“Yes, I do. Mrs. Crown, Nora Crown.”
He paused and glared at me. “Now, you listen and listen hard, Audrina. I want you to go to Mr. Johnson’s office after the funeral and sign over everything to me. I’ll call him and have the proper paperwork drawn up and ready for your signature so we can reverse this . . . this stupidity.”
He waited for my response. I was holding Sylvia’s hand, and we were both looking at him, surprised. Even poor Sylvia could sense his contempt. This was not the time to rage about anything, especially Papa. We were in mourning. It was disrespectful to Papa’s memory. Maybe I didn’t know as much as he did about the business that Papa had built and brought Arden into, but I had Papa’s grit and determination. I could learn anything.
“I’ll think about it, Arden, when the time is proper,” I said softly.
“Think about it? Think about what?”
“Lower your voice. You’re frightening Sylvia,” I told him.
He barely gave her a glance. “Lower my voice? You’ve barely ever looked at the stock market these past years. You’ve probably forgotten the difference between a put and a call, selling short and buying on margin. The man was obviously not in his right mind when he had our attorney do this. If it wasn’t out of some revenge, then it was because he was sick. That’s it. He was sick. His brain wasn’t getting enough blood, which was why he wasn’t capable of thinking straight. Dr. Prescott will testify to that, and Mr. Johnson will agree.”
“There was nothing wrong with Papa’s mind. And you know that he spent a lot of time with me when I was younger, explaining the stock market. It’s not something you forget so quickly. He thought it was a good way to teach math.”
“Oh, boy, teaching a child math through the market. Like that makes you a broker.”
“I didn’t say he made me a broker. He did take me to the brokerage and even announced that I would be his partner someday when he had his own company.”
“He just wished he had a son to inherit everything. Every man wants that. I became his son. He said that to me after he married my mother. Or, at least, I thought I had become his son. What father would do this to his son?” he asked, waving the papers in our faces.
“Stop it. Stop saying those things. I don’t like talking about going against his orders while his body is waiting for burial.”
“Against his orders? Don’t make me laugh. You think you could choose stocks for our clients the way you thought you could pick winners when you were a child? Tying your birthstone ring to a string and dangling it over a list of stocks in the paper until it pointed to the right one?”
“I did that, and Papa made money on the stock. You yourself were not so very good at it in the beginning. Did you forget?”
“Please!” he cried. “I was learning, whereas all you Whitefern women were crazy with your beliefs in magic . . . hoodoo, voodoo . . . paying that psychic to predict whether your mother would have a boy or a girl.”
“I’m sorry I told you that story.”
“I bet. Well, hear this, Audrina. There’s no magic in our business. It takes knowledge and experience. You don’t really have either when it comes to the stock market, especially today. It’s too sophisticated. You’d do no better than . . . than her!” he screamed, pointing at Sylvia.
Sylvia began to cry.
“Don’t point at her like that. She doesn’t understand!” I shouted back at him. That only upset her more. Anyone arguing in the house put her in a panic.
“You don’t understand, either,” he snapped back. “You don’t understand how I feel being made a fool of like this. You can feel sorry for . . . for that,” he said, pointing at Sylvia again, “but not for your husband!”
Sylvia’s sobbing increased, and her body shook.
“Look what you’ve done!” I cried. “I’ve been keeping her calm. It hasn’t been easy.”
I put my arm around my sister and began to comfort her again. Since Papa’s death, she would break out into crying jags and then howl with pain whenever there was a mention of Papa’s passing. Every condolence phone call was like an electric shock. She would barely eat and wandered from room to room, expecting to find him. Every night, she called to him in her sleep, and every night, I ended up sleeping in her bed with her, her head on my breast, her tears dampening my nightgown.
“You know what? This is insane. I can’t believe I’m even discussing it,” Arden said, and he marched angrily out of the living room, his arms stiffly extended at his sides, his hands clenched in fists.
We hardly said another word to each other until the funeral. I had my hands full caring for Sylvia anyway. I was terrified of how she would behave at the service, but fortunately, she was in more of a state of disbelief than one of mourning. She even looked surprised that we were there in the church listening to the sermon and the eulogy. Every once in a while, she would gaze around the church, searching for Papa, especially whenever his name was uttered.
There were many businessmen in the Tidewater area who knew and liked my father very much. And of course, there were many community leaders who also knew him, so we anticipated a big attendance. But when we arrived at the site and I looked around, it seemed that few people had bothered to come.
“Where is everyone? How can they not pay Papa the respect he deserves?” I asked Arden, when I saw that no one else was coming and the service was about to begin.
He turned his amber-colored eyes on me. They were sparkling but not with tears the way I was sure mine were. His looked more excited than sad. “Many of his friends and older clients have died. Besides, people always think, ‘The king is dead. Long live the king.’?”
“What does that mean, Arden? You’re the new king, so they don’t care about Papa anymore?”
“Something like that,” he said. “After all, he can’t do anything more for them, but I can.”