Page 7 of Requiem
“I don’t see how you could possibly think that your father would even consider giving you a share of his business after that,” Mom throws at him after I’m seated.
Jeremy sits up and leans forward toward me, suddenly more interested. One of his dark brows perks up and I’d swear his hazel eyes are gleaming with excitement now.
“Is that what it is?” he murmurs softly to me. “He left you the garage?”
“Money. From the sale of the garage,” Mom corrects.
Jeremy looks at her briefly with half a smile. She just swishes her tea around the cup and takes another sip.
“How much?” he demands.
“None of your business …” I start to say, but my mother cuts in before I can finish.
“Close to a million dollars, Jeremy.”
Fuck! She is determined to rub this shit in his face. And she’s doing a great job of it. Jeremy looks as if he’d like to eviscerate me with his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll be wanting my share of that,” he informs me.
Shit. This is bad. I close my eyes again, forcing myself to calm down. What happens in the next few minutes is going to determine my fucked-up brother’s state of mind for the next few years. Decades, maybe. I swallow my anger and my pride in favor of the path of least resistance. And least violence.
“Mom, really, I don’t need it all …” I sigh with resignation.
“Brett, let me be clear,” she warns me sharply. “Ralph didn’t mention it, but there is a clause in the will. If you give a single penny of that money to Jeremy, it will all be rescinded and donated to the Humane Society.”
“You can’t do that,” Jeremy snarls.
“I can. And I did.”
“Mom, please, be reasonable,” I implore, putting a hand on her forearm.
Of course I don’t want to give this asshole a nickel, but I know full well the shit storm that’s about to rain down on us if he doesn’t get his way. I can count the number of Jeremy-centric ‘discussions’ we’ve had sitting in this kitchen over the years, but I can’t recall a single one as volatile as the one that seems to be unfolding right now.
Jeremy looks pleased, believing this to be settled to his satisfaction. The expression doesn’t last for long once my mother opens her mouth again.
“Tell him,” she demands, glaring at my brother.
“Tell him what?” he asks slowly; suspiciously.
“Tell him why you’re here. Tell him how you knew your father died,” she demands. “No one here called you. The obituary hasn’t been in the paper yet, or even online. Tell him, Jeremy.”
My brother is looking a little less pleased than he was just a few seconds ago.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says his mouth, but his expression tells a different story.
Mom raises a challenging eyebrow.
Now, this is an interesting question. And one that I hadn’t considered myself. How did Jeremy find out? Now, we are all three of us staring at my brother, who can barely keep a straight face.
“Oh, alright, alright,” he concedes, rolling his eyes as if he’s a naughty child caught in a fib. “I came into town a few days ago. I wanted to catch Dad by himself so we could talk. Like Mom said, things didn’t end so well last time I was here, and I wanted to try and rectify that. So, I went to the garage … and that’s when I found him like that.”
“If that’s true, then why wouldn’t you say anything? Call the police? An ambulance?” I demand.
Jeremy looks at me with irritated exasperation, as if I am too stupid to live. “Because of this, right here,” he gestures at us sitting around the table. “This fucking inquisition. Who was going to believe I didn’t have something to do with it? Besides, he was dead when I got there.”
“Was he?” Mom challenges.
I can see it all on his face – the slight arch to one of his eyebrows, the thoughtful scrunch of his nose and the way his gaze moves, unblinking, across my mother’s features. I’m not sure anyone else would recognize it for what it is … Jeremy’s searching for clues.
