One More Time

It seemed like I'd been making excuses for him and clinging to that mantra most of my life.

Who he was wasn't his fault. What was his fault, however, was how he continued to behave around my mother. Knowing she hated him, he continued to throw my dad's affair in her face, every chance he got. He was petty, childish, and vindictive. That was his way. I wanted to believe that if he'd ever showed her a modicum of respect, she might have eventually come around where he was concerned.

But, he didn't, and neither did she, which made gatherings of our little family incredibly uncomfortable.

I leaned over and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. She leaned into me, seemingly grateful for the contact, and I took the opportunity to whisper into her ear.

“Did you know he was coming?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I didn't invite him,” she said in a hushed tone. “Your father must have.”

Her hands trembled, so I put her tea and my coffee on the table in front of us and took her hands in mine.

“What's this all about, mom?” I asked. “Did he give you any clues?”

She'd kept her mouth shut about this meeting ever since she called me to tell me to be there. Her eyes met mine and I could see she knew exactly why we were there. She just wasn't telling me. Probably because my father told her to keep her lips zipped about it.

“Your father will explain everything once he's done meeting with his lawyer,” she said.

My father's lawyer, Terrance Houston, had been in dad's office for at least an hour. Mom was hush-hush about that as well. Given the secrecy and all, I assumed this meeting had to do with his will. Although, as far as I knew, my dad wasn't dying yet. Yeah, his health had been going downhill the last few months or so, but there was nothing that would signal that he was on his death bed. Certainly nothing that would seem to warrant a meeting like this being called.

As my mind swirled with thoughts and emotions, an icy finger of dread trailed its way up my spine. Was there something wrong with my dad that he hadn't told us about yet? Was he actually dying? The more I thought about it and played out the worst-case scenarios, the more my anxiety about it all ramped up.

My mother put her hand on mine and squeezed. She sensed my anxiety and sought to help me keep it in check. I gave her a grateful smile and a nod, grateful for her comfort.

We heard the door to his office creak open down the hall, and not a moment too soon – I was on the verge of losing my marbles from the anticipation. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor and then Terrance stepped out – alone – and didn't say a word to any of us as he walked through the parlor, toward my mother. Stopping before he, he took her hand and gave her a gentle, compassionate smile before speaking in a hushed tone.

“He's ready to see you now,” he said.

Terrance's turned his gaze to me and he nodded in recognition.

“Malcolm, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Terrance.”

I met his gray eyes, but he looked away from me, and back to my mother.

“Everything is ready,” he said gently.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

My mother glanced at me, her eyes sad. That one glance, that one expression, made that finger of ice on my spine turn into a frigidly cold fist that grabbed and squeezed my heart. My breath caught in my throat and the feeling of dread that settled over me was oppressive.

“Your father will explain everything, dear,” she said.

Without a word, Terrance turned and led the way down the hall to dad's office, simply expecting us to follow in his wake. Adam was the first one through the door, sauntering into the office, Danielle at his side.

“Wait here, peach,” he said, kissing her and motioning for her to sit outside. “Family business.”

Danielle didn't argue, but she looked over at me, an inscrutable look in her eyes. When we were together, she'd been considered family, and was allowed to sit in on all family meetings and functions. We hadn't been engaged, but most people considered it to pretty much be an inevitability, and my family had simply accepted her as my wife-to-be.

Now that we were done, and she was with Adam, she'd been downgraded to just a girlfriend. A hanger-on. An outsider who didn't warrant a seat at the family table. It was petty, but it gave me a small sense of satisfaction. I headed into the office without sparing her another look, but she grabbed my arm as I was passing her by.

“Malcolm, can we talk afterward?” she asked.

I pulled my arm away and didn't bother to answer her. I had nothing to say and there was no reason for me to have a conversation with her. I held the door open for my mom, who gave me a curious look.

She mouthed, “What happened?”