“Why? You think guilty people don’t get away with murder?”
“On occasion, of course they do, but he was exonerated. There wasn’t any evidence that tied him to the crime.”
“Except Cates, the other guy.”
“Herman Cates knew he was dying and he admitted he’d implicated your father just because he could. His accomplice was someone else altogether.”
“So I heard,” he said in that tone that screamed of disbelief. “At any rate, I appreciate your going to so much trouble for someone you never met.”
“I thought it was the least I could do . . .” I was going to add “under the circumstances” but I stopped where I was. Ethan must have picked up on the missing words.
“How so?”
“I understand the two of you quarreled.”
“Says who?”
“A friend of his in Santa Teresa.”
“I wouldn’t call it a quarrel. More like a tiff.”
“He told his friend there was an ugly scene.”
“What was I supposed to do? The guy was drunk. So what else is new? Things might have got nasty, but you know how it is. Everybody calms down and life goes on.”
“You weren’t in touch with him afterward?”
“Wasn’t possible. The man lives on the street and he doesn’t have a phone. We didn’t even know for sure where he was headed when he left.”
“Were you aware he’d come into money?”
“Well, yeah. That’s what he said. We didn’t talk about it, but I got the gist. He said he filed a lawsuit.”
“He sued the state . . .”
“Right, right. Because his name was cleared. I remember now.” There was a pause while he plucked the D string and adjusted the tuning. He addressed his next question to the machine heads. “He die with a will or without?”
“With.”
“What happened to the money? I hope you’re not going to tell me he blew it.”
“No, no. It’s still in the bank.”
He smiled briefly. “That’s a relief. Man’s a bum. Never did anything right in his life. So what’s the process in a situation like this?”
“Process?”
“What happens next? Are there forms to fill out?”
I experienced a momentary jolt and I could feel the heat rise in my face. I’d just caught a flash of how this looked from his perspective. Now that I’d delivered the bad news, he thought I’d be telling him about the money he was coming into. He and his sisters. His asking what was to happen next was procedural. He hadn’t brought up the subject sooner because he didn’t want to sound greedy. Maybe he thought I’d been beating around the bush out of delicacy. Given the news of his father’s death, he didn’t want to leap on the pecuniary matters without first giving the impression of filial respect.
“He named me executor of his estate.”
“You?”
I shrugged.
Ethan thought about that briefly. “Well, I guess the job’s largely clerical, isn’t it? Filing papers and stuff like that?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “The will’s been entered into probate.”
“Whatever that means,” he said, and then focused on me fully for the first time. “You act like there’s a problem?”
“Well.”
Annoyed, he said, “Would you quit fumbling around and just get on with it?”
I stared at the floor and then shook my head. “I don’t know how else to say this, Ethan. He cut you out of the will. All three of you.”
He stared at me. “You’re kidding me.”
I shook my head.
“Son of a bitch. All this, because we had a falling-out? I don’t believe it. Is that why you brought it up? That business about the ‘quarrel’?” He used his fingers to enclose the last word in digital quote marks, implying that it was my claim and not necessarily the truth.
“I’m sure it must seem harsh.”
“Harsh? It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you heard, but it’s bullshit.”
“I’m telling you what he said; the story as he relayed it to his friends. He said you slammed the door in his face. I don’t know if he was speaking literally or figuratively.”
“And for that, we were disinherited? A few cross words and he dumps us? That’s not right. That can’t be right.”
I dropped my gaze and waited. It was natural for him to vent and I needed to give him the space.
“Hey. I’m talking to you.”
I met his eyes.
“You want to hear what went on the last time we spoke? Fine. This is the truth and I got witnesses. I’d come over here to pick up the kids. I was living somewhere else temporarily. My wife was standing right there, so you can ask her if you want. He arrives on my doorstep so drunk he can hardly stand. He’s selling me some hard-luck story about half a million bucks and how he never did nothing wrong . . . he’s been falsely imprisoned . . . big boo-hoo. Like I could give a shit. He’s begging my forgiveness, wanting to give me this lovey-dovey hug and stuff. He actually thinks he’s coming into my house so he can get to know my wife and kids. He smells like a sewer, like he puked on himself. There’s no way I’d let him in. With my kids home? I told him to get the hell out and not to call until he was clean and sober for a month, which he must not have managed since I never heard from him again.”
“Did he see your sisters that same visit?”
“Of course. You probably know that already since you bought his version, hook, line, and sinker. He said he wanted to talk to them, and like an idiot I told him where Anna worked. He showed up drunk there as well and made a horse’s ass of himself. Anna was so pissed at me she didn’t talk to me for a month. Now we get cut from the will, like we did something to him instead of the other way around.”
“Ethan, honestly, I’m not blaming you for anything.”
“Why would you? You’re not the butt of the joke. Tell you what. As far as I’m concerned? The guy was dead when he went to Soledad. I wrote him off the day he left and so did Ellen and Anna. Screw him. I don’t want his money. He can shove it up his dead ass.”
I thought it wise to keep any further comments to myself. Anything I said was the equivalent of tossing gasoline on a bonfire.
Ethan stared at me. “So is that it? Are we done now?”
Hesitantly, I said, “There are some personal items he wanted you to have. They’re still in his safe deposit box, which I won’t have access to until the hearing in December. I can send them to you when the time comes.”
“Personal items?”
“He wrote and illustrated a folio for each of you. California edible plants and wildflowers.” My face was feeling warm again because it all sounded so lame.
“Like a little coloring book? I can hardly wait. Meanwhile, where’d the money go? I forgot to ask. He give it away? Donate it to a worthy cause so he could look good at our expense?”
“He left it to me.”
“Say what?”
“He left me the money.”
“All of it?”
Nodding assent would have been redundant. He could see the admission written on my face.
Behind me, the front door opened and the oldest of the children came in, with an enormous backpack. She had dark eyes and long dark hair that might have been neatly brushed when she left for school that morning. Now some strands had separated while the others were in a tangle. I was so grateful for the distraction, I wanted to kiss the child, though I’d forgotten her name.
“Hey, Amanda,” Ethan said with a glance at her.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“School go okay?”
“Fine.”
“You want a snack, you can get yourself some cookies, but share with Scottie and the Bink, okay?”
“’Kay.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with the box of cookies. She got out a Fig Newton and held it in her teeth while she sat down at the children’s table, opened her backpack, and took out her homework. Binky used the table leg to pull herself up so she could bang on Amanda’s paper with the flat of her hand. She slid it back and forth rapidly.