Forcing his hand to steady, he popped the tab. “That I’m his sole beneficiary.” Tyler chugged his drink, but it tasted bitter and stale. “They’re selling all his big stuff to pay off the debts on his estate, but I guess they have a garage full of personal items I can come get if I want them.”
“And you want them?”
Tyler slammed his beer on the counter, accusation swirling around him with nowhere to land. “What I want to know is why my mom barely spoke his name when I was a kid. I want to know about my father. I want to understand what happened all those years ago.” He blew out a disgusted breath. “But who knows, maybe fifty boxes of knickknacks and fishing gear will make everything better.”
The air crackled with tension. Beck didn’t like shouting; it made him edgy. And while Tyler was usually able to keep his temper in check, tonight wasn’t usual. His pulse raced. His head hurt.
Beck stood straight and rolled his shoulders. “I’ll go with you. The office can survive without me for a day.”
Tyler’s mouth filled with the words he wouldn’t say, I don’t want your help. I lost my chance at a family because you lied to me.
“No. I need to do it on my own.” He dumped the amber liquid in the sink, unable to swallow another sip. “Enjoy the game. I’m going to bed.”
But the confinement of the guest room only heightened his agitation. He lay on his back, stared up at the white ceiling. Mr. Stein said there was a letter, one he couldn’t divulge on the phone. Tyler wondered what Norman could possibly write that would explain why he’d cared enough to leave him everything, but not enough to contact him when he was alive.
He was drowning in the why questions: Why had his mom kept his father’s family from him? Why did Journey feel so frightened for his safety that she’d lied to him for years? Why did Beck, even when confronted, refuse to tell him the truth?
The inconsistencies, they were too great. If this man was so out of control, why even bother to hire a lawyer? To make a will?
Sitting up, Tyler grabbed his phone. He was done asking questions.
Now was the time for answers.
Tyler: I’ll come get the boxes tomorrow.
Chapter 10
The highway between Bentwood and Elgin was as dreadful as Tyler’s mood. The road was packed, and he’d almost been clipped twice by distracted drivers texting. His grandfather’s lawyer was meeting him at the house, and based on the phone’s GPS, Tyler was only five minutes away. The old U-Haul he’d rented bucked as he exited and drove through yet another construction zone.
He hated the east side of Austin. Bentwood was a fortress. A protected bubble inside the State capital, but outside those boundaries, everything was louder and more congested.
Two more turns and he was there, staring at the one story brick house with a red For Sale sign in the yard. The lawn was perfectly manicured, the bushes trimmed and his grandfather even had a rock garden with sage plants and a rosebush. Either the lawyer had done some serious sprucing up, or the old man must have enjoyed working outside.
A new layer of grief descended. He’d never know him. Never know if he drank coffee or tea. If he waved at his neighbors or called the cops to complain of noise. Never know why he left him a legacy that couldn’t possibly satisfy Tyler’s greatest need.
With a quick maneuver, he parked along the curb and exited the truck. Noise from the highway filtered through the trees, contrasting with the serene buzz of lawn mowers and sprinklers.
Mr. Stein met him halfway up the cracked driveway. “Mr. Mitchell, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.” His handshake was proper, much like his gray suit, black loafers, and silver rimmed glasses. He wasn’t young, but wasn’t old either. Wasn’t overweight, but not slim. Basically, the guy had no distinguishable attributes minus the manila folder in his left hand, the one thing that now had Tyler’s full attention.
“Is the letter in there?”
“It is.” But he didn’t pull out an envelope, just a thin sheet of paper. “Simple formality, really, but can I see your proof of identity?”
Tyler reached into his wallet and gave the lawyer his driver’s license. The man marked down the number, asked Tyler to sign the document and then handed his license back. Mr. Stein tucked the sheet behind some others and finally exposed the letter, yellowed with time. His name was scratched on the front in jagged handwriting.
“Your grandfather included this when we composed his will a couple years ago.”
The air stilled around him. This was the only correspondence he’d ever have from his grandfather, yet he couldn’t lift his hand to take it. “Why would he hire a lawyer to be his executor? Why not use another family member?”
“I’m afraid I don’t ask those questions. Though, my guess is there are no living family members. Especially since none have contacted me.”
Another painful blow.
“I wish I had more information for you.” He offered the letter again, and this time Tyler allowed his hand to close around the paper, the crinkling in his fist, surreal.
The lawyer stood silently while Tyler opened the folded page.
Tyler,
I wish this letter was coming under better circumstances, but I’ve been ordered to stay away or risk legal action. Of course, now that I’m dead, there’s not a whole lot the Kinders can do to me.
I don’t have much to offer you, like I didn’t have much to offer your daddy, but maybe by the time I go I’ll have pulled my life together.
When I learned your mother passed away, I came to get you. She’d been sending me pictures each year and it seems you’ve grown into a fine young man. Much better than me, I’m sure. Unfortunately the Mitchell name isn’t as prestigious as the Kinder one, and the plans I had were quickly changed. It’s not that I didn’t want you. Please know that. I agreed to Mr. Kinder’s demands because it seemed at the time a selfless act. Your daddy and I didn’t get along too well before he died. I suppose that’s my fault as well. Part of me feared you’d feel the same way. Not sure an old man can handle that kind of grief twice.
Well, hopefully your new family told you I tried to do the right thing, though I doubt they did. I’m not the kind of man they wanted influencing you. I guess I can see why, but no matter how fancy your life turned out to be, don’t forget you’re Mitchell by blood. Hopefully that still means something. If not, maybe after you see what I’ve left behind, you’ll understand why I felt you needed to have it.
Sincerely,
Norman
Tyler swallowed back the rising fury and folded the letter. This man wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t some goon out to hurt him.
Mr. Stein tucked the folder under his arm, his role in this process now complete. “You’re welcome to take a look inside; it’s been cleaned for the sale this weekend. I will contact you if any money remains after the payouts have been completed, though I doubt that will be the case.” He pointed to the one car garage on the right side of the house. “The boxes are in there. There’s quite a bit of stuff.” His gaze roved between the small moving truck and his grandfather’s house. “It should fit, but it’ll be tight.”
“So that’s it? I just take everything?”
“Pretty much.” The man checked his phone and absently typed while he spoke. “I have another appointment, but Judy, our real estate agent, is in there doing the final staging. She’ll lock up when you’re finished.”
“Okay.” It seemed too easy, too simple to be real. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” He nodded a goodbye and walked back to the front door.
Tyler rubbed his temples. When he woke up this morning, he’d been so sure he could do this, but now, he wondered if claiming the boxes was just adding salt to a festering wound. What good was stuff when he had no context for the man who owned them?
Still, his curiosity had him pulling open the screen door of the house his father likely grew up in.
Judy looked up from her paperwork. “You must be Tyler. Let me know if you have
any questions.” She was neat and tidy, just like Mr. Stein had been, with a dark blue skirt suit and excessively bright fingernails.
“Thanks.” He stepped through the living room crammed with a sectional, two recliners, two large curio cases, both empty, and an old wicker coffee table. The man wasn’t much for walking space or style. Tyler continued through each room like an observer at a museum, disconnected yet enthralled with each possible clue to who his grandfather had been. The house was small, about a quarter the size of Beck’s, with two bedrooms, an alley kitchen and dark paneling all through the living room.
When he returned to the living room, Judy was still hunched over her laptop. “How long did Mr. Mitchell live here?”
She didn’t bother to look at him that time. “Our records show he purchased the house in 1976.”
“Thank you.” His dad would have been four when they moved in. A little boy, running through the narrow hall, reaching for a cookie on the counter.
Tyler shook off the grief that came much too often, and finished his quick tour. Being in there hurt far more than he expected, and the smell of cinnamon plugins masking the lingering cigarette odor gnawed at his already weak stomach. He shoved out the front door, bent over and tried not to hurl. It was just a house. A house with old furniture priced to sell at a discount. It didn’t have to mean anything more.
Sucking in gulps of unpolluted air, Tyler forced himself to stand and walk to the manual garage door. He grabbed the handle and tugged, needing two hands and all his strength to get the door to click in at the top.
The stench of cardboard assaulted him, but at least the garage had been aired out and appeared nicotine free. Boxes, big, small, long, short were stacked like Tetris throughout the space. Maybe he should leave now. Tell Mr. Stein to donate it all to charity and go on with his life.
But he couldn’t. Not with his grandfather’s words now singed into his mind. There was a message for him in these boxes. One he needed to find.
Rolling up his sleeves, Tyler stopped the internal war with a silent admonition to suck it up, and began loading box after box into the back of his U-Haul. An hour later, his truck was a third full and the garage was beginning to look manageable. Judy had brought him some water bottles, but didn’t offer much in terms of labor.
Sweat dripped from his head and onto his shirt, but somehow the work had eased his tension and even pushed the outrage to the back of his mind. This neighborhood was peaceful, and two of his grandfather’s neighbors had stopped by and offered their condolences. Both of which he took, including their hugs, which felt oddly therapeutic. For a second there, Tyler forgot the man was a stranger.
He finished off the second water bottle and tossed it into the back, needing to pick up the pace. It was already two and he wanted to get back to Bentwood before dark. He hopped down from his U-Haul, but spun around as a red pickup eased to the curb on the opposite side of the driveway. The truck was old, and had a lawn mower and weed eater sticking out from the back.
The driver exited slowly, taking in the U-Haul truck and the For Sale sign like a man who’d discovered an alternate universe. He looked close to Tyler’s age and wore grass stained jeans and a faded Pearl Jam t-shirt.
The man shut the driver door softly. “Is Norman home?”
Obviously the guy hadn’t received the same phone call he had. “No.” Tyler eyed the house, wishing Judy was nearby to give the news. “Um, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Norman passed away a few weeks ago.”
The man stilled. “Norm’s dead? How?”
Tyler didn’t know all the details, but Mr. Stein had given him a quick synopsis. “Heart attack, I guess. He made it to the hospital, but didn’t last long once he got there.”
He cursed and kicked a pebble on the ground. The guy was obviously upset at the news, but Tyler couldn’t tell if the grief was due to the loss of Norman himself or because his grandfather had owed him something.
Feeling bad for the guy, Tyler jogged back to his truck and grabbed an unopened bottle of water. The stranger cautiously accepted when he offered it to him.
“Thank you.” He took a sip of water. “I took a small vacation, so I hadn’t been out here in a while, but he seemed fine. Totally healthy.”
Tyler wasn’t sure what to offer, but figured he could at least address the payment issue. “If he owed you money, the attorney is taking care of all his outstanding debts. I can get you his card.”
The guy’s brow pinched. “Attorney? Was Norm in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Mr. Stein is a probate attorney.”
“Oh.” His sigh spelled relief but then he tensed again. “Why would you think he owed me money?”
“The lawn equipment.” He pointed to the back of the truck. “Sorry. I assumed you took care of the landscaping.”
“Is this his stuff?” The guy walked over to the garage and studied the boxes stuffed in there. “Where are you taking it?”
Tyler tensed and the guy must have noticed, because he stopped his perusal and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry. You don’t even know who I am. It’s just we were close.” He swallowed like it hurt. “And this is all very unexpected.”
“How did you know him?” Jealousy sprung up but Tyler pushed it away. This guy, this stranger in a red pickup, knew his grandfather better than he ever would.
“We shared a mutual interest.” He began to walk toward his truck, but stopped. “Where did you say you were taking all his things again?”
Tyler hadn’t said, and was starting to think this guy knew way more than he was admitting do. It was the way he only made eye contact for a brief moment before looking away.
He must have recognized Tyler’s scrutiny. “My name is Dustin Court and I’m not a sleaze. I promise.” His face pinched like he was struggling to form the next set of words.
In sales, Tyler had learned to spot desperation, especially when the prize seemed to trump good sense. That was typically when he’d offer a final deal and walk away. Eyeing the jumpy guest, Tyler extended the dangling carrot. “I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, but first I need you to explain what you mean by ‘mutual interest’.”
Silence hung between them like a challenge, but Dustin didn’t back away.
“Norm didn’t like to talk about it because, well, I’d only just told him our connection.” He suddenly stilled as if a decision was made and there was no turning back. “I’m Norm’s…geez, this is weird to say out loud. I’m his grandson. My father, Ian Mitchell, signed away his rights when he was seventeen.”
Tyler stumbled back. “His grandson?” There had to be a mistake; a misunderstanding. His mom would have known if Tyler had a brother. She would have told him. “What else do you know about Ian?”
Dustin shrugged. “Not a whole lot. I know he and my biological mom were too young to raise a kid, so they gave me up for adoption. I know he moved off to East Texas after graduation and never came home again.”
Tyler’s mom was from Marshall. His parents had met working at Walmart.
His breath turned shallow. “Is he still alive? Your father?” If this man were telling the truth, he’d know that one clear fact.
Dustin’s eyes lowered. “Nah. Ian died years ago. Norm said it was a drug overdose. I guess their relationship was pretty bad at that point.”
Tyler tried to keep his bearings, but the world suddenly tilted. He bent over, doing his best to ease the return of the nausea.
This guy—Dustin Court—was his half brother.
A hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey man, I think you may need to sit down. Your coloring doesn’t look good.”
“Just give me a minute.” He needed Dustin to stop talking. Needed to process the huge bomb he’d dropped.
When he could finally stand again, Tyler studied Dustin with completely different eyes. They didn’t look anything alike. Dustin’s hair was dark, almost black like April’s. His skin was pale and his eyes were a dark midnight bl
ue. Tyler had always assumed he got his coloring from his father’s side, but maybe not.
“The woman Ian married,” Tyler managed to say through a choked whisper. “She was my mom. Which means, we’re…brothers,”
Dustin rocked back as if Tyler had hit him with a nine millimeter. “But Norman said he had no surviving family.”
“He lied.”
The two men stood in the driveway, staring at each other. A car drove by but neither moved.
“Ian took off when I was just a toddler. I guess he wasn’t ready to be a father then either.” Tyler motioned to the boxes in the garage. “This stuff, it’s all I have. I didn’t even know Norman’s first name until his attorney called.”
Dustin’s breath came out in a whoosh. “I had no idea he had another grandson.” There was an edge of disappointment in his voice, and Tyler immediately wished he’d been more tactful. As much as getting this stuff had been a slap to him, not getting mentioned in the will had to be an even bigger slap to Dustin.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… Norman wrote up that will years ago.”
Dustin backed away, his face as ashen as Tyler’s must have been. “I need to go.”
“Wait. Let me give you my number.”
He kept his backward trek. “This is all too much. In a ten minute span, I learned my grandfather died and I have a brother.”
Tyler put a hand out, indicated he needed one second, and ran back to the driver seat on his U-Haul. Mr. Stein’s card was in the middle console, and he quickly scribbled his name and cell number on the back. Dustin was already in his truck when he returned. He held up the card. “You can call his attorney yourself and get all the details. I know Mr. Stein didn’t know you existed.”
Dustin leaned his elbow out the open window. “I’m not interested in a court battle. Norm left you his things; not a whole lot I can do about that now.”
“Who cares about his things.” Tyler flipped the card around. “This is my cell. Let’s at least go to dinner or something. I mean, we owe it to ourselves, right? We’re family.”
Until I Knew Myself (Bentwood Book 1) Page 8
