Seize the Day

by Curtis Bunn

  I thought I made some inroads with him because he didn’t respond for a few seconds. But then he said, “What time can you meet me at his house?”

  I knew then that I needed to go to Walter’s place and search for paperwork before either of them did. Wasn’t sure what I would find, or what I would do with whatever I found. But I was going to look. Walter deserved that.

  And so I went. Even though it was daytime and the sun was out, entering his house felt like walking into a horror movie. A man, my friend, was found dead here…by me. I could almost hear creepy music as I entered the house. The hardwood floors cracked and the door hinges squealed. My heart pounded as if I were a kid walking into one of those haunted houses.

  Cancer and dying from it was not on my mind. All I could think of was Walter jumping out from behind a wall, walking dead, and scaring the wits out of me. Finally, once I entered the kitchen, I got a grip.

  Come on, man. Stop trippin’.

  I gathered myself, took a deep breath and got it together. And although I was finally poised enough to do what I came to do, I still had mixed feeling about going through Walter’s belongings. I felt like he was watching me.

  Then it hit me: If he’s watching me, then I need to do right by him.

  And my fear and discomfort vanished and I started poring through his stuff. The kitchen drawers were full of utensils—except one closest to the refrigerator. It was one of those “junk drawers” that most people had, a space filled with a mix of bills, letters, scissors, pamphlets, Chinese restaurant delivery menus, coupons and any other thing that did not merit its own assigned place.

  A lot can be learned going through peoples’ things. I learned that Walter had a Macy’s credit card that he hardly used; he was up to date on his cable bill, but late on his gas bill. He wrote checks for $300 six times to Candice Mattison, a secretary in the Main Office at our school. That told me Walter was a good man, as I suspected.

  Candice had fallen upon hard times after she got a divorce from her husband of seventeen years. She was convinced he had money to provide her alimony. But she could not prove it, and so she eventually lost her house. She never said anything about how bad things had gotten, but we all noticed that she began bringing her lunch to work and that she became more withdrawn.

  I found a letter from Candice to Walter. And it confirmed my suspicions:

  I cannot thank you enough for your help. I would never ask you (or anyone) for money. But your blessing has really helped me get back on track. For you to do this for me, I just can’t believe it. But you’re amazing. I don’t know what I can do for you, but if there is anything, please let me know. THANK YOU!

  Walter never told me he had helped Candice. But when I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised. He was quiet and almost shy at times, but anyone paying attention could tell he had a good heart.

  After going through the drawers downstairs, I went to his office, which was about as neat as a work area as I have seen. If there was something to be found in there, I should have been able to locate it. Everything was filed alphabetically. It was so orderly that I took a seat and took my time going through the paperwork because I didn’t want to disturb too much how Walter left things.

  I learned pretty quickly why his son and brother were seeking information on his money—Walter was independently wealthy. He had stock holdings worth more than a million and real estate valued at close to that. You never would have guessed by his attire, the modest home he lived in, the 2006 Toyota Camry he drove or the unassuming nature he presented.

  I was floored by the numbers. Why would he teach at a tough school in Southeast D.C. when he could have lived a life of luxury?

  I found the answer in a letter from Candice to Walter.

  I’m amazed that you do what you do—for me and for your students. You have every right to move to the islands and relax. But when you told me that only helping people gives you fulfillment, I was blown away. I just hope you focus on that and not the negative things that come up in all our lives.

  You have too much to offer to consider “going away,” as you put it. I only hope and pray you mean leaving the school and finding others to bless with your mind and generosity. I know you’re troubled at times. Thank you for sharing that with me, by the way. But you’re a good man with a good heart, no matter what anyone says or how anyone might make you feel. Remember that.

  It became clear to me that Walter had shared more about his life and condition with Candice than me. I hadn’t spoken to her since I found Walter hanging in his garage, but surely she knew about it because it was one of the lead stories on all the local news broadcasts. I refused to speak to reporters…out of respect for Walter.

  As I picked up Walter’s last will and testament, I heard a noise downstairs. It was not my imagination. I quickly gathered the will and other documents, folded them vertically, slid them into my back pocket and covered them with my shirt.

  “Hey,” I yelled out as I approached the top of the steps.

  “Hey,” a voice yelled back.

  I became frightened. I had no idea why, but my first thought was that it was Walter, back from the dead, coming to get me for going through his belongings.

  My fear did not prevent me from moving slowly down the steps. I tried to mask my fear.

  “Who is that?” I yelled in a demanding voice.

  “Who are you?” came back the voice. It sounded like Walter’s voice, and I could tell he was moving closer to the stairs.

  Before I could get to the bottom, he slowly emerged from around the corner, and my heart pounded so hard I literally could hear it. I saw his foot first—a brown loafer, to be exact. I held my breath as he came into view. And I almost passed out when I saw him.

  It was Walter…or at least that was my first impression. He looked just like him and it jolted me so that I took a step back up the stairs. How could this be? I was so scared I could not move another inch.

  Our eyes met for several seconds before he said, “You’re Calvin, right?”

  My lips would not move. I was looking at a ghost and if I could have mustered the strength to run through a wall I would have.

  “I’m Donovan, Walter’s brother,” he added, and a relief came over me that was so strong I had to sit down on the steps.

  “Man, what the fuck? You didn’t tell me you were coming this morning. And you didn’t tell me you looked just like Walter. You just scared the shit out of me. I thought you were Walter.”

  “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

  I placed my head into my shaking hands. Without lifting my head, I said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to figure out the financial situation,” he said. “I wanted to get here before my nephew.”

  I slowly raised my head then. I was angry. His brother was dead and he flew from California so he could “figure out the financial situation.”

  “There is no financial situation to figure out. What needs to be figured out are his funeral arrangements.”

  “Yeah, we’ll get to that. We’ll get to that. But there are other matters to tend to first.”

  “I don’t understand you—or your nephew,” I said. I did not care if he was offended or thought I was out of line. What could he do to me? I was already dying.

  “This seems like nothing but greed to me. You didn’t talk to your brother, even though he tried to communicate with you, and even though you knew he was ill. And now that he’s killed himself, instead of feeling bad about not being there for him, you rush out here to find out about money? What kinda shit is that?’ ”

  “Man, this is none of your business,” he said, obviously angry, but a little embarrassed, too.

  “Guess what? It sure the hell is, because I found him. He wanted me to find him. And he e-mailed me. He reached out to me, probably because the brother he helped raise and his son that he did raise abandoned him. So based on Walter reaching out to me, I very much have something to do with everything.”

  I didn’t
really believe that. It was family business and I wasn’t family. But I was there and I believed Walter did not want his brother for sure and maybe even his son to benefit from his hard work. I was anxious to read his will; it would tell the story. But I was not going to do it in front of Donovan. I wasn’t even going to let him know I found it.

  “The bottom line,” he said, “is that he was my brother and his son and I are his only surviving family. So, whatever he does have is left to us. It’s just a matter of how much it is.”

  He spoke so coldly and dispassionately. There was no compassion for his brother. It was a business trip for him.

  It made me angrier. “Don’t you have any shame? Don’t you feel any sadness for your brother? Don’t you feel at least a little guilt for not being there for Walter? Don’t you feel a little responsible for him hanging himself?”

  “Don’t put that on me!”

  I had regained my composure and stood up—it was more a show of manhood than it was anything else. I wasn’t going to take his shit sitting down.

  “You should take some responsibility,” I yelled back.

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Donovan responded. “He was sick. He took his meds a lot, but he needed to take them all the time. When he didn’t, he was a different person. He could become violent or totally silent or just so strange you didn’t know what he would do.”

  “But he wasn’t a different person. He was your brother.”

  Donovan turned away and took a seat at the kitchen table. “You don’t understand,” he said.

  “All I know is what I’ve seen. And all I’ve seen and heard from you is that you want money, your dead brother’s money. There’s no remorse that he was so distraught—medication or no medication—that he killed himself. You haven’t asked any questions around his death. It’s like you’ve been waiting for him to do this.”

  Donovan lowered his head, and right away I was convinced I was right. He couldn’t even fake it. And I didn’t want to be around him anymore.

  “I’m gone. You can look around and see what you can find. Your nephew should be here in a little while. You all can scavenger hunt together.”

  I made my way to my car and drove off. In my rearview mirror I saw another car pull up. I stopped and through my mirror saw that it was a younger version of Walter…his son. He, too, arrived earlier than he had indicated he would, obviously seeking to get a head start on his uncle. I wanted to keep going, but I felt like Walter’s spirit told me to go back, to meet his son and to gauge his mindset.

  So I put the car in reverse. I parked up against the curb just as Walter Jr. was getting out of his. He waited for me to get out.

  “You’re Mr. Calvin?” That surprised me. That was a show of respect to call me “mister.” It made me immediately feel better about him.

  “Yes, Walter, right? I was just leaving; you got here just in time.”

  “But we were supposed to meet in like an hour from now.”

  “Well, your uncle is in there and so I figured you all were good.”

  “Uncle Donovan is here? See, this is what I’m talking about. He told me he was coming later today.”

  “And you told me you were coming later, too,” I said.

  He didn’t respond. “I don’t know what’s up with either of you, but he’s in there and I’m gone. Lock the door when you’re done. Call me later and let me know what you find—and the funeral plans.”

  “No, wait. You should come in. If it gets ugly, I might need you to pull me off of him.”

  “You think I want to be in the middle of your drama with your uncle?”

  “You are in the middle of it, remember?”

  Maybe I wanted to see them beat each other up, so I went in. Donovan was upstairs, rifling through his brother’s belongings as if he were in a panic. He was startled when his nephew and I walked in.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I was trying to leave, but your nephew wanted me to come in.”

  “Uncle Donovan, you told me you were coming much later today. How you get here so early? Why are you here so early?”

  “The same reason you’re here earlier than you said you’d be.”

  I saw a family resemblance in the two men, but no family connection. No family love. Walter Jr. did not show any sadness that his father was dead, either.

  “So what’s going on here?” I asked. “Neither of you really cared about Walter. That’s obvious. If you did you would have shown some semblance of remorse about all this. But you’re here looking for his money?”

  “Uncle Donovan, you really should not be here. You haven’t talked to my dad in years. You claim it was about his behavior off his meds. But I ain’t stupid. You thought your wife liked him so you stayed away.”

  “Where you get that from, boy?”

  “Boy? Boy? I’m a man. And I got it from your wife, that’s who.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, at the family reunion about three years ago. She said she felt responsible that you and my dad were not talking. I asked her why and she said you came up to them while they were on the dance floor with an attitude at some party years before. But the reality was that she had her arms around my father. She said she was drunk and flirting and you held it against him, not her.”

  Donovan threw onto the desk a pile of papers he had in his hand. I could tell Walter Jr. had been waiting to share that bit of news for a long time.

  “My dad didn’t want your wife. He introduced you to her. If he wanted her, he probably would have tried to get her instead of introducing you to her.”

  “My wife is my wife. That did happen, but Walt and I were already having issues. That just sealed it for me.”

  I couldn’t help but interject.

  “I don’t get people,” I said. “If your wife was flirting with Walter, why were you mad at him? You should take that up with your wife, don’t you think? If you know your brother wouldn’t try to get your wife—if he introduced you to your wife—why would you be angry at him to where you don’t communicate with him?

  “On top of that, you knew he was bipolar. So when he’s reaching out to you for the last few years and you’re just ignoring him, don’t you think that affected him?”

  “Walter Jr. is as much at fault as me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t think I knew, did you? I know you went to rehab for cocaine use about two years ago. I know your father paid for it and he was worried about you. I know you broke into this house and took his flat screen TV and sold it for money, that you took his Apple desktop computer and sold it. That you robbed your own father to get money for drugs.

  “And after you got arrested, my brother bailed you out and sent you to rehab. He didn’t press charges and you did not have to do jail time. But you broke his heart. You know Walt was a do-gooder. He taught you the same thing. But you became a crack head and broke his heart.”

  I thought I was standing inside a soap opera. I didn’t know what to say.

  “My dad and I made peace with that. We talked it out and made peace.”

  “If you made peace, why weren’t you seeing him or in contact with him for the last few years?” I asked. I figured that since I was in the middle of it, I might as well get clarity.

  “My wife didn’t want me to. She believed my dad was a reminder of a bad time in my life and that to move on. I needed a fresh start.”

  “You’re joking, right? The man who brought you into this world, who bailed you out of jail and sent you to rehab to get your life in order…that’s the man you need to stay away from? How weak is that? How weak are you?”

  Ordinarily, I would not speak so candidly. But my life was coming to an end and I knew it. I had no time to be subtle.

  “You can’t judge me; you don’t know me or my life.”

  “Man, look: I can give you my opinion based on being here right now and what you just said. Why you think you’re en
titled to your dad’s money after being so wrong to him—both of you—is sad.”

  I turned and walked away. I could hear them talking then arguing with raised voices and by the time I got to the front door, I heard rumblings upstairs, as if they were fighting. I didn’t bother to look back or go back. I had seen and heard enough.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHEN THERE’S A WILL…

  Walter’s brother and son made me think. They made me think about what’s going to happen when I die. Who will be upset about me being gone and who will be searching for money and things?

  That’s what the doctors said: “Get your affairs in order.”

  I didn’t do as well as Walter. I didn’t have millions in investments to leave for anyone. I had a $400,000 life insurance plan that was earmarked for my daughter. That was about it. But it was more than enough to pay for the funeral, any bills I would have remaining and leave her with some money to live relatively comfortably.

  When I got home, I was convinced I needed to lay all that out in a will. Reading Walter’s last will and testament gave me shivers…and direction. He knew exactly what he wanted. It was dated almost three months before he hanged himself. He had planned it for a while.

  There is enough in my savings to bury me. The account information is in my nightstand next to my bed, under The Bible. I don’t need or want a grand funeral. I don’t deserve one. But put me in the ground at Lincoln Memorial Cemetery in Suitland. I have already paid for the plot and name plate. Keep it simple. Nothing fancy. I would like Candice Mattison of Ballou High School to arrange the service. Candice is smart and organized and would keep out people I don’t want there.

  Seventy-five percent of the money that I have earned through investing is to go to research of the bipolar condition. My lawyer, Randolph Watson, has all that information and knows what my desires are there (minus his fifteen percent). My realtor, Monica Cooper, is to sell my properties, with the earnings going to Ballou High School for students who graduate and need money for college. Set up the fund and call it: The Ballou Graduation Fund. Mr. Watson has started the paperwork.