The Inheritance

by Ali Vali

  “Don’t talk about my son like that.” Ivy stood and stumbled, trying to slap him.

  He grabbed her wrist and stopped her, forcing her back a step.

  “Go ahead. Go on and hit me.” Ivy was shaking as if she was rattling apart. “It’s the only thing left you haven’t done to humiliate me.” Her words were slurred and spit hit him in the face as she screamed at him. “You fucking asshole.”

  “Me humiliate you? Who the hell are you kidding, Ivy?” He let her go and was surprised at how fast her hand came up and connected with the side of his face. The stinging from her ring started immediately, and he closed his right eye to keep the blood out of it.

  “Oh my God, baby, I didn’t mean it.” Ivy’s anger seemed to leave her like she’d flipped a switch and sobered enough to realize she’d truly screwed up.

  “Get the hell away from me.” He put his hand up to keep her from coming any closer. There was no way he’d ever hit a woman, even if it was one he no longer cared much about and one who went out of her way to dredge him through misery every chance she got.

  “You fucking bastard,” his daughter, Tara, yelled from the hall in that overly aggressive tone of hers. “What did you do to her?”

  Jim Bob snorted as he went into the bathroom for a towel. Ivy’s engagement ring had caught him just right and sliced down the side of his eyebrow to the top of his cheek. The damn thing was bleeding profusely, covering his face and soaking his collar. A Band-Aid wasn’t going to fix this, so he pressed the towel to his temple and figured he had no choice but to head to the emergency room. Not the way he wanted to spend his evening.

  “I’m calling the cops,” Tara said when he grabbed his keys and started for the door.

  “Good, have them meet me at the hospital, and make sure your mother packs a toothbrush.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tara put her hand on his shoulder as he started down the stairs, but she let go when he turned and glared at her. “Her wrist is all red. In case you missed it, that’s domestic violence.”

  “I was trying to stop her from attacking me, and as you can see, I did a piss-poor job of it. The toothbrush is because they don’t provide any in jail, sweet pea, and I’m on my way to get stitches. Pray I calm down before the cops show up because my story is more plausible than hers, because it’s the truth.”

  The lifestyle he’d given these people had far exceeded anything he’d grown up with, which made his mother right. Stella had told him from the beginning that just because you could afford to give a child their every wish didn’t mean you should. It was nights like this that proved he’d wasted his life. Nothing he’d ever given would change their relationship; it was beyond broken. He’d tried, but there were only so many times you could put your head on a tee and allow people who were supposed to love you to take a swing. In a way it was quitting, but he had to get out of here.

  Tucker had shocked their parents, especially their mother, by coming out, and the only reaction he’d really had at the time was sadness because she didn’t want a family of her own. He loved his sister more than life, and what he’d first thought was a decision that would make her life poorer only showed her to be way smarter than him.

  There was no doubt he hadn’t wanted this particular life, but he’d tried his best to make the situation work. He’d stayed with Ivy for their children, and the pregnancy deception she’d pulled on him wasn’t the worst part of their life together. The hell of what he’d readily agreed to had truly sunk in when the reality of living with an alcoholic smacked him in the face. Ivy had been a closet drinker, but once that ring was on her finger and his name was on a marriage certificate, it wasn’t a secret any longer.

  “You really are an evil bastard,” Tara said as he opened the front door.

  Her spewed venom made him stop. When had his life become this fucking nightmare, and what about him was so easy to hate? He loved his children, but lately he’d learned that words did matter, and they caused lasting harm. He was at a point of losing the fundamental love he was supposed to have when it came to these people.

  “If you really feel that way, kid, move out. We’ve taken care of you, educated you, and paid your way for twenty-three years.” He stared at her and shook his head, tired of this argument as well. “It’s no secret you hate me, so give in to those feelings and get out. I’m tired of trying to change your mind, and I’m sure you’re tired of taking my money. You do keep telling me how much smarter you are than me, and it’s time to prove it.”

  “You throwing me out on the street would prove my point.”

  He wanted to wipe his face of the drying blood as well as of Tara’s contempt. “Of what, exactly?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “You’re nothing but a monster who makes everyone miserable.” Tara fired the words at him like she was squeezing the trigger on a machine gun.

  “Tara, stop,” Ivy said, holding on to the railing on the second floor. “Stop before you say something you’ll regret.”

  “Regret?” Tara laughed as if that was a good joke. “You and I both know every word is true. The only thing I can’t understand is why you married him in the first place. Jim Bob could not have been your only shot, Mom. No one should’ve ever been that desperate.”

  “Tara,” Ivy said louder, as if to stop her before he finally told the truth of why the hell they’d gotten married. That was the only secret Ivy had kept in her life. To divulge it would mean giving up her victim mantle, and that she’d never do.

  “She’s entitled to an opinion, Ivy,” he said, glancing up, “and congratulations. I’m giving you both what you want.”

  “What’s that?” Tara said. “You’re dropping dead and finally making everyone’s day?”

  “Not yet, little girl. I’m giving you your freedom,” he said, staring at Ivy as he spoke. When she wasn’t drinking, Ivy spent a lot of time talking shit about him, which explained Tara’s disdain. That was fine, but he wasn’t in the mood to put up with it any longer. He had more self-respect than that, and it was time to take his life back. “The evil bastard has had enough, so start planning your next step outside this house. Because remember, Ivy, the house belongs to the Delacroix family. A Delacroix by blood—and Tucker is next in line.”

  “Baby, you know she didn’t mean it,” Ivy said, crying now.

  “Give it a rest, and go back to your true love. We both know it isn’t me, unless you found me at the bottom of a Grey Goose bottle.” He wasn’t at all moved by the tears. They’d gone as stale as day-old French bread. “Both of us deserve to be happy with what’s left of our lives, and for me, this shit isn’t it.”

  “You know I can’t live without you.”

  “Sure you can,” he said, thinking about all the time they’d wasted on rehab. Ivy’s last stint had ended less than three months ago.

  All those sessions had given him a keen understanding that alcoholism was a disease. That part of the education process he understood, since the counselors had pounded that point home until even their cat understood it. Unfortunately, he also knew no one was successful at sobriety unless they truly wanted it.

  The person had to accept that their drinking was a problem ruining their life. But Ivy not only didn’t think her drinking was a problem, she loved the bottle more than anything or anyone in her life. That kind of devotion was hard to break through.

  “Please, let me come with you.” Ivy started making her way down with both hands on the railing.

  He slammed the door on her pleading and Tara’s continued screeching and got in his car. “Can you meet me at the hospital?” he asked when Monique answered her phone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He gave her a condensed version of what had happened, and the story was embarrassing to tell. It was like his life had become some kind of trashy reality show joke, and he was a reluctant participant. “The damn thing is still bleeding, which probably means I need stitches.”

  “Geez, baby, I’ll meet you there, but I have
to bring Grady with me. Willow’s out tonight.”

  “Wait for me then.” He parked across the street and sighed in relief when he entered an almost empty ER waiting room. “I don’t want you to have to bundle Grady up and bring him out in this weather. I’ll come over once I’m done.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you there alone. What if you can’t drive after?”

  Monique had been a definite change from what he was used to, which was why he’d gladly taken her to dinner the day they’d met. There hadn’t been as many women in his past as people thought, and he’d forgotten every one of them once Monique had entered his life.

  At first their friendship was an escape from what he knew, and he talked to her because she listened, really listened. Once he truly got to know her, though, he’d fallen in love. The sensation was so foreign that he’d almost missed it for what it was, but Monique had given him hope for the future.

  “It’s cold out, sweetheart. Stay home, and hopefully I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay, but call me if you need a ride.”

  “I love you, and I will.” He hung up and all the anger of the night and why he was there vanished. It was a blessing to finally have something to look forward to.

  “Are you all right?” the receptionist asked.

  “No, but I will be.”

  * * *

  “Tucker!” The large African American man practically sang her name as he pressed the elevator button in the lobby of the Pontchartrain Hotel. “Long time no see, man. You know what they say about all work, and you ain’t no dull boy.”

  “Time to rectify, my brother.” Tucker pressed a twenty in his hand and hugged him. “You staying out of trouble?”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  “True, but now’s not the time to get into that.” She wanted to laugh at the scowl on Willow’s face as she observed their exchange. “Think you can call up for me?”

  “You know it.” He held everyone back so she and Willow could ride up alone.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What do I think?” Willow asked, sounding like it was an effort not to add you fucking swamp scum to the end of the question.

  She assumed that telling Willow she was even more beautiful when she was angry was the fastest way to get kneecapped. “That this swamp scum thinks you’re easy, and you’re wondering if you have anything in your purse to stab me in the eye,” she said, standing on the other side of the elevator, not to crowd Willow. The old elevator car was ornate, and Tucker glanced up at the brass needle that moved toward the top floor at a snail’s pace.

  The joke seemed to loosen Willow up and she smiled slightly. “If you’d added asshole to that, you would’ve been closer to reading my mind. Dinner wasn’t an overstep, but inviting me to have a drink in a hotel room might be, Tucker.” The door opened, and the usual noise of the Hot Tin Roof Bar filled their small space.

  “I’m really not an asshole…Well, I can be, but I try to keep it to a minimum.” She shrugged and found it humorous that Willow so far had acted like she was here as a favor to her, and not falling all over herself to entice her. It was a change of pace. “This place is newish and I thought you’d enjoy the view.” She waved her arm to invite Willow to go out first. “Let’s see where they set us up.”

  It took the staff a few minutes to clear the table in the corner, and she took Willow’s coat while they did and placed it on the empty extra chair.

  “The usual, Tuck?” the bartender who helped with their seating arrangements asked.

  “Their specialty is a Hurricane,” she said to Willow.

  “That sounds kind of touristy.” Willow scrunched her face up, giving off an adorable vibe that made Tucker want to kiss her despite the fact she thought Tucker was some kind of player.

  “One for me then, and whatever the lady desires.”

  “White wine, please.” Willow sat and scooted her chair closer. “So I can hear you,” she explained when their legs were touching.

  She wasn’t about to call her on the lame excuse. “The whole place is supposedly decorated like Tennessee Williams’s apartment, since he lived here while he wrote A Streetcar Named Desire, and it’s quickly losing its best-kept-secret status.” The bartender delivered the drinks and Tucker held Willow’s back. “Try this first.”

  “I see you’re not a germophobe, which gets you points,” Willow said, taking a sip. “Wow, that’s delicious.”

  “It’s the original recipe of the touristy drink, so I should get even more points for picking such a cool place. I’ll also try to forget that you have such a low opinion of me. We just met, after all.”

  “You think I could trade this in?” Willow accepted her wine and Tucker waved to her friend behind the bar and pointed to her drink. He nodded and another cocktail was on its way. “Well, for having just met me, you’re good at guessing what I want.”

  “Nah.” Tucker tapped her glass to Willow’s and took a sip. “I know for a fact that these things are addictive, and you look like you could use one.”

  “You should know I never do this, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Willow combed a lock of hair behind her ear and suddenly appeared nervous.

  “You don’t drink and eat?” Tucker asked, wondering what made Willow tick.

  “You’re hilarious,” Willow said, placing her hand on her arm. “No, I mean, I usually don’t ask someone I just met out. I don’t want you to think I’m easy or something. I’m sorry for misjudging you.”

  “Or something,” she said slowly, and she liked the way Willow’s gaze flicked to her lips when she smiled at her. “Okay, we’ll get to that later. I can’t believe you’re not out often, considering.”

  Willow narrowed her eyes like some kind of death ninja, and Tucker wanted to assume a crane kick pose in defense.

  “Considering what?” Willow asked.

  “Try to refrain from stabbing me with your little drink umbrella, okay? You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman. I’d think people would be lined up to show you cool places with a true mixologist behind the bar, who also happens to make his own mixers and tonic.” She stopped when the bartender delivered Willow’s new drink and took her wine back.

  “Do you own stock in this place, or are you just their marketing department on the side? And the last couple of years have been busy, so I haven’t been out much at all. I may be rusty to the whole cool-place and wonderful-throwback-drinks scene.”

  “The pressure’s on, then, to show you a good time. I’m not a serial killer, a con artist, or a letch trying to get in your pants. So you can relax.” She pointed to Willow’s drink. “Go on and take a sip. I promise it’ll make me look better and better.”

  Willow laughed. “So you have a rule against getting in someone’s pants?”

  The question made Tucker think Willow might fall into the mood-swing-crazy-as-a-loon category of women. The kind who burned shit on your front lawn or did mean things to your pets if you managed to upset them. One minute she was pissed off at Tucker being presumptuous—the next she was flirting like Tucker had a chance. Loony women made her nuts.

  It was the number one group she tried to avoid like the plague. That special category was followed closely by women who desperately wanted her address so they could leave a few things over, and then it took federal agents to remove them from your home if they managed to wheedle their way in. Granted, that had only happened the one time, but the woman crying piteously on her lawn was a memory that was hard to shake.

  “After about the fifth date I give it a shot if there hasn’t been a restraining order filed.”

  Willow finally laughed and it sounded genuine. “Why have we never met?”

  “Because you’ve been working your ass off, and I’ve been looking for dates in bars and not in business meetings, but I’ve got tonight to make up for it.” She finished her drink and smiled as Willow worked on hers. “Once you’re done, we’ll go out and do what everyone comes here for.”


  “And that’s more than drinking and trying to impress girls with your charming personality?”

  “Ha, that’s a given, but no. Drink up.” Once Willow downed the last of her drink, Tucker handed the bartender some money and helped Willow on with her coat. The outside dining space had one of the best views of the city Tucker had ever seen, and it was spectacular at night. Even her office on the top floor of their building didn’t give such an expansive panorama. “Do you mind if I really get close to you?”

  “Is this where that letch thing comes in?” Willow stood next to her and put her arm around Tucker’s waist.

  Willow was about seven inches shorter than her, utterly beautiful, and Tucker didn’t want to rush anything or risk a face full of the pepper spray Willow probably kept in her purse. And Tucker had a feeling that knowing Willow might be worth having some of her things go up in flames in her yard—she didn’t have any pets, so that wasn’t a worry, assuming it all went ass-end up.

  “This is where the world’s obsession with selfies comes in,” she said, putting her arm around Willow’s shoulders and holding her phone out. “But sometimes obsessions are a good thing.” She framed a shot and waited for Willow to smile.

  “Why’s that?” Willow asked when she took a few pictures.

  “You have to give me your number if you want some of these.” She jumped a little when Willow pinched her side harder than expected, but she squeezed Willow’s shoulder before letting go and putting some distance between them. No rush.

  “Are you fifteen all of a sudden?” Willow laughed and closed a little of the space between them again.

  They were alone out there because of the cold temperatures and strong winds, but Tucker could’ve stood there for hours being insulted by this woman.

  “And can we eat something before we drink anything else? If I do that on an empty stomach, you’ll have to carry me home and put me to bed.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want another one, or maybe, like, twenty more?” She grinned.

  “It’ll be really sexy when I throw up on you, so feed me.”