I head to the Common Room. It is Ms. Becker, the social worker. When I approach, she requests that Vance and I sit with our backs to the hallway. When Vance asks her why, she says facing the window is less distracting. I close my eyes. She doesn’t want us to catch a glimpse of them wheeling our father’s body out. I get it.
She reaches into her briefcase and pulls out a folder. It has our last name across the tab. Vance digs through his backpack and lifts out a legal-sized, white envelope and places it in front of him. “His will.” He slides it across the table.
Ms. Becker doesn’t look down; she looks at us. “First, let me say I am very, very sorry for your loss, boys. I know meeting with me is the last thing you want to do, but I’ve found that the quicker I get things started on my end, the better it is for my clients. I’m your advocate, and it’s my job to make sure the right decisions are made concerning your futures.”
“I don’t want to talk about my future! I can’t think about that right now,” Vance barks.
Ms. Becker nods, unfazed. “You’re absolutely right, Vance. Let me back up. Let’s start with your father.” She pulls papers from the envelope and lays them out. Neither Vance nor I have actually seen Dad’s will. What if he says we have to move to Alaska with our grandparents or ship off to Singapore with Aunt Renee? Ms. Becker carefully scours the document, and I am about to shatter with a hideous mixture of heartache and anxiety. My fingers tingle and my stomach tightens.
“Your father requested a private service and burial. That takes a tremendous amount of pressure off you guys. I will definitely help you navigate through the process, and if you like, I can be your liaison with the funeral director.”
We nod, almost in unison.
She stares down at the will. “He left everything to you both, fifty-fifty. And he clearly had faith in you, Vance. He spells out very clearly that you are to get custody of Oscar in the event of his death.”
The world shifts around me. Or maybe I moved. I am blurred. Vance will have custody of me? We can’t even discuss what’s for dinner without animosity. And he will be in charge?
Vance fidgets in his seat. “Does that mean—” He stops.
Ms. Becker looks him square in the eye. “It means that until Oscar turns eighteen in November, you will be his legal guardian.”
We are stunned. We are silent. We are frozen.
“However, Vance, you do have some choices. And I’d be happy to go through them in a few days, maybe after the funeral?”
Despite feeling slightly numb at the moment, I want to hear Vance’s choices. “Go over them now,” I say. “Please.”
Her eyes dart from mine to Vance’s. “Are you sure?”
My brother turns to me. “I’m ready.”