THEN
A little over a week earlier, Webb had not sat with his mother at his grandfather’s funeral. Instead, he’d waited until the service began before he slipped into the back row, noting where she sat with his stepfather, and he had been ready to escape as soon as the service ended.
At the reading of the will in the lawyer’s office, three days before his arrival in Norman Wells, Webb didn’t have much choice except to sit in clear view of her. She’d given him an imploring look, like she wanted a hug or at least a word from him.
He’d crossed his arms and given a firm shake of his head. It had been months since he had been in the same room as his mother. The death of his grandfather was about the only reason in the world he’d consent to it, but that didn’t mean he had to talk to her.
The look on her face when he’d shaken his head broke his heart. It was almost enough to make him run across this room with its dark overstuffed leather chairs and couches, run past all his relatives and their solemn looks. Almost enough to put him on his knees in front of her, clutching her legs and bawling about how much he missed her and how much he wished he could live at home with her like any normal teenager.
That wasn’t possible.
Instead, he’d let a couple of tears run down his face without wiping them away. If anyone noticed, they’d think he was grieving for his dead grandfather. Nobody in the room suspected that Webb had left home when he’d been busted with drugs in his locker at school. No, to the rest of the clan, Webb’s family was as close-knit as the others, although sometimes he wondered if his grandfather had suspected something was wrong. But there was nothing anyone could have done without making it worse. So the secret remained.
There were twelve people in the lawyer’s office—Webb and his mother, his mother’s three sisters, two of their husbands, and his five cousins. There was DJ and his twin brother Steve, and Adam and Spencer and Bernard, who insisted on being called Bunny. Webb was pretty sure the only person they all wished could be there was their grandfather.
Webb had learned to be very watchful, and he saw his cousin DJ shudder. He saw DJ’s mother reach out and place her hand on DJ’s hand.
“It’s all right, DJ,” she whispered. That’s how quiet the office was; even a whisper carried.
Webb sensed his mother was watching him just as closely as Webb was watching his cousins, so he leaned forward, knowing his long hair would cover his face. Webb’s hair hung below his shoulders. His stepfather hated that, which was a good enough reason to keep growing it.
After DJ’s mother whispered to DJ, all of them sat in silence, waiting for the lawyer to arrive. It had been a term of David McLean’s will that all of the grandsons assemble. Webb had left a voice mail for his mother on her cell phone, saying that he would only go to the lawyer’s office if his stepfather wasn’t there.
Webb thought this was ironic, the silence. His grandfather would never have allowed it. Silence wasn’t an option around David McLean. Laughter, yes. Shouting, yes. Arguing and jokes, yes. Silence, no.
A man in a suit pushed through the doorway, shutting the door behind him and going to the big mahogany desk in the center of the room.
“Good afternoon” he said. “Thank you for coming. My name is John Devine, and I’ve been David’s lawyer for twenty years. This is a very sad day, and I must admit that this was a day I didn’t expect to be part of. I’m much younger than David, but even so I expected him to outlive me. He was a man of so much passion. It was a true joy to have known him.”
Webb sensed that Devine meant it. And it was totally correct. Grandpa David had been an amazing man, a joy to everyone who met him.
“The terms of the will are both straightforward and, shall we say, most interesting,” Mr. Devine said.
“And with a most interesting twist. Let’s begin with the more conventional parts. All of David’s assets—his home, investments and cottage—are to be divided equally among his daughters. All of these assets, with the exception of the cottage, are to be liquidated and dispersed to the four heirs. The cottage’s ownership will be transferred to list his daughters as co-owners. It says, and I quote, ‘This was a place of so many great memories shared with my family that I wish it to be used in perpetuity by my grandchildren and their children and their children.’”
Devine paused. “Is that all clear?”
Webb felt more tears on his face. He had great memories of the cottage—weekends and summers spent with his cousins and their parents and Grandpa. All of those memories, though, existed in a different life, the life before Webb’s father died of cancer, before his mother married Elliott Skinner.
“Excellent,” Mr. Devine said at the murmurs of agreement. “Now I need to set out the next part—the interesting part—of the will. A sum of money—a rather substantial sum—has been put aside to fund an undertaking…or I should say, seven undertakings.” He paused. “This is without a doubt one of the most unusual clauses that I have ever been asked to put in a will.”
He looked slowly from person to person. “I know you are all are anxious to hear about these undertakings. However, I cannot share them with all of you at this moment.”
It seemed like everybody began shouting at once. Except for Webb. He just watched.
“Please, please!” Mr. Devine said, cutting through the noise. “You will all be fully informed, but not all of you will be informed at the same time. Some people will have to leave the room prior to the undertakings being read. Therefore, as per the terms of the will, I request that the grandsons—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said. “I don’t want to be kicked out of the room.”
“You’ll go if you’re told to go,” his twin brother DJ said.
Some things, Webb thought, never change.
“You don’t understand,” the lawyer said. “He can stay.”
“If he’s staying, then I’m staying as well,” DJ said.
“And me too,” Webb said, speaking for the first time. He didn’t like attention, but there had been a time when he felt like he and his five cousins were a tribe. He would stand with them here too, if only for all the memories of how great life had been before his stepfather.
The room erupted in noise again.
“Could everybody please just stop!” Devine stood. “Please, I am reading a will. Decorum is needed. Out of respect for the deceased, you all need to follow his directions. Is that understood?”
“Sorry,” DJ said.
“Me too,” Steve said.
Devine began again. “Before I go on, I need to ask everybody to agree to respect the terms of his will—all the terms of his will.”
“Of course we agree,” DJ’s mother said.
Everyone else nodded in agreement.
“Excellent,” the lawyer said. “Now I need to have everybody except for the six grandsons leave the room.”
“What?” one of the adults said.
“Did you say that the adults have to leave?” someone else asked.
“Yes. Everyone except the grandsons,” said Mr. Devine.