Beyond Eighteen(96)

“Don’t worry, Wilson, I don’t think he’ll come out. He was just teasing me,” she huffed, trying to hide her disappointment. “Besides, we need to find that deed.”

“Yeah, I guess we should do that,” I answered slowly. J’s conversation with Nick still weighed on my mind, especially the part about Max. I couldn’t help asking her about it. “Do you really believe Max isn’t coming?”

J stood for a moment, tangled in her thoughts of how to answer me. She shifted her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to collect the right words to use.

“Oh, honey, I don’t know…how. It just seems like he’s taking care of some serious business; the kind of stuff that can affect hundreds of people. It’s like real world, big deal shit. Stuff you and I have no clue about…Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to assume. I’m sorry if I upset you,” Joanie apologized before she wrapped her arms around me. She often did that to defuse an uncomfortable moment.

“You’re right. He’s drowning in his father’s business. Besides, he told me three days…it hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet. I’m just sad because I wanted Max here with us for New Year’s.”

“I know, sweetheart, but it won’t be long. Let’s get through the meeting with your lawyers and we’ll figure out the rest later. As a matter of fact, why don’t you try and make an earlier appointment with the lawyers? That way it will give us the rest of the day to hang out and celebrate New Year’s…just the two of us.”

“Maybe we should find the deed first before I call,” I suggested.

J stood up and looked around the house. “Great idea, where do you want to start looking?” she asked.

“Well, in my grandfather’s desk,” I said as she walked behind me to where it was sitting on the other side of the room.

It was a humongous, dark brown, chunky desk with eight matching drawers—four on either side and a large, wide, shallow center drawer with two round, black metal handles on each side. J took the left side I took the right. We looked for anything that might resemble a deed…even though I’d never seen one in my life.

Then it dawned on me—J got me off the topic of Max. She was the world’s greatest subject changer. She could single handedly get anyone off subject by using one word. It wasn’t even a specific word. Any word she’d say would lead you off topic. So instead of wasting time trying to get back, to talking about Max, I just let it go.

It only took about fifteen minutes to find a manila envelope labeled with my name in my grandpa’s handwriting. Inside was the signed deed, a life insurance policy on both of my grandparents, a declaration of homeowner’s insurance, his extra check book, and a letter with my name written across the front of a white legal-sized envelope with the flap folded under.

I felt every cell in my body betray me and I couldn’t move. I don’t know if I could handle one more letter written to me, even if it was from my grandpa. I took the deed out and stuffed the rest back in the manila envelope before tossing it on the desk. J didn’t ask. She knew I’d come back to it when I was ready. I just wasn’t up for it at that particular moment.

“Okay, let’s call Dax Fuller and hope he will take us this morning,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.





****

Sure enough, not only did my grandparents’ lawyer take us right away, but the meeting with him lasted only forty-five minutes. It was actually quite lame. J drove me five minutes across town to this little dark blue house with white trim. There was a big white rectangular sign with the lawyers’ names in black. It was right next to the cement walkway, stuck among the drought-resistant, saltwater-loving, coastal succulents.

J and I pushed through the white sea-spray–battered front door into the antiquated house. The floors were covered in gray indoor/outdoor carpeting. The desks all matched—light brown— hugged by cream-colored walls plastered with accolades and certificates. Each desk was set back and separated by cubicle walls that matched the gray carpeting. The front desk was bare except for a small dieffenbachia soaking up the sun, a black multi-lined phone, and a desk calendar used for making appointments. Nobody sat waiting to greet us as we made our way in. The small bell on the door jingled, warning Dax Fuller that we were already here.

Mr. Fuller was an average-sized man with snow gray hair slicked back and glistening from whatever he used to hold it in place. His eyes were sunken just enough to cast a shadow and exaggerate the dark rings under his eyes. His nose was too big for his face, and the tip of it looked like it had suffered constant exposure to the sun. He walked with a limp, or maybe just an exaggerated swagger, and his arms seemed to swing like the English soldiers you see on TV at Buckingham Palace. Maybe it was the light gray suit he wore that made him look a little awkward in his own skin.