
“Just as well,” Jim said. “I’m curious as to what he left you.”
~ ~ ~
Ken called the attorney. Gregory Carmond had left him a modest six-room, fully furnished house in a nearby suburb with an almost new Lexus in the garage, both paid for, and a bank balance of over $100,000.
“At his request,” the lawyer said, “he was cremated and his remains placed in his mother’s family plot. He left funds for funeral arrangements. As the executor, I’ll take care of settling the estate. He had no other relatives.”
Ken could think of nothing to say. He was too stunned.
“I’ll be in touch,” the attorney said, “when everything is settled.”
“Thanks.” He put the handset in its cradle and went back to Jim’s office.
“Really?” Jim said. “I wouldn’t have thought that of him. But I guess he was smart enough, in a sneaky sort of way.”
Jim’s tone offended him, rubbed at nerves that were already raw. “Do you mean he didn’t earn this honestly?”
“I didn’t say that. He wasn’t a crook, as far as I know. He liked to make deals, like a horse trader, and he usually made out well.”
“Oh.” Ken could think of no way to defend the honor of a man he had never known, but it seemed important that he try to do so. He was my natural father. “I guess I’ll go look at the house. Sue and I have been wondering where we would live.”
Jim didn’t answer.
42.
The message that Jim had called was delivered to Ken when he got back from an in-depth survey of the whole High Meadow project with his foreman. He found that his cell battery had died. One of the drivers had been in the office trailer and taken the message.
His father’s message was simply, Call me.
“Did he say what he wanted?” Ken asked.
The man shook his head. “Sounded just like the boss always does, like he was stepping on a tack or something.”
Ken laughed without seeing any mirth in it. “Then everything must be okay.” But why would he call me here? What else has gone wrong?
During the past week all of the niggling problems seemed to have been solved, the project was on track again and he’d be able to tell his father so. It should be completed before the target date. With plenty of time to get prepared for our wedding. He had talked with Sue for an hour last night and would be more than happy to get back south. Staying up here is really for the birds.
He reviewed all of Jason’s reports, attended to a long list of details, and didn’t call his father until he got back to his apartment after stopping for supper at the local diner.
Jim’s blunt tone was offensive. “Took you long enough to get back to me.”
“I was out with Jason and didn’t get your message. Is something wrong?”
“Apparently. I’ve gone over all the High Meadow reports. Lots of o
verruns.”
Ken blew a long whistling breath. His head started aching again, a dull throb behind his right eye he knew was caused by tension. He tried to sound reasonable. “If you have the reports, you know it was nothing that I could have helped. Besides, I was home sick for part of that time.”
“That’s no excuse. You could have gotten that truck part cheaper. And you should have buffered the road better to prevent that washout.” Jim’s tone grated on his nerves, exacerbating the growing headache.
Ken counted, trying to reach ten before he spoke. “Even you can’t prevent rain delays.”
“There are things you can do during rain storms. Like paper work. You’re behind.”
Ken rested his elbow on the table and his head on his hand, expelled a long breath trying to get control again. “Look, Dad, you gave me this job. Let me do it, will you? We aren’t over budget.”
“Not yet.” The implication was there that he soon would be.
Ken reached the limit of his patience and needed some aspirin. “I’m tired of all this nit-picking.”
“Nit-picking?”
“Making mountains out of molehills. I do the best job I can for you and it’s never enough. I never work long enough or hard enough to suit you.”
“I have to keep this company making a profit.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, then, make it profitable. Without me. I’ve had it.”
“So you’ll just walk off the job?”
“No, I’ll finish it. I won’t leave in the middle of a job. After that, I quit.”
“And do what? The company pays you pretty good.”
“And I don’t need that, either, remember. I have my own money.”
Jim snorted. “So you do. Your inheritance.”
“My inheritance, from my father.” Ken knew he shouldn’t have said that, that it was totally unfair to the man who had always provided well for him and in his own way had loved him all of his life, but it was too late to take it back. And that is his fault. He could give me a little credit.
“That’s all he ever did for you.”
“Did you ever give him a chance to do anything more?”
Jim didn’t answer for long moment, then said in a more conciliatory tone, “You’re part of this company, Ken. You can’t just walk away from it after all this time.”
But there was a hard note in Jim’s voice that chafed the still sore places in Ken’s soul and didn’t help his growing headache, even though he recognized it as Jim’s normal tone. “I can and I will.”
“Ken . . .”
He clicked off his cell phone. When he had calmed down a little, made a cup of tea, and had his thoughts in better order, he called Sue. He was beginning to regret what he had said, knew he could not take it back, and needed some consolation.
She offered her love and sympathy, did not question what he had done, and said she would support whatever it was he decided to do. He was grateful.
“I’ll be here whenever you can come,” she said. “Waiting for you.”
~ ~ ~
In his office, Jim Weston stared at the silent phone, unable to believe what had happened. Silently he begged, Ken, call me back. Oh God, Ken, call back.
But he couldn’t say it aloud. And he couldn’t bring himself to call Ken again. It would sound too much like begging.
How much more can go wrong? All I need is for Jewel to get sick again, or for me to break my leg. Ken, come back!
43.
Archie Weston was having lunch with his friend Carl Browning. The school cafeteria was as noisy as usual and they found seats at one end of a long table away from classmates. They were settling in as seventh graders, but already Archie was bored, in spite of a middle school routine totally different from grade school. Studying was not one of his favorite occupations.
Life at home as an only child offered little activity outside of a routine dictated by his mother’s helplessness and his father’s work schedule. Ken at least used to provide an occasional evening playing games or a movie. Archie wanted some excitement. “You heard anything about this club they call the Black Aces?”
Carl stared at him. “You don’t want to know about them. They’re real bad news.”
Archie was instantly intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“My brother Josh told my folks about them. They’re some high school guys who get into all kinds of trouble. Big time.”
“Like what?”
Carl shrugged. “Josh didn’t really say.”
Archie went back to his lunch, which wasn’t exciting, either, a fish stick, peas, and Tater Tots. “Well, I guess I don’t want that.”
But there were no clubs being offered he was interested in and he didn’t like soccer, although he was playing it in gym class. Sports were way too much hard work. But he would look into this Black Aces thing.
~ ~ ~
Two nights later, Archie slipped out the back door of his home just before dark. The thrill of the deception gripped him and set his blood racing. He had gone upstairs with his schoolbooks, very noisily as usual, and turned on his television, as he always did.
He planned to be gone only a short while and be back before anyone realized he was gone. With Ken no longer at home, it was harder to stay unnoticed, but he would try. His mother was keeping a closer watch on him.
Archie walked to the corner of the service alley and stopped by a garage behind the neighboring house, the spot designated for a secret meeting. Archie had talked briefly with a high school boy in the school parking lot while waiting for his bus, the only place his grade mingled with older students. After a few anxious minutes, during which he debated the wisdom of this venture, he was joined by two more boys. They wore their wide cowboy hats pulled down and hiding their faces. He didn’t know who they were. No one had given him a name.
“What’s your name?” one demanded.
He swallowed hard. “Archie Weston.”
“Jim Weston’s kid?”
“Yup.”
The boys stepped a few paces away and conferred quietly, their backs toward him. When they returned, one asked, “How did you hear about us? Why do you want to join?”
A disturbing knot was tightening in his stomach. This secrecy, meeting in the dark like this in an alley, seemed wrong, but there was still the excitement. “I heard about it at school,” he managed. “It sounds like fun. Real exciting.”
“Yeah.” The two conferred privately again.
They came back. “It’ll cost you,” one said. “Fifty bucks to join.”
Archie swallowed. “I don’t have that much money.”
“That’s the price.”
“When do I have to have it?”
“Can’t join until you get it.”
“Be kind of hard.”
“That’s your problem, kid.”
“I’ll try. I’ll let you know.”
Archie watched as they ambled off down the alley and turned the corner onto the street. He returned to his room the way he had left it, but much disturbed. Did he really want to join? He could use the lack of money as an excuse. But the idea of adventure, of being with the older boys, part of something forbidden, was still exciting. There was no way he could get that money, unless . . .
He had taken money from his father’s office once before when he had wanted it to impress some classmates, and that had not turned out well. But Rich was gone now, and so was Ken . . .
Maybe this club wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Carl was right about it. He would have to give it some more thought. Though what trouble, exactly, could he get into?
44.
On Thursday evening in the last week of September, Rich got an unexpected call from Ken.
“I’ll be coming down from High Meadow
tomorrow around five. How about meeting me at that little lunch place just outside of town on the highway? Rosa’s, I think.”
There was an odd tension in Ken’s voice, an uncharacteristic uncertainty. “Sure. Is something wrong?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Suddenly alarmed, Rich asked, “Mom? Is she all right?”
“As far as I know.”
Rich thought that was a strange answer, but didn’t ask. Ken should know how she is. He would wait until they were together.
~ ~ ~
Rich arrived at the coffee shop first. He ordered a cinnamon-raisin bagel with cream cheese and was on his second cup of coffee when Ken came in. He was shocked at his brother’s appearance: pale, unshaven, a little disheveled, with dark smudges under his eyes. He slid into the booth opposite Rich without greeting.
“So what’s up?” Rich asked. “You look awful.”
Ken signaled the waitress and asked for coffee. “It’s been that kind of week. Several weeks.”
Rich waited, sipping at his coffee. When Ken said no more he asked, “Problems at work?”
“Partly. The project isn’t going the way we had hoped. All kinds of things have gone wrong and there are some cost over runs.” He blew out a long breath. “But we’ll be done next week. As planned. On time and within the budget.”
“But Jim isn’t happy with it?”
“No. Or with me.” He didn’t look up.
Rich waited again. Ken was radiating so much distress Rich wondered what kind of sympathy or support he needed or wanted, why he had called. What can I possibly do for him?
Ken sighed, shook his head, breathed raggedly for a moment, and took a swallow of the coffee the waitress put in front of him. “I’ve moved out.”
“Why? Because you and Sue have found a place to live?” That was to be expected but might be difficult.
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