“Tell me about meeting Morgan,” Deidra requested from Drew and not me.
Of course Drew got up, walked to the window, and poured a drink from the bottle that Deidra already had out for him. “Well, I learned about Morgan the day after I buried my mother. I got pretty drunk the night before, sitting out on the balcony alone, sulking.”
I couldn’t believe that his so called girlfriend wasn’t with him.
“By ten at night the inspiring city lights started to be nothing but a blur as I drank vodka, trying to make sense of a fucked up mess. There was no way my life could get anymore fucked up. That had to be it. Michael Callaway couldn’t possibly do anymore. He took my mother when I was ten and he took her again when I was twenty four, this time for good,” Drew sadly explained.
My heart already ached for him and he’d just begun.
“I woke to the ringing of my phone, slumped in a drunken stupor in a lounge chair on the rooftop, overlooking the Vegas strip. ‘Yeah?’ I answered, sitting up and rubbing the ache in my sore neck.
‘Is this Mr. Kelley?’
‘Yes it is, but if you don’t mind could you call the office. I’m dealing with some personal issues and will not be in today. Leave a message with Lois and I will get back with you,’ I tried. I really didn’t want to deal with work, wasn’t sure I ever would, not the way I felt at the moment anyway,” Drew admitted, glancing my way.
Drew resumed, “The caller did catch my attention.
‘Mr. Kelly, this is Spring Valley Medical Center. We have you down as next of kin for Randal Callaway.’
I stood, running my fingers through my hair. Now what? This could not be happening, I thought. My life couldn’t possibly go anymore south than it had over the last week. ‘Okay,’ I coaxed.
‘Mr. Callaway had a stroke early this morning. We need you to come down as soon as possible.’
‘Is he okay?’ I inquired.
‘He’s hanging in there.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I’m sure it was a little facetious of me, no, it was a lot morbid of me, but I smiled full of excitement. Clicking my heals in a motivated jump, I entered the house to shower, overjoyed with the thought of both the Callaways being out of my life and leaving me so much money. Taking my time, I showered, had my new Porsche delivered to my door, and even stopped off at Pipers Bakery for a bagel and fresh cup of coffee.
Putting on my serious, remorseful expression, I walked through the double doors of the hospital, ready to receive the unfortunate news of the dying Randal Callaway. I sure would miss him and his fuck face son. Once again, I had to stifle a smirk. Be somber, Drew, I warned myself as I asked where I could find Mr. Callaway.”
Hmmm, Drew was a very good story teller. I felt like I was right there, living the events as he told them. Deidra didn’t look fazed a bit. I was sure she’d heard some pretty intense stories, doing what she did.
“He really did look like death. The right side of his face drooped, his breathing was being controlled by oxygen, and he was wired to more noise making machines than I could count. I never spoke to him that day, he never woke up. I did, however, play the role and continued to stop by for the next three days, never seeing an improvement. That made me very happy. ‘How is he?’ I smiled a flirtatious smile to the familiar nurse.
‘Much better, he’s awake,’ she flirted back.
My smile instantly vanished, and I frowned, noticing Warren Fitch exiting the building. What the heck was he doing there? Mr. Callaway told me that he’d had his will changed the day after Michael was buried. Shaking my head as I realized what was going on, I entered his room. Of course everything was left to my mother, and now, well, he was there to sign everything over to me. Lucky me, I thought. ‘How are you?’ I asked, pretending to give a shit. He did look better, although his face still drooped on the one side. He was sitting up and his right arm lay dead, palm side up in an awkward position in his lap.”
Drew described like it was yesterday. His attention to the detail surprised me a little, not that I was complaining. I wasn’t at all. It intensified the things he was saying leading up to meeting me.
“Mr. Callaway ordered me to sit down. I sat with a scowl, barely understanding what he’d said due to the slur in his speech. He nodded to his personal nurse. ‘Hand me that folder,’ He signaled, struggling to speak. Mr. Callaway never told me to come to him or to stand. I moved to his side, needing to see what he had. Positive it was the new will, leaving everything to none other than me; every last dime. He nodded towards the door, excusing the lady.