What can be worse than the one he admitted to?
Problem is, my imagination can conjure up all sorts of scenarios. Real life is a lot more cruel than you’d ever think possible.
The street is quiet. I ring the intercom for West’s apartment, and when nobody answers, I ring the apartment across from his. His sweet old lady neighbor answers and gladly lets me in.
Score.
She waits for me at her door when I go up the stairs.
“Are you here to see Weston? He came up a while ago. Said he had to pick some things up. I’ll be so sorry to see him go.”
“He hasn’t been sleeping here since his family died.”
“I know. Poor boy. What a tragedy. Such nice people.”
“Yeah…” Not gonna touch that one. “Is he inside?”
“I don’t know, dear. I suppose so. He didn’t arrive all that long ago.”
Thanking her, I cross the small landing and knock on his door. No answer, so I ring and knock again. I think I hear a crash inside, and it sets my teeth on edge, but if he ignores me, if he needs his space, well… I’ll have to accept it.
Right.
I slide down the wall, prepared to wait for him until he’s good and ready to come out. Or until it’s time to go to work.
But then another crash comes from inside, and I find myself back on my feet, banging on the door. “West! Are you all right in there? Goddammit, open up right the fuck now.”
I sure hope the old lady is hard of hearing.
Still nothing happens, and I’m about to shout some more, when the door opens and West blinks at me.
“Kash?”
“You okay? Let me in.”
He steps aside, a questioning look on his face, but I’m too busy giving him a once-over, making sure he’s not hurt.
“I was just going through my stuff. I wanted to grab a few things before whoever gets Grandpa’s… Jonathan’s belongings comes and takes it all away.”
I glance inside. Nothing seems different from the last time I was here, which makes it all the weirder that nobody lives here anymore. “I heard a crash.”
“Yeah, some things fell when I opened the closet…” He shoves a hand through his hair. “Old boxes and papers and stuff.”
“Have you talked to anyone about an inheritance? Has Jonathan left you anything?”
“Why would he? And who the hell would I talk to?”
“I dunno. The police? Social services?” But he shakes his head. “What about Della?”
“What about her? They hated me, man. Both of them. Never missed a chance to tell me.”
“That’s… look, words are one thing, but you are family. Wouldn’t your mom leave you something?”
“I don’t know.” He throws his hands up in the air and stalks away, and into one of the bedrooms. “She never even told me she’s my… that she was my mom. Fuck. Look, nobody contacted me so I assume that no, they didn’t leave me anything. End of story.”
“But by law you should get what your mom owned.”
“She owned nothing, Kash. Don’t hold your breath.”