by Stacy Borel
I walked to the coffee pot where empty mugs were already sitting out on the counter. A few people mumbled good morning as I walked by. Mom gave me a kiss on my forehead, and I hugged her tightly. It was another day of black Joe with a little bit of sugar. Dad followed, ruffling my hair and almost making me spill my coffee.
“Why are we up so early?” Cannon mumbled.
There were a few grunts in the crowd. “Because it’s Christmas,” Macie replied.
“You know we don’t believe in Santa anymore, right?”
“Just because Santa isn’t real doesn’t mean the spirit of Christmas isn’t,” my grandma’s cheery singsong voice said as she was bent over checking the rolls.
“Grams, it’s still dark out. The birds aren’t even chirping yet.”
“What’s your point, Cannon Brooks?”
Dodger walked in, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Uh-oh, she is using full names. Nobody piss her off this morning. Mom’s feeling feisty.”
Standing upright, my grandma glared at him. “You hush. We are all up so we can open our presents and go to the early church service.”
Tristan came in and stood next to Macie. “Do we have to go to church?”
“Do you think those presents out there are the meaning of Christmas, young man?”
Don’t get her started, Tristan. Grams was feeling spunky. I remained quiet, wondering where Foster was. If that asshole was still asleep, I was going to smother him with a cross-stitched pillow. Sneaking out of the racket, I walked into the den, and sure enough, there he was, sawing logs and drooling. I set my cup down and backed up. Dashing across the small space, I leaped and landed square on his stomach with my big ole butt. His eyes flew open, and he curled up as much as he possibly could with a human sitting on top of him. He grunted, and I laughed at his disoriented face.
“Wake up, dickhead.”
He sputtered. “Ashton, I swear to god …” He tried to roll over, but my weight wouldn’t let him. “I’m going to throw you across the room, and you’re going to become part of the wall if you don’t get up.”
I clucked my tongue at him. “If I have to be awake, so do you. Now move your ass.”
He groaned. “Why are you such a pain?”
I shrugged. “If it’s not me, it’ll be Grandma. Who do you want to deal with?”
His eyes flew open. “Are there cinnamon rolls?”
I nodded. “In the oven.”
He gave a boyish grin and sank further into the couch. “Yummm.”
I remember when I was five, Foster came into my dad’s old room where we were sleeping and woke me up. He said Santa had been there, and I needed to come down with him so we could sneak a peek at the presents. It was my favorite year. I descended the steps to see a purple bike right in front of a pile of wrapped gifts. There were iridescent streamers hanging from each end of the handlebar and training wheels on the back. My dad had said I was ready to start learning how to ride without, but it would be a whole year before I was confident enough to take them off. I loved the feeling of being surprised. Of getting the very thing you’d been asking for, for months. Of believing that a big fat man in a red suit left it in my grandparents’ living room, and I was the most special kid on the planet.
My last year of elementary school was when I learned Santa wasn’t real. That the things the kids kept saying were true, and it was really just our moms and dads. While I was sad, the magic never went away for me. I grew up loving this time of year because of what was happening in the kitchen. The glow of the colored lights coming from the tree in the living room made me feel that child-like spirit. And the dude beneath me falling back asleep despite my obnoxious weight cutting off some of his circulation. It was everything.
So why was I feeling like a skeptic?
I should be reveling in it, not sulking like a petulant emo kid who wanted to be in a dark room all day. I sighed, shoving off Foster. He gave a guttural grunt as he woke back up.
“Oh, nice of you to join the living. Here, have some coffee.” I shoved my half-gone cup at him.
“God, you need to diet.”
“Eat a dick.” I flipped him the bird, and he chuckled.
The morning was good. We opened presents, which took way longer than most families. If there weren’t so many of us, and we didn’t take turns, we’d finish in five minutes. Instead, it dragged on through half the morning. We paused to go to church but resumed when we got back. Grandma and Grandpa seemed tired after lunch, so most of us left to head back home.
Dad was unloading the trunk, and I stayed back to help. Ten years ago, this car would have been packed to the brim with every large contraption Toys-R-Us had in its stores. As grown-ups, we seemed content with clothes and smaller ticket items like watches. There were only a handful of things back here. A KitchenAid mixer for Mom and some new serving platters. Dad’s large item—a rolling tool chest—was already here in the garage. I got gift cards to my favorite places and some cash. I hadn’t met a young twentysomething who didn’t enjoy cold hard cash. All in all, it was good.
Dad had just stepped inside with the last bag, and I decided to take a moment. Sitting on the front porch, I was bundled in a down coat and beanie as it was almost forty degrees. There had been a rare dusting of snow on the ground when we’d left for church, but it was gone now. If everything wasn’t already closed for Christmas Day, it would have been for the snow. Southern towns didn’t know how to handle anything in the realm of ice and flakes.
I was rocking back and forth in the glider when Mom stepped out. She had the couch blanket wrapped around her, and she’d already put on her house slippers. Taking a seat next to me, she snuggled in, and I giggled at her wiggling.
“What’s going through that beautiful mind of yours?”
She already knew. “Whether I can get past it all.”
“Okay.” She looked over at me. “Let’s jump in. What part bothers you the most?”
That was probably the one question I wasn’t sure I knew the answer to.
“I think I’m wondering if he could do that to Mac, what would stop him from doing it to me?”
Tucking my hair behind my ear, then stroking her hand down my hair, Mom said, “Honey, I’m not going to say that’s an unreasonable assumption, but you’ve got to sit and ask yourself, do you really in your heart of hearts think he would ever put a hand on you? And don’t overthink it, just tell me the first answer that pops in your head.”
“No. I can’t imagine that he would.”
She smiled warmly. “I think you’re right about that. Now, what else is eating at you?”
I chewed on my lip. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just so confused.”
“What’s confusing?”
“Everything!”
“My first few months with your dad were rough, you know? He was a self-righteous jerk who tried to hide his feelings behind his attitude. I realized I was doing the same, just not as loud as him. When I dug a little deeper, I figured something out about myself.”
“What’s that?”
“That I was the most impressive man she’d ever met.” My dad not so humbly strutted across the porch, tugging his pants up like he was king over all.
Mom laughed. “No, you idiot.” She looked back at me. “I realized I was using sarcasm as a means to deflect the fact I was in love.” My parents looked at each other, both probably remembering a time that I wasn’t here for.
“Love is a strong word.”
“Sure it is. It’s the strongest word there is. A man who attacks someone else because they didn’t treat you fairly, was going to hurt you, or they thought you were in danger isn’t doing it because he has feelings for you, Ash. Crew loves you.”
I shook my head. “Mom, he may care deeply for me, but he had it out for Mac long before I came into the picture.”
“Yeah? Then why did he wait till he was talking about you to go after him? Think about it. Mac hit a nerve, and her name is Ashton Brooks.”
&nb
sp; Dad leaned against the railing, folding his arms as much as he could in his bulky coat. “Your mom’s not off the mark. I know it because that kid looked just like I did when I lost all ability to think or function around your mom. Logic and reasoning go right out the window, and we function purely on male instinct. Let me put it this way. If Crew hadn’t been there, Mac still would have been laid out for saying what he did. Not a damn thing in this world would prevent me from protecting you and your mother. Nothing!”
I let their words roll around in my head. I was in love, and I knew I was in love. I’d yet to speak it because I was afraid love would hurt me again like it had with Cooper. I’d felt love lash me like a whip with barbs. I’d bled and died a few deaths while I was trying to heal from what he’d done, and I never wanted to feel that again. But was Crew in love? Were his emotions for me the reason he attacked Mac? I’d never know unless I spoke to him.
My parents were making googly eyes at each other. Take it in private, please. The neighbors don’t need a show. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult lately. And Dad, I didn’t mean what I said about leaving. I stayed because I wanted to.”
“I know, baby.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
He nodded. I spent the rest of my evening hanging out with them, watching Christmas movies and baking cookies with my mom. I’d decided to see Crew, so I planned what I wanted to say to him. I only hoped he’d be willing to listen after the way I treated him.
Crew
THE PAST TWO WEEKS had been a blur. Camden showed up at the apartment a couple of days after the incident. Foster wasn’t home, per usual, so I knew he had come to see me. After the whole conversation, I had a new respect for the man.
He told me she was just scared. He filled me in on her past relationship, which I’d already gathered bits and pieces of from her and Foster. I understood why he was so protective of her and why she was a bit skittish with me. Camden said Ashton needed to process what happened. He’d sheltered her and held her back from the world because he never wanted to see her get hurt. I thanked him for what he’d said to the cop, and that I was grateful he was there. Had he not been, it would have been a completely different scenario. I didn’t think anybody else could have stopped me from ending Mac. Camden told me not to worry about the police. Why he went above and beyond was more than I could comprehend, but I wasn’t going to argue.
Before he left, I felt like the tables were tipping in my favor, yet everything was still so fucked up. I had to trust that he knew his daughter. If he said she would come around, then I would have to give her time. My decision to head home early would give her space.
When I’d made it there almost two weeks ago, I was shocked to find out that nobody had heard about Mac. I knew the man was alive because I called the hospital to ask. I didn’t know why Mac was giving me a pass and not pressing charges when he could’ve easily had me thrown in jail. Knowing his cameras would have recorded me throwing the first punch, I kind of wondered if something happened to them.
I’d broken the news to both of my parents together when Momma brought us out on the front porch and served us sweet tea. She cried and told me I was a stupid man while Dad stayed quiet. I let her yell at me and tell me she didn’t know why I was still living there and to just come back home. She pleaded with me to move back in with them. I couldn’t. My life was in Athens right now.
It was with Ashton.
Dad finally spoke when Momma had gone back in the house. She was more upset that I wasn’t coming home than she was about my dear uncle. Never had I known my dad to be the silent type, but he was that day. We sat in rocking chairs on our typical Southern wraparound porch. We’d lived here since I could remember. The wood creaked, and the only sound between my dad and myself was the obnoxious wood rubbing against wood. He lightly pushed off with his feet, looking peaceful as ever. It made me nervous that he appeared so calm.
When he did eventually speak, his words were calculated and even. “Did you hurt him?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “Good.”
There was no “Why did you hit him?” or “You didn’t do this over a girl, did you?” He just wanted to know if I took him down, and that was it. I understood why it was short and sweet. Their rivalry ran long and deep. I think my dad had tried to do the same thing at some point, but my grandfather was there to stop it before it got to the point of spilling blood.
I spent most of my trip alone. Dad was working, and my mom was her usual social little self. She filled the Southern belle role to a T. I hadn’t exactly told them I was coming before I showed up on their doorstep, so Mom kept her social activities, and here I was, stuck in my own thoughts.
I’d yet to speak to Ashton or the lawyer. But today was that day, and I got ready to head to his office. Dad knew I was going, but he said he didn’t know what it could be about when I asked him. I had a feeling that was a lie, but I guess it was time for me to find out. The place was in downtown Savannah. His office was in a suite, and I read the address he’d sent me in a text to make sure I was standing in front of the correct one.
When I pushed through the door, a small buzzer chimed in the back, letting someone know I was here. It was quaint, maybe ten-by-ten, with gray carpet and three maroon leather chairs against the wall. On another wall was a flat-screen television and a Keurig with creamer and sugar. Directly in front of the entrance was a glass sliding window and a clipboard on the counter that I assumed I needed to sign in on. There wasn’t anybody on the other side of the see-through window, so I picked up the pen and printed my name. Then I sat down and tried to get comfortable.
Only a few minutes passed before a short man with rosy round cheeks and a receding hairline poked his head out. “Mr. Evanstan?”
I stood and walked back with him. The place was bigger than it appeared from the front. It was several offices deep. We stopped at the door with “Forrest Snider, Attorney at Law” on the plaque. He extended his hand to shake, and I took it. His grip was firm and sure.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”
I lowered myself on one of two chairs across from his. The furniture was stately, and I looked around at the walls. Framed degrees, awards, and family pictures decorated the room. He was clearly an accomplished man.
Pulling out a manila envelope, he slid the papers out and sorted through them, looking for a specific one.
“Okay, here we go.” He pushed it across his desk for me to take. It was my grandfather’s will. I didn’t want to touch it. I looked down at it, seeing his signature in the bottom corner.
“I’m sorry.” I coughed, emotion starting to overwhelm me. “I’m not familiar with what I’m looking at.”
“That is the last page of your grandfather’s will and estate. Please notice the second to last paragraph where you’re listed.”
I did as he asked. Most of it was written in legal terms. Words like articles, executors, bequeath, and so many more that I had no clue what I was looking for. I saw my name, and I saw Mac’s in the same paragraph.
He was either getting impatient with how long I was staring blankly at it, or he decided that I couldn’t understand it. “In short, your grandfather appointed you the sole owner of Mac’s Auto.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I had spoken to him shortly before he passed. We had updated his will, and he was insistent about this. He wasn’t fond of what your uncle had done to it, and he said he knew someday you’d end up there. So we wrote it that Mac would get half of the orchards, your dad got the other half, and Mac’s is yours. His one request was that you return it to its original namesake.”
Was it hot in here? I felt a bead of sweat building on my brow. This couldn’t be right. My grandpa couldn’t have possibly known I would end up in Athens. No fucking way. That was some premonition shit that I didn’t believe in. My dad had to have had some power over this.
“Did my dad pay you off?”
&n
bsp; He gave me a confused look. “Excuse me?”
“How much? What did he pay you to get this changed after Gramps died?” My voice cracked.
He rested both of his forearms on the desk. “Mr. Evanstan.”
“My name is Crew. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. Crew.”
His mouth thinned into a line. “Crew, it’s illegal for me to change any binding contract signed by one of my clients before or after their passing. Nothing about this document has been altered, and I certainly didn’t accept any bribes. Your father doesn’t know about this.”
My shoulders dropped. I had no idea what I was supposed to say or do. Somehow, the man I adored thought I could take over the garage and run his business. Yeah … right into the ground. He knew I didn’t know a damn thing about cars, so why? I was more perplexed now than I was before I even drove back into this godforsaken town. I’d never been to Athens before they had died. He couldn’t have fucking known I’d go there.
“I don’t know how to run a business,” I said, more to myself.
Forrest’s eyes softened. “Look, I’ve known your grandparents and parents for years. I’ve done many business dealings with them, and I would gladly help you with anything you may need. Ed was a great man. He was honest and kind, two traits I don’t come across much anymore. But before we go on, there’s a bit more.”
More? What in the hell else could there be? The bomb that destroyed Hiroshima was just dropped in my lap, and I was trying not to explode from the information overload. To top it off, how the fuck was I going to tell Mac? Actually, this might be my only bright spot in all this.
“I don’t know what more there could be. Seems most of their belongings were distributed through the family. Other than the orchard and the garage, there wasn’t anything else.”
