Mr. Sisco invites them to sit on his side of the table, across from me and Mom. Smart move, except now I’m looking at both of them, and I’d really rather not. I realize my mouth is hanging open and promptly close it. My eyes narrow, and I glare at my aunt as all the negative emotions I’ve ever felt about her rise to the surface. Every few seconds, my gaze shifts to my cousin, but she refuses to look up. Not quite so bold when you’re not driving away, huh?
After the longest stretch of awkward silence I’ve ever experienced in my life, Mr. Sisco says, “Let’s proceed, shall we?”
Mom still hasn’t said a word. She’s been digging in her purse this whole time and finally pulls out a pen and a small notepad. She focuses on Mr. Sisco, completely ignoring the other occupants in the room. A small squeak comes from her mouth, and she gives a slight nod.
“We’re ready,” I tell Mr. Sisco. It looks like I might have to be the one to take charge today.
He clears his throat and opens the maroon folder. “I’m going to jump right in, I guess. I have here Elijah Walker’s last will and testament, but before we get to that, I’d like to read you the first in a series of letters he left for you.” He looks up, and then at each of us in turn.
“Okay,” I say, while my companions remain silent and frozen. So far, I’m not too impressed with my aunt and cousin. They’re far less intimidating than I’ve always believed them to be.
After opening an envelope with the word One written on it, Mr. Sisco takes out a folded, peppermint green paper with what I recognize as Grandpa’s handwriting on it. Aunt Jackie leans closer to the lawyer, attempting to read the letter herself. K. J. looks up for the first time, her eyes flashing to me and then my mom. I ignore her, waiting for Mr. Sisco to start reading. In the meantime, I uncross my arms. At least it has warmed up to somewhere around comfortable by now. K. J.’s eyes move back to me, specifically to the brown stain on my chest. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and I quickly cross my arms again.
“Looks like you could use some of Grandpa’s fortune to go buy yourself a new shirt,” she says.
Her mother nudges an elbow at her, but I narrow my eyes. “Shut up, K. J. No amount of money could buy you any class. Not that Grandpa had anything to leave us anyway.”
K. J.’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but her expression quickly changes to one of pure smugness. “Actually, he did.” She turns to the lawyer. “Didn’t he, Mr. Sisco?”
Jackie frowns and elbows her daughter again.
“Be quiet, girls,” my mom hisses, “and let him read the letter.”
CHAPTER 3ELI
Hello girls,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m gone. I wish I could have told you in person what I plan to tell you now, but I often find it easier to write my thoughts and feelings down rather than say them aloud. So here goes…
I know some people have always thought me to be a strange man. I have my ways, and other people have theirs. I’ve always thought we, as a species, should respect that more. Other people’s choices, that is. I know I’ve certainly tried to respect the choices my daughters have made. There were many times I wanted to step in and try to mend the divide between you two, but to be honest, I didn’t know where to start. Some fissures run too deep, and throwing a little sand in them will do nothing to fill the gap. And let’s face it, I could barely manage to hold myself together most the time, let alone try to fix other people’s problems.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I had cancer. But I’m telling you now.
A few months back, I realized something wasn’t quite right. I didn’t have my usual energy when I walked about my property, and I was tired all the time. I began to worry. You know how much I detest hospitals and how I hate riding in a car, but I actually went to the doctor. (I know, it shocked me, too.) But I needed to know if I was dying. My neighbor Sheldon took me. After some tests, the doctors confirmed my fears, diagnosing me with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. They said it was advanced, but I could start treatment to hopefully prolong my life. I considered it. I really did. But the thought of getting in a car again and making another trip to the hospital triggered a major panic attack. I decided I would rather live out the rest of my time where I’m most comfortable—at home.
I’m sorry for not telling you girls, but I knew you’d want me to get treatment. And I just wanted to live my last few months in relative peace. It turns out the doctor’s estimate was wrong. Those few months have turned into nearly half a year now, enough time for me to make some important decisions. Again, I don’t tell you all this to make you sad. This was my choice, and it’s one I don’t regret.
But let’s get to the real point of this letter: I stayed quiet on matters that bothered me more than I ever let on. I hated never being able to have my family all together at once.
Jackie, I rarely saw you
