I hereby bequeath everything I have to Jacob Lesley Marsh. It’s not much, but I just wanted to make sure everything was official. I know he hates religious icons of any sort, so I want him to find a good home for them. I won’t define a good home, but what I mean by that is that I don’t want him to throw away what belonged to my family. I have a life insurance policy worth $65,000, and Jake is the sole beneficiary. He is to use the money to pay a private detective to find his brother. I’ll rest better if I know he’s found Jonathan. I also ask that my ashes be spread over the desert of Casas Grandes. I have already spoken to Jake about these things, but I thought I’d speak from, the dead just to remind him. And Jake, remember, I want a Mass, damnit—and wear something nice out of respect for the dead.
Joaquin’s handwriting was simple, clear, without any affectation. Tom and Rick had witnessed and dated it two months before he had died. He stared at the paper, then handed it back to Tom. “He shouldn’t have left me that kind of money.”
“Why the hell not? It’s not exactly a fortune.”
“For us, it was a fortune. It makes me feel bad.”
“Because he wanted to leave you with something?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“He loved you.”
“I can’t take it.”
“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Why don’t you just leave me alone, Tom?”
“I can’t. I’m trying, but I can’t.”
“What if you’re not wanted?”
Tom walked away from him.
“Come back here,” Jake said. Tom kept walking toward the kitchen. Jake followed him. “I was joking,” he said. He smiled at him. “It’s hard for me,” he said, “I won’t forget what you’ve done—what you did—for him—for me. I won’t.”
Tom nodded. “And will you promise not to be so cold with your brother—will you promise to be good to him?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really going to move in with him and his wife?”
“He insisted. They both insisted.”
“When?”
“Any time I want. I’m going to take care of stuff around here. Maybe a couple weeks.”
“You’re actually going to take something from someone?”
“He’s my brother.”
“There are lots of us,” Tom said.
Jake said nothing.
“Will I see you?”
“Of course you’ll see me—you’re my doctor.”
Tom poured himself a cup of coffee. “Lots of people at the funeral,” he said awkwardly. “People loved him.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I just remembered—”
“What?”
Jake walked out of the room and returned with a jacket in his hand. “He wanted you to have this. He said he lent it to you once, and you looked good in it.”
Tom took it carefully. “Thanks.”
“Thank Joaquin.”
“I wish I could, Jake.” Tom finished his coffee without trying to say anything else.