First Family (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 4)

“By the way, my name isn’t Fred.”

“I know that.’Cause that’s the name I gave you. What is it, then? Your real name? I didn’t see your ID that good or how you signed the will.”

“Eugene.”

“Is that an Indian name?”

“No, but it is what my mother named me.”

“How come?”

“Because she was white.”

“And she really lived to ninety-eight?”

“No. She was dead at fifty. Too much booze. She drank even more than me.”

“Can I still call you Fred?”

“Yes. I like it better than Eugene.”

“Tell me the truth, Fred. How much longer you got to live?”

“About a year, if I’m lucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. How did you know?”

“Seen a lot of death in my day. The chest hack you got. And your hands are too cold and your skin under the brown is too pale.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“You know we all got to go one day. But now you can enjoy what time you got left a thousand times better than you would’ve a few hours ago.” He pointed a finger at his friend. “And don’t leave nothing for me, Fred. I won’t be needing it.”

Quarry drove off in a swirl of dust.

When he got back to Atlee the first plump drops of rain from an approaching front were starting to fall. He walked in and went straight to the kitchen because that’s where he heard her. Ruth Ann was scrubbing some big cook pots clean when Quarry’s boots hit the kitchen floor. She turned and smiled.

“Gabriel was looking for you.”

“Told him I was going into town with Fred.”

“Whatcha go into town for?” Ruth Ann asked as she worked.

Quarry sat down and took the document out of his jacket and unfolded it. “What I wanted to talk to you about.” He held up the paper. “This here is my last will and testament. I got it signed today. Now it’s all official.”

Ruth Ann put down the pot she was scrubbing and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Her brow creased. “Your will? You ain’t sick, are you?”

“No, at least not that I know. But only a fool waits until they’re sick to make a will. Come on over here and take a look at it.”

Ruth Ann took a hesitant step forward and then quickly crossed the room and sat down. She took the paper from him, slipped a pair of drugstore glasses from her shirt pocket, and put them on.

“I don’t read all that good,” she said, a little embarrassed. “Get Gabriel to do it for me mostly.”

He stabbed a finger at one part of the paper. “It’s mostly lawyer talk, but right there is all you got to pay attention to, Ruth Ann.”