“Hey, Mr. Harper. How are you doing?” Chance shook his hand before taking the seat beside me.
Chase slid into the seat across from us. Conn stayed at the opposite end of the table, stewing. I could practically taste how badly he wanted someone to challenge him again.
“Better than you’re doing from the looks of it, son.” Mr. Harper waved his fountain pen at Chance’s arm.
Chance’s hand found mine resting in my lap. His fingers tangled through mine. “No disrespect, sir, but I don’t think any person is doing better than I am today.”
Chase laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so whipped.”
Conn swiveled back and forth in his chair. “You’ll have to forgive us, Mr. Harper, for not providing you with the appropriate backstory to understand what my brother is referring to.”
When Chance went to cut in, I stopped him. I met his eyes and gave my head a subtle shake. There was nothing Conn could say that could hurt us. Let him say whatever the hell he wanted. I was done responding to him. Chance’s fist tightened around mine, so I tried to relax it by drawing slow circles on the back of his hand.
“The god in human form, also known as the middle brother of the family, has been positively smitten with our sister of sorts since she showed up all doe-eyed and unsure. But it was unrequited love for over a decade because our dear Scout, and here’s the real tragedy in this story, was so obsessed with me”—Conn covered his chest with both hands—“that I could have told her to go stick her head in an oven, and she would have asked me what temperature to set it at.”
Chance flinched, as if he was fighting staying in his seat, but I kept his hand in mine.
“Anyhoo, Scout leaves all abrupt-like after she finds me nailing one of her friends, and poor Chance here loses his best friend and his secret love. Instead of investing in a really good prostitute and some top-shelf alcohol, how most men would deal with it, he throws himself into the ranch and hard labor. The harder, the better. A true masochist.” Conn waved, switching the way his ankles were crossed. “Fast forward about seven years to Dad finally thinking about croaking, and here arrives the prodigal daughter a little over a week ago. For all appearance’s sake, she’s finally moved on from the boy who shattered her heart for all of those years, and she’s finally decided to turn her attention to the brother who isn’t just capable of loving her back but has loved her for close to twelve years.” That was when Conn started clapping.
Across the table, Chase hitched his thumb down the table and mouthed, “Do you want me to kick his ass?”
I shook my head again, discreetly so Conn wouldn’t notice I was even paying attention.
“And the point of that whole story was to explain to you, dear Mr. Harper, is that all it took was twelve years and me fucking up Scout so badly she almost got to the same empty place I’m at for my brother to finally get laid last night by the woman he loves. The one who’s kind of like our sister, which has just got gross and yuck stamped all over it.” Conn shuddered. “But I digress.”
For a whole minute, the entire room was silent, each person looking to the next looking to the next, as if no one was quite sure what should be said or done.
Mr. Harper spoke first. Clasping his hands on top of the table, he cleared his throat. “Well, son, from what I recall, you were always the asshole of the family, so I’ll be sure to take that into account in translating that little story.”
Across the table, Chase barked out a laugh.
“Now if we’re all done telling cute little stories, do you mind if we get down to business? I didn’t drive all this way and narrowly miss hitting a moose for, no offense, the pleasure of your company.” Mr. Harper looked straight at Conn as he said the last part then followed it up with a pronounced yawn that made Conn look like he wanted to throw himself across the table and strangle the old man with his armadillo-patterned tie.
Every time I’d seen Mr. Harper, he’d had on some kind of animal-patterned tie, a suit that seemed one size too small for him, a pair of crocodile-skin boots, and what likely counted as the worst-made toupee ever. But he had a friendly enough smile and always had a butterscotch or peppermint coin in his suit pocket that he’d offer me. Plus, he’d just earned major bonus points for locking horns with Conn. So even though Mr. Harper had been Mr. Quacker for years, he had my vote.
“John has made a few changes to his will over the past few months, and I’m here to go over these changes with you all.” Mr. Harper slid on his glasses and opened the file in front of him. “I’m not here to explain these changes or council you through them. I’m only here to read them to you.” He delivered another pointed look to the man brooding at the end of the table.
But the brooding man didn’t stay quiet as he was so obviously being hinted to do. “Mind explaining why John isn’t here to go over these changes with his family? From your little speech there, I’m guessing something pretty big is about to be revealed. Why wouldn’t John be here to do the explaining and counseling you’re apparently unqualified to do?”
Mr. Harper checked his watch. He wore the face on the inside his wrist. I wasn’t sure if he was calculating how much longer he’d be there or how much time he’d already spent, but I knew the feeling when dealing with Conn’s usual sunny self.
“Oh, I don’t know, son,” he said. “Maybe because your dad’s in the final stages of Parkinson’s and days from dying. Maybe because he can barely get out a single word anymore. Or maybe because he just damn well didn’t want to be here and put up with your crap.”
I wanted to high-five Mr. Harper, but I kept still and quiet as if Zen were my middle name.
Conn’s jaw twitched, clearly not as cool as I was. “You’d better quit calling me son unless you want my fist down your throat, old man.”
“I’ll gladly stop doing that. All you need to do is shut your mouth and keep it closed until I’m out that door. Sound like a deal?” Mr. Harper didn’t look at Conn as he shuffled through the sheets in the folder, probably because he knew enough about Conn to realize that was no deal he’d shake hands on.
Chance looked tense, his eyes dropping to the papers as though he were a man on trial for murder and those papers held the guilty or innocent verdict. Across from us, Chase looked almost as concerned. Both of their brows were drawn tightly together, foreheads creased, and jaws tight. Seeing them so concerned made me wonder if perhaps I should have been a bit more concerned than I was. I didn’t really see the point of getting worked up when we didn’t even know what had been changed or added to John’s will. Deal with it as it comes, not before. That was a principle I’d tried to apply to my life, though I’d fallen short in certain areas.
“John has made a change to the overall share of his estate,” Mr. Harper said, shuffling the papers into a semi-neat pile to read off the top one.
“You mean he finally decided to write me out of it?” Conn muttered.
If Mr. Harper heard, he didn’t show it. “Instead of the estate being split three ways as before, John’s estate will be split four ways upon his death.”
Three sets of eyes turned toward me, all of us suspecting who the fourth party was.
“Scout, you have been added as the fourth person to have an equal share of John’s estate.” Mr. Harper looked at me over his glasses, something that resembled a smile on his face.
Down the table, a harsh laugh sounded. “How’s that for luck? You get added to gain a quarter share of the Armstrong family’s estate, and if you go and marry Chance, like I know you’re already scheming to do, you’ll be in possession of half of my family’s estate.” Conn shook his head, his eyes so intense I didn’t dare meet them. “Not bad for a little orphan girl whose mom went and offed herself.”
Chance flinched, starting to rise from his chair. Again, my hand kept him in place.
“And here I’d been thinking that the most surprising thing about John’s will was that he’s never written out the son who’s made it overwhelmingly clear just how little respec
t, concern, or all-around human decency he feels for his father.” Mr. Harper looked bored with the back and forth with Conn as he checked his watch again.
“Hey, I was just paying back all of the respect, concern, and all-around human decency John showed me.” Conn extended his arms and leaned so far back in his chair that I prayed for a breeze to knock him over.
“Oh, please. Boo-hoo.” Mr. Harper slid his glasses down his nose to level Conn with a look. “Your daddy didn’t give you very many hugs. He didn’t know how to show affection. He didn’t bounce you on his lap and sing you ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ If you want to pay to cry to me about your past and your daddy issues, fine, I can squeeze you in for a weekly session, but my hourly rate’s going to run significantly higher than the shrinks in town do.”
Chase sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Dude, Conn, give it a rest. This will go a lot faster if you just keep your trap shut. For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought of Scout as a kind of sister anyway. It doesn’t bother me that Dad added her to the will.”
I smiled my thanks at Chase. He flashed a wink.
“That’s because you’re the one of us who Scout has neither A—tried to fuck or B—actually fucked.”
Chase cracked his neck, clearly at his fill of Conn like the rest of us, and turned toward Mr. Harper. “Since you’re not racing out the door right now, I’m guessing something else has changed about Dad’s will.”
Mr. Harper clicked his fountain pen. “There is.”
I didn’t even know what the something else could have been, but from the way he’d said it, I knew it would cause another uproar.
“Is it better or worse than finding out Scout’s inheriting twenty-five percent of our family’s wealth?” Conn piped up, grabbing the pen in front of him and giving it an ominous click.
Mr. Harper flipped to the next page in his stack, refusing to look up. “I wouldn’t presume to even take a whack at what your depraved mind would consider better or worse. I’ll let you make that decision once I’ve told you.”
Chase mouthed, “Day-um,” as he jacked his brows to the ceiling.
I gave a quick nod. I appreciated Mr. Harper letting Conn have it, but I was more concerned about what he was about to reveal than putting Conn in a corner. “Told us all what?” My voice almost trembled.
Chance looked at me, concern drawn on his face. Unlike me, he hadn’t arrived at the conclusion that whatever Mr. Harper was about to tell us, the four lives around that table would be forever changed and not in some small, insignificant way.
Mr. Harper clicked his pen again and again. I felt like I was about to snatch that pen and toss it out the window if he didn’t start filling in those clicks with words.
Suddenly, he cleared his throat and his eyes lifted, though they wouldn’t meet any of ours. “John fathered a child outside his marriage.”
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Then Conn snorted. “Yeah, no shit. With the way that man chased tail, he’s probably fathered a clan of children outside of marriage.”
Mr. Harper stared at some spot on the wall across from him. “That child is in this room.”
That was when things got real quiet. Even Conn didn’t have an immediate remark. Slowly, three sets of eyes trailed my way.
“Please don’t say that child is me,” I whispered, not wanting to think of the implications. If John was my dad, then I was a half sister to every Armstrong in that room. That would mean Chance was my . . . God, I couldn’t even think it. If I couldn’t think it, how could I ever hope to accept it? I felt like I was waiting for Mr. Harper’s response for half an eternity, my head spinning as the room shrank.
“It isn’t.” Mr. Harper shook his head, but I wasn’t convinced until he said, “You are not John’s biological child, Scout.”
The breath I’d been holding came out in one ragged rush. “Thank God.” I turned my hand over in Chance’s. I hadn’t looked him in the face since Mr. Harper’s child-out-of-wedlock announcement, but from the tension I felt leaving Chance’s hand, he’d been as anxious as I had. “Because I was just about to throw up.” I still wasn’t sure that wasn’t going to happen, but the onslaught of nausea seemed to have been receding.
Conn’s chuckle rolled down the table, and I felt his gaze willing mine to meet it. When I refused, Conn fired back with his words. “That would have made the whole ‘sister of sorts’ part even juicier.”
Chance’s hand was back to clenching mine. I knew it took every scrap of willpower he had to stay quiet and in his seat.
“You are not John’s daughter,” Mr. Harper continued, “but your mother also mothered one of the men sitting around this table. Excluding myself, of course,” he added after clearing his throat.
The world went still around me again. My mind couldn’t seem to work through what he’d just said. “What does that mean?” I looked at the three brothers, all with more perplexed expressions than mine.
Mr. Harper shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes on the piece of paper in front of him. “It means that one of the Armstrong boys around this table was born to John Armstrong and Susan Holbrook, making him your half brother.”
My heart stopped beating. I wasn’t sure if it would restart. So I wasn’t a half sister to all of them, but one of them was my half brother. That was only slightly more comforting than the possibility that had nearly made me pass out a minute ago. Around the table, a series of muttered curses and lingering sighs circled.
“My mom never mentioned anything . . . she never hinted at anything . . .” I rubbed my temple, trying to work out some of this in my head. If my mom and John had had one of the boys around the table, that meant she’d had him before I was born by as much as three years or as few as one. How could she never mention the half brother I had, somewhere out in the world, that she’d conceived with one of the wealthiest men in the west? A married man on top of that?
“She and John had been old flames who didn’t quite let that flame burn out when he married Mary,” Mr. Harper explained, looking as if he’d rather have been getting an amputation. “When she found out she was pregnant, she wasn’t sure what to do with the child, so your father convinced Mary to adopt it and raise the boy as one of their own.”
Chase hadn’t stopped cursing, each one growing louder with each sentence from Mr. Harper.
“I think they planned to carry that secret to their graves,” Mr. Harper added. “Well . . . Mary did, and John nearly did.”
I seemed to be the only one able to talk in more than just expletives, so I asked, “Why didn’t he?”
Mr. Harper leaned back in his chair. “Because he wanted you to know the truth.”
“Some truths are better left lies.”
If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have believed those quiet words had come from Chance’s mouth.
Suddenly, a bit more light had been shed on my mom’s decision to take her life. She’d had a child with a man she loved, sent the baby to live with that man and his wife, and never seen it again. That might have been her choice at the beginning, but I could only imagine how much that choice had haunted her.
“Which one?” I leaned forward, making Mr. Harper look me in the eye. “Who’s my mother’s son?” I wouldn’t assume. I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. I wouldn’t let instinct or likelihoods get involved. Not until I had a name. After that, I could freak out to whatever degree was according. If it was one particular name, the freak-out would probably never end.
Mr. Harper stuck his clicky pen into the inside pocket of his jacket, eyeing the door. “I don’t know.” He gave a sympathetic shrug.
“You don’t know?” I glanced at the papers below him. Surely written somewhere on some page in that folder was a name. A name I needed to know right that very minute.
“Let’s see.” Down the table, Conn’s fingers rolled across the wood as whatever cruel words were about to be released formed. “Who looks the most like you, dear sist
er-of-sorts? Brownish-red hair, hazel eyes, all-around vacant expression?” Conn didn’t say the name, but he didn’t need to—it was being thought by every mind around that table so loudly it was almost being screamed. “Positively incestuous.”
My eyes closed. I wanted to cover my ears as well, but I couldn’t. Not until I’d heard the name. Please, let it not be his. Let the man I’d fallen in love with—the one who deserved it and actually returned it—not be my half brother. I could handle a lot—I’d proven that time and time again—but I couldn’t handle that. How could I go on loving Chance the way I did and wanting him the way I did if I found out we were connected by blood?
I knew I couldn’t, and that was difficult, if not impossible, to accept. I looked at Chance, his light hair and light eyes seeming so obvious, and I knew the apology on his face was because he’d arrived at the same conclusion I had. What I saw in his eyes would haunt me forever. In them, he was losing me, just as he’d always feared. It might not have been through death, as he’d worried, but the result was the same.
“Please, I have to know,” I pleaded, my eyes moving from Mr. Harper to the documents resting below him.
“I’m sorry, Scout. John never made me privy to that knowledge.” When he said he was sorry, it didn’t sound like a cliché an attorney felt obligated to say. He sounded genuinely sorry. “The only people who knew the name of your half brother were Mary, Susan, and John. Two are gone, and the third’s about to go. I think that’s why he wanted you all to know, so the secret didn’t die with him.”
Mr. Harper didn’t know, which meant I’d have to wait in torture for John to tell us. I’d never experienced such anxiety and nervous anticipation. I didn’t want to drag the wait out any longer than necessary. All I could hope was that today was a day John had some control over his speech, even just one word, so I wouldn’t have to go to bed with the same fears.
“Believe me, if I knew, I’d tell you. But I don’t. John told me it was something he wants to tell you all together, after you’ve had time to process this.” Mr. Harper closed the file and shuffled it into his briefcase as if he couldn’t put it away quickly enough. Mr. Harper pushed out of his chair, clearly not wanting to spend another minute with us that he didn’t have to.
Three Brothers Page 24
