The Bequest: Chapter One & Two

THE INHERITANCE

I thought I had died. My car had spun around to face a truck speeding toward me and I closed my eyes. The sound of the rain dripping onto the passenger seat reminded me I was still alive. Just to be sure, I looked in the mirror. I still had my boyish light brown face, short hair, and big almond eyes. I sat there for ten minutes before I flipped open my phone to call my ex-wife to tell her I still loved her. I hung up before I finished dialing the number and drove away.

Before the car lost control I’d been driving down a Pennsylvania highway thinking about what my mother’s lawyer said to me in his Madison Avenue office, “Your mother has left all of her estate, $537,000, to your brother Steven. However, she did want you to have this.” He passed me a piece of paper and read aloud the deed for the Devoe Plantation in Cherokee County, South Carolina. He said my mother told him it was once owned by a man named Joseph McGuire and somewhere down the line it had been inherited by my birth mothers’ family. Sitting in a leather chair in his office, I remembered that I had heard the name of that plantation before but didn’t know where or when. He continued, “Your birth mother gave the deed to your mother to hold and give to you when you were of age. Now, it’s yours. I don’t know that it’s worth much but it is yours. Your brother Steven doesn’t know anything about this land and he doesn’t need to know, it’s not his business.” He hesitated for a moment then spoke again, “Another thing, as long as you don’t contest the will, Steven is prepared to give you ten thousand dollars from the inheritance. If you agree I’ll need you to sign here.” He pointed to an empty line on my mothers’ last will and testament. I was boiling but I said nothing.

I thought to myself, Really? She left me nothing? I get a piece of land that I was supposed to have gotten years ago, land that’s not even from her, land I can’t even afford to keep, and he gets five hundred and fucking thirty seven thousand dollars?! And then he has the nerve to say he’ll give me the fucking whopping sum of ten motherfucking thousand dollars?! Can he give me back the innocence he stole from me?” I wanted to scream, to break something. But I didn’t. My anger triggered recent memories of my mother. She died alone in a fire in the house where I grew up. I remembered that I had not spoken to her in fifteen years because I couldn’t forgive her for defending her own flesh and blood, for failing to protect me from Stevie. Still, I felt ashamed for staying away for so long. The lawyer stared at me while my emotions churned like small storms inside me. After some time, he repeated, “ If you agree, I will need you to sign here.”

I stood up, grabbed the deed and walked away. “Your mother wanted you to know that she loved you as if you were her own blood.” He said calmly. I waited until I reached the lobby and then I began to cry for all the years I said nothing.

~

MAX

Shaking off the aftershock of almost crashing my car, I decided to exit the highway. There was an older tall butch woman named Max who owned a gift store and small inn just down the road. I had met her the year before when I went in to buy water. Even though I wasn’t attracted to butch women I remember thinking that her face was so beautiful; black and smooth. The blackest skin I had ever seen in all my travels. Looking at her, I asked myself questions I’d asked a thousand times, why couldn’t I have I have taken after my father and been born darker? Damn, at least I could have been given an ass instead of this flat pancake I’m carrying around. Well, at least I can sing. I laughed out loud to myself then shook my head at my own ignorance. As I pulled into the driveway I heard someone yell.

“Hey there!” I poked my head out of the window to see a hand waving at me from inside the shop. “Hey there! Welcome Back!”
“Who is this woman?” I thought. “The last time I was here I only dropped in for five minutes to get some water and there was only one person in the shop and that was Max, the owner. This woman isn’t Max.”
I waved back and yelled “Hi!”
I stepped into the shop and the person who was waving was now behind the counter and said, “It’s good to see you Robin.”
“Forgive me but I don’t remember who you are.”
“Well, that’s something I only hear every blue moon. I’m Max. I met you last year when you dropped in.”

The Max I remembered was tall and roughly built with jet black skin and short buzzed hair. That Max wore jeans, a button down shirt, a man’s tie, and walked like a linebacker. This Max was the same height and complexion but wore a sundress, this Max had a French mani- pedi, sported healthy, long, beautiful locks down to her thighs and moved with such grace it looked like she was floating.
“I’m sorry” I said. “It’s just that you loo…” Max cut me off and completed my sentence, “so different?”
“Yes” I said, feeling like an idiot.
“Like I said, that’s something I only hear every blue moon, but I do hear it. Hey, you look a little rattled. Why don’t you sit down and let me bring you some iced tea from the back.”

I told her about my near death experience and gladly accepted her offer. While I waited for Max to return I couldn’t help but notice a painting on the wall. In the painting there was a big eggshell colored house surrounded by large field and a cave to the north of the house from which two slaves emerged. I stood up to get a closer look at the painting and noticed the small writing at the bottom of the frame. Devoe Plantation, Cherokee County, South Carolina 1857. Max came out from the back and walked toward me with a tall glass of tea in her hand; mint and lemons dripping from the side. I was fixated on the painting. I turned my head toward her and pointing to the painting, I said, “Max, this is the weirdest thing. I think this is a painting of the place where I’m heading.” She put down the tea on the table next to the couch, brushed herself against the side of me and whispered, “I know.”
I looked up at her. She smiled, ran her hand down my arm until she reached my wrist. Without saying another word she moved back behind the counter. I reasoned that she must be joking with me and tried to hide that I was aroused by her touch. As I sat down, drank my tea, and tried to understand what had just happened, a man came out of the back with a suitcase. He walked over to the counter, signed something, turned his head toward me, nodded, then left. Max looked up at me with her sleepy round eyes and with a pleasant tone said, “Listen, if you are thinking of staying in town for the night, the room in the back is available to rent. I just need an hour to get it ready for you.” I knew, then, that I should have left. There were too many strange things happening. Besides, I had planned to reach South Carolina by the end of the day, but something was calling me to stay, something beyond Max’s touch or her eyes. I looked up at the painting again, opened my pocket to pull out the deed. I took another sip of tea and said, “What time is check out?”

TUNE IN NEXT MONTH FOR PART THREE