When his parents died, he’d been young enough to cry for a night and a day, and young enough that, when his tears were gone, life on his own was an adventure. He’d always loved an adventure, even if he did cry occasionally because his mother wasn’t there to bandage up skinned knees and kiss them better. And eventually his war wounds became such as wouldn’t heal so easily. Bastian’s death was steeped in the guilt and pain of a friendship that had ended long before. Ruth . . .
Ruth was the second loss of a mother when he was old enough to understand. Her acceptance was, in some way, her nephew’s. She had never hesitated to let him know when he was being a fool, but still conceded there was worth in him, however deeply buried. He hadn’t, rational as he tried to be, thought she would die. He’d never told Bastian ‘sorry’; he’d never told Ruth ‘thank you.’
Listen to him analyzing! Didn’t his mind have other things to do? And now he was thinking about thinking . . . Maybe that was a way of managing grief. Fer . . .
The sound of a clearing throat at his right broke his reverie. “William O’Malley?”
He turned to face Ruth’s lawyer, a thin, grey man who peered at him blinkingly over his glasses. “Sir?”
“The reading of the will is at two p.m.,” he was informed.
Four Eyes nodded politely. “Yes, sir?”
The man adjusted his glasses to study him. “You are aware that you are the main beneficiary?” he asked, a trifle disbelievingly.
There was a rushing in his ears. “No, sir.”
The lawyer adjusted his glasses once more, searching for some sign of false modesty. “Well, you are,” he stated.
The rising emotion identified itself as panic. Why?
He must have spoken because the lawyer arched his eyebrows. “I don’t know why, young man, I just know she did. She left you this house, its contents, and a small sum of cash.”
No. He couldn’t - she couldn’t have -
“It won’t make you wealthy, but it should at least make you comfortable,” the man continued, oblivious to his panicked thoughts. He reached into his vest pocket and produced a folded square of rich paper. “This was in her will.”
Four Eyes blinked at the paper, accepting it automatically.
“Reading is at two. I expect you’ll be there. Good day.”
Four Eyes, staring helplessly at the paper in his hand, barely noticed the man’s departure. It’s not fair! Exactly what it was that wasn’t fair, he couldn’t have said, but it wasn’t.
Dear William,
Stop looking so stunned. Take what I have left you and make a life for yourself. Take care of Margaret, and, above all, be happy.
With God’s love,
Ruth Warren
No.
“Are you okay?” Ruby’s voice, and Ruby’s hand on his arm. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed her come in.
He looked at her, then looked away. How could he explain . . . ? “Why?” he whispered.
“What’s wrong?” She pulled him over to the sofa when he didn’t answer. “Four Eyes, what is it?” He hugged her and wondered why he was trying not to cry. This was a funeral. Tears were appropriate. They were expected. But he couldn’t seem to let himself. Ruby cried herself out on his shoulder.
She needed him.
“Gotta - be dere - at two,” he managed finally as she dried her eyes.
She looked blank for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, the will?”
He nodded also, then shook his head at himself. This was Ruth’s funeral. Why was he doing this now? But why had she-?
Ruby frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head again, closing his eyes. Why?
“Four Eyes?” He opened his eyes at the concern and weariness in her voice and berated himself. They’d promised to lean on each other equally, but all he could do was stare at her helplessly.
She took his face in her hands. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
But he couldn’t. He glanced down at the carved coffee table. He couldn’t cry, he thought, somewhat irrelevantly, and risk a tear staining that finish. It’s my table. He recoiled, horrified at the thought, and the tears finally fell.
“Four Eyes?” Ruby wiped at his face. He hadn’t wiped away her tears. He stared at one still remaining on her cheek and tried to communicate to his hand the need to brush it away. “Sugar, what is it?”
“‘S mine,” he repeated sickly, aloud. Of all the thoughts to be having on this day of all days . . . Didn’t Ruth know what a . . . person . . . she was giving such a . . . “Why?”
“What’s yours?”
He shook his head, trying to find a fitting word for himself. “Should go,” he murmured, horrified again by the thought.
“Did Aunt Ruth leave stuff to you? Is that it?”
“She . . . ev’rything . . .” He stared at the coffee table, accusing as it seemed, so as not to have to look at her face. “I’m . . .” Worthless! That worked. He tried to swallow. “Why?”
She turned his head toward her again. “Because she wanted ya ta have it.”
Too busy savouring his chosen epithet, he didn’t hear.
“Four Eyes, look at me.”
He didn’t quite look at her, but he looked near her, at least. Silence. “She said ta be happy . . .” Happy with things he should never have had, if only -
Ruby frowned. “An’ why not?” After a moment she added gently, “We were all Ruth had left, ya know.”
Four Eyes flinched. He flinched again.
- If only. If only Bastian had not died. If only . . .
Ruby sighed and looked away, rubbing her eyes. He should be helping her, comforting her; they’d promised . . .
“She didn’t do it ta make ya feel bad. She did it ‘cause she wanted to,” she said quietly.
Intellectually, he knew that. Intellect had nothing to do with it - this wasn’t the time! He should - do something - something worthwhile - but what?
“Why can’t ya jus’ accept that she felt ya deserved it, be thankful an’ stuff?”
I can’t. There was no reason to it. “No.” He sighed and took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt. Quietly, he asked her, “What am I s’posed ta do wit it?”
She shrugged a bit. “I don’t know.” She touched his face. “Accept it?”
Accept it. He shook his head as the fear started to overwhelm him again, and reached to hug her. “I’m sorry.”
This time they were supporting one another. “It’s aw right. Jus’, please, don’t shut me out.”
He drew breath and managed to whisper, “Nevah.” He stroked her hair. “I’d go insane.” I’d go insane. Without her . . . Well, he’d known that for months. Without Ruby by his side . . . “I’d go insane . . .”
She kissed his cheek. “It’s gonna be aw right, I promise.”
He kissed her back, but he hadn’t quite meant that. “I’d . . .” He trailed off. Accept it. Maybe he could, if - “Marry me?” He hadn’t meant to say it quite so abruptly. Pulling away, uncertainly, he rubbed his face and put on his glasses.
He looked up in time to see Ruby sit down as if her knees had given way. “You mean that?” she whispered.
“I couldn’t - wit’out you-” he fumbled, face red. There was an ungracious proposal. Marry me because I need ya too much ta survive on me own. Ungracious, but . . . Say yes?
Ruby stood back up and put her arms around him. “As if I could say anythin’ but ‘took ya bloody long enough.’”
It had to be a sin to be this happy.
He was greeted enthusiastically at the door of the Staten Island apartment. Cat squealed, toddled five steps towards the door, plopped down on her backside, and raised chubby arms expectantly.
Her adopted father beamed with pride. Cat was nearly a year old now, and had her mother’s golden curls ringing her round face like a halo. Four Eyes picked her up. “Hey.” He smiled.
She beamed at him.
“Ya gonna stand in da doorway?” Doze asked, grinning, and waved him inside. “Any news? How’s Ruby?”
“She’s good - Hey now!” Cat was attempting to pull off his glasses. He freed a hand long enough to get them back and adjusted his hold. “I gotta call in a favor.”
“Favor?” Doze looked at him. “Anythin’ wrong? Whatevah ya need . . .”
Four Eyes shook his head, concentrating on keeping Cat from getting a hold on his glasses again. “I’se in need of a best man an’ I figger ya owe me, since I did it fer you,” he replied, before looking at his friend.
Doze grinned. “It’s about time! Congratulations.” Cat looked at her stepfather, wide-eyed, then giggled when he took her out of Four Eyes’ arms and tossed her in the air. “Ya heah dat, Miss Catherine? Yer uncle’s gettin’ married.”
Stay tuned! More to come!
