Unforgiving Shadows

by Ray Flynt

  Brad approached Byron, and in a serious tone said, “Would you excuse me. I need a few minutes to consult with my associate.”

  Byron shrugged. “Whatever,” he grumbled, as he grabbed a glass of red wine from one of the roving waiters and walked away.

  Sharon gripped Brad’s arm, her eyelids fluttering wildly, and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” Brad said.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sharon whispered. “But I’ll be glad when the gathering of the Frame clan is over. I’m looking forward to getting back to work.”

  Brad nodded. “That makes two of us.”

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.” He sighed. “It’s been an emotionally charged day, but I’m numb right now. All of this will hit me in a day or two. I’m glad Dad is finally at peace.”

  “It was a nice service, Brad, and your eulogy was very touching,” Sharon said.

  “Thanks.” Brad blinked away a tear he felt forming in his eye. “I forgot to ask you yesterday. How did the physical endurance test for the police academy go on Monday?”

  Sharon crinkled her lips and shook her head. “I postponed taking the test. I’ve been busy here, fielding lots of calls in the last few days. I left a stack of messages for you in the office.”

  Brad wished he had known. He valued her help, and knew how much she had pitched in to help organize his dad’s funeral service. Sharon sounded stoic about it, but he didn’t want to be responsible for any delay in her achieving her dream.

  Sharon plucked a mini-quiche from a passing tray of hors d’oeuvres, and popped it in her mouth.

  “I’ll be tied up with family most of the day,” Brad said. “Let’s plan to get together in the office at nine in the morning. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Brad felt a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, Mr. Frame.” He turned and recognized Hiram Gibbons. A close-cropped Afro surrounded his head, with a swath of shiny cocoa-colored skin on top. Hiram wore a brown pinstripe double-breasted suit and carried a briefcase. “Please accept my condolences on your loss,” he said.

  “Thanks, Hiram.” Brad gripped his offered hand. “Thanks for coming. Have you met my associate Sharon Porter? Sharon, this is Hiram Gibbons, my dad’s attorney.” She shook his hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Hiram said, before turning back to Brad. “I understand your Aunt is returning to New York City in the morning?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure what time her train leaves.”

  “Then I’d like to see you, Andrew, and your aunt alone for a few minutes. It’s about your father’s Last Will and Testament.”

  Brad wasn’t prepared for that request. “Why so soon? Can’t it wait?”

  “Your father asked me to read the Will when all three of you were present.”

  Brad frowned in annoyance. “Dad hasn’t spoken for the last five years.”

  “I know, Brad,” the lawyer said in somber tones. “It was seven years ago when Joseph met with me and last updated his Will.”

  “I guess we can meet in the library.” Brad looked around to see if he could locate his brother and aunt. “I’ll go find the others.”

  “Just the three of you,” the lawyer reminded him. “A pleasure meeting you, Sharon.”

  Brad took a deep breath and watched as the lawyer headed for the library.

  “Sharon, excuse me,” Brad said, “while I round up my brother and aunt.”

  Spotting Andy first, Brad whispered the lawyer’s request in his brother’s ear. Andy looked first at his watch then the contents of his highball glass. “Give me ten more minutes.”

  “Fine,” Brad said. “I’ll get Harriet.”

  Brad passed Gertie Lindstrom sitting in her motorized chair and chatting with one of their neighbors, as he entered the drawing room. She reached out and patted him on the arm. He looked back at her and smiled ruefully. Brad approached his aunt as she held court with her septuagenarian friends, hoping to pull Harriet away quietly.

  “Oh, Bradford, we were just talking about you,” Aunt Harriet said when she spotted him. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Brad smiled at the ladies in her company as Harriet rose from the sofa, seized him by the arm and led him to where a young woman sat chatting with a small group. “Elizabeth,” Harriet said, interrupting their conversation, “this is my nephew, Bradford Frame.” Turning to him, she said, “Bradford, this is Elizabeth Montgomery.”

  “Excuse me,” Elizabeth said to her friends, in a show of manners, before standing to greet him. Her nutmeg brown shoulder-length hair surrounded a cheerful face, and he caught a whiff of Lily of the Valley perfume.

  She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Beth Montgomery.”

  “I’m Brad,” he said at the same time.

  They both laughed. She eyed him carefully with a so-this-is-who-Harriet’s-been-wanting- me-to-meet look. Brad took her offered hand in his, daring to hold it longer than polite, as he cocked his head in Harriet’s direction and winked at Beth. He gazed into her dusky eyes and sensed compassion, or perhaps that’s what he wanted to see.

  “Do you live in Philadelphia?” he asked.

  “No, New York. I’m a structural engineer with Oring-Whitman.” Brad recognized the world-famous design firm and nodded. “I’m here visiting with my dad, Leland Montgomery,” she added. He also recognized the name of one of his father’s old golfing buddies.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brad said, glancing at his matchmaking-aunt as she stood next to them rubbing her palms together and beaming.

  “Will you be in Philadelphia long?” Brad inquired.

  “I go back tomorrow,” Beth said.

  That news felt like a cloud intruding on a sunny day, and produced a lull as he pondered where to take their conversation.

  Beth added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Brad stole another look into her eyes, like deepening twilight, before she blinked.

  “There’s a lovely buffet lunch in the dining room,” Harriet began, linking arms with both of them. “Why don’t you both fix a plate and find a quiet corner to talk?”

  “I’ve already eaten.” Beth demurred, gracefully disengaging from Harriet’s clutch. “And besides, my dad started looking impatiently in my direction about twenty minutes ago. I think he’s ready to leave.” She smiled at Brad.

  Brad spoke, “When you’re back in the area ...”

  “If you’re ever in New York ...” she started to say.

  Once again they shared a laugh.

  Brad reversed the way his arm linked with Aunt Harriet’s, and guided her toward the library. “Hiram Gibbons wants to see you, me and Andrew. About Dad’s Will,” he explained.

  “Well, what do you think?” Harriet asked.

  Brad pretended not to know what she meant. “About what?”

  Impatiently, she said, “About Elizabeth?”

  Brad glanced back in Beth’s direction, as she bid goodbye to her friends; he felt a warm glow deep inside him and couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt such stirrings.

  Turning back to his aunt, he said, “Do you really think she’s my type?” Then added, “She doesn’t seem a bit like you, Aunt Harriet, and I think I need to find me a gal just like you.” He put his finger on the tip of her nose.

  “Oh, stop it.” She blushed.

  As Brad and his aunt entered the library, Hiram Gibbons rose from behind the desk, where his briefcase sat propped open in front of him. Hiram had made himself at home, having arranged a semi-circle of three chairs in front of the desk. Brad helped his aunt into the middle chair, taking the seat to her right.

  “I hope this doesn’t take all afternoon,” Andy announced, as he entered behind them and sat in the open chair. “I’ve got a three o’clock tee time.”

  Hiram closed the library door. “I will only need a few minutes of your time,” he said, reaching into his briefcase and extracting an ivory colored enve
lope. “First, I have a letter that Joe asked me to read to his son Andrew.”

  “Excuse me,” Andy said. “If it’s personal, why can’t I just read it myself.”

  “I’ll provide you with the signed original of the letter, but your father asked that I read it in the presence of your brother and aunt.”

  Andy folded his arms across his chest and slouched in his chair.

  Extracting the folded sheet of paper from the envelope, Hiram explained, “This letter was dictated by Mr. Frame to a stenographer, in my presence, seven years ago on February 7th. It subsequently was transcribed and I read it to Joe before he affixed his signature.”

  Hiram unfolded the letter and began to read: “Dear Andrew. First, please know that your mother and I loved you very much. But we kept a secret from you that I regret. You were adopted. It was a private adoption arranged by our attorney, Mr. Latham.” Brad noticed Andy straighten in his seat. “You were only a few days old when Mr. Latham brought you to us. We named you, as you know, after your great-grandfather on the Frame family. Your mother swore everyone to secrecy on the subject of the adoption. She always promised me that we would tell you when you were old enough, which should have been thirty years ago. I always regretted that we didn’t. You were our first son, and we loved you as much as our other children. Love, Dad.”

  Brad could hear his aunt sniffling in the silence that followed Hiram’s reading of the letter.

  Andy turned to his aunt, demanding, angrily, “You knew about this?”

  “Yes. It was just like your father said.” Harriet’s hands trembled.

  Andy glared at her.

  Hiram handed Andy the letter, which he jerked from the attorney’s hand. Brad could see it was printed on Hiram’s law office stationery with his dad’s signature. He wondered if there was another letter coming announcing his adoption, except that he looked too much like his father. But then everyone always said that Andy looked like Uncle Carl on his mother’s side of the family.

  “Now to Joseph Frame’s Will,” Hiram announced. “It was executed at the same time as the letter I just read. I have copies for each of you, and without reading the entire testament, I would like to summarize the pertinent provisions:

  “To each of my surviving grandchildren, I leave in trust the sum of $250,000 to be used for their education.

  “To my sister, Harriet Frame-Beecham, I have established a trust to provide the sum of $50,000 annually for the remainder of her life, with the balance of the trust reverting to my estate at the time of her death.” Harriet brought her hands to her mouth, in apparent surprise.

  “To support the charitable endeavors I aided during my lifetime, I provide $500,000 to each of the fourteen charities listed in Schedule A.

  “To advance the future of several Philadelphia cultural organizations, I have established endowments in the sum of $3,000,000 to each of the four organizations listed in Schedule B.

  “To my son, Andrew Frame, I offer my thanks for his management of Joedco, Inc. and provide the sum of $1.

  “To my son, Bradford Frame, I leave my Bryn Mawr estate and its contents, and additional properties detailed in Schedule C, along with the balance of my estate, including: cash, certificates of deposits, mutual funds, investments, and all of my holdings in Joedco, Inc.”

  Brad sat in shock. Why had his father made him the heir? A dozen thoughts flitted through his brain at once, the most prominent among them were how Andy would react and would this news further divide the only family he had left?

  Andy jumped up from his chair and flung open the library door so hard it splintered the jamb as he charged out of the room shouting, “Barbara ... Barbara ...”

  Brad rushed after him, fearing the worst.

  Andy’s wife, hearing the commotion, got up from her seat in the drawing room and rushed to the foyer. “What is it?” she said, panic in her eyes.

  “Get packed. Let’s get out of here before we have to hitch a ride back to Houston.”

  “Andy, wait,” Brad shouted, inviting more stares from guests gathered in his foyer. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Andy turned back to him and snarled. “The hell you don’t. You probably dictated the damn thing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brad spotted Sharon as she exited the kitchen, carrying an insulated travel mug. She looked flushed, but she wore a jogging outfit, so he attributed her pink glow to her morning run.

  Sharon gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. “I made a fresh pot about fifteen minutes ago. The caterers arranged breakfast in the dining room.”

  Reversing course and heading that direction, Brad said, “Have you eaten? Want to join me?”

  Sharon rolled her eyeballs. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

  Brad stared at her quizzically.

  “I’ve already visited the dining room. Andrew and Harriet are in there, just the two of them. It’s a bit frosty.”

  “Oh.” It didn’t sound like a night’s rest had improved Andy’s disposition. Brad had tried to talk with him after Hiram and the other guests left, but Andy had cut him off.

  “You’ve been officially warned,” she said, exiting through the front door of the mansion and heading toward her suite above the garage.

  “Good morning, everybody,” Brad said, cheerfully, as he entered the dining room.

  His brother and aunt sat opposite each other at the end of the table nearest the sideboard, where the caterers had arranged food. Harriet looked majestic in her pink chenille sweater and coordinated pants, absently stirring a half-empty cup, her pinky poised delicately above her hand. Andy, in running shorts, T-shirt and Nikes, sat hunched over the table riffling through the pages of The Wall Street Journal, looking like a dormant volcano that could erupt at any minute.

  Spooning a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate from one of the Sterno-heated chafing dishes, Brad selected two strips of bacon and fresh fruit to go with it. Opting not to aggravate his older brother, Brad skipped the open chair at the head of the table and instead left his plate at a place next to Aunt Harriet. In spite of the emotional impact of the funeral and the contretemps caused by the reading of his dad’s Will, Brad had enjoyed a good night’s rest, and for the first time in weeks—though he wasn’t sure why—he felt upbeat. Being the principal beneficiary of his father’s Will had surprised him; he’d expected to share equally with his brother. His lifestyle wouldn’t change, he already led a comfortable life, but perhaps he’d carry a heavier burden of living up to his dad’s legacy in the community—the one his eulogy had praised.

  Returning to the sideboard, Brad filled his cup and carried the carafe with him to the table. “Can I give anybody a warm up?”

  Two cups were speechlessly shoved in his direction, and he filled them, determined to act the gracious host. Brad noticed a gray squirrel scampering along the ledge outside the dining room window. The squirrel paused to peer through the window, seemingly checking out what everyone ate for breakfast.

  Andy folded the newspaper and slapped it on the table. “I hope you’ve got somebody in mind to run the company.”

  “I do, as a matter of fact,” Brad said, realizing he might have to endure a few tirades from Andy before sharing his ideas.

  “Good.” Andy barely opened his teeth as he said it.

  “Bradford!” Harriet put her hand on Brad’s arm. “Don’t be hasty.”

  “Dad had no idea what I’ve done for the company the last eleven years,” Andy said. “I’ve sunk my whole life into Joedco, turned it around, and what happens? The prodigal son inherits it all.”

  Harriet reached across the table to pat Andy’s arm, but he pulled it away.

  Brad slid his chair back “And what does that mean?”

  Andy took off his reading glasses and flung them at the table. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, jabbing the air with his index finger. “Where were you all those years? Off to Europe, South America, Japan—finding yourself! Ha! More l
ike getting laid on seven continents while I kept turning profits. All that work—just so you could inherit it all.”

  Harriet drew herself up in her chair and put the palms of her hands on the edge of the table. “Andrew! Bradford!” she said in a strong but emotional voice. “Stop this squabbling!”

  There was a lull, but not a truce. Andy looked at Harriet, caught her glance and then looked away.

  Andy spoke again, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a torrent of emotion. “Why didn’t Mom ever tell me I was adopted?”

  Andy rubbed his eyes.

  “Soon after they were married a doctor told your mother she would not likely have children,” Harriet explained. “They arranged a private adoption expecting you would be their only child. Then a few years later Bradford came along, quite unexpectedly, and Lucy a few years after that. They were very happy with all of their children. They certainly didn’t love you any less.”

  Andrew exhaled and stared toward the window.

  Brad bit his lower lip. “Aunt Harriet, I don’t understand why Mom didn’t tell Andy about his adoption when he was old enough?”

  “There is no good explanation.” Harriet said, holding her palms face up in front of her. “By the time you were old enough, Andrew, your mother was afraid to tell you. It was against my advice, and even your dad admitted they should have said something. If you had remained an only child, she probably would have told you, but after Bradford and Lucy came along, I think your mother feared that if you knew, you would somehow feel different. She never wanted you to feel different.”

  “And how am I supposed to feel now? Huh? Having this information dumped on me at the age of forty-eight, on the same night I’m disinherited? Oh, yeah. I feel great.” Andy pushed his chair back and paced the dining room, staring at walls, floors and ceiling, and occasionally muttering. Aunt Harriet started to get up from her seat to go to him, but Brad stopped her.

  Andy turned and faced his aunt. “Did Mom ever say anything about my real parents?”

  “Nothing specific, Andrew. She implied things… I mean. I picked up impressions, more than any details. My sense was that your birth mother was a young girl from a good Main Line family. Her parents probably sent her away to a boarding school so the pregnancy would not be known locally, and through their attorney everything was arranged. It’s the way things were done back then. I never heard anything said about the father.”