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"Yes, I used to do the same thing when I was a kid. That’s actually how I hurt my leg.” He tapped it. “I fell from it once. Broke it. It never did heal right.”
“You lived here as a kid?" I asked him, surprised.
"Of course.”
“But my dad bought this when he made his fortune."
“We came with the house.” He said this without a hint of unease. “My mom used to clean for the previous owner and my father was a butler, like me,” he mused with a sense of pride. "He was an old, cranky bachelor. Used to berate me for climbing the tree. I was glad when your parents bought Darkmoor."
A small smile played at my lips, trying to imagine a small Benson climbing the tree.
"Now that I think of it, your initials were carved in the trunk. Way high up. I could only go that far once! I can't believe I didn't put two and two together before." Now I understood why he’d been so willing to stay here without pay. He was just as attached to this house as I was.
Which made selling it even worse.
"Children never think of adults as kids, until they have their own." He shook his head, a far away look on his face, and I wondered what he was thinking about. “You were always a rambunctious kid, always getting into everything. Your mother would find you sleeping in the cupboards or something," His face softened, talking about her, "and she could pick you up and put you into your bed without you waking up, you were such a sound sleeper."
"Still am.”
He nodded, a small smile to his face that, after a moment, grew serious. “Summer, I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I have…” He readjusted his gold rimmed glasses, “Well, I have prostate cancer.”
I inhaled a sharp breath. “Benson. No.”
He waved a hand at me. “I’m old. Too old. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“But—I?—”
“I’m serious, Summer.” His eyes went to the windows, staring at that old magnolia tree. “I’ve lived a full life. I’m ready to go.”
“But what if I’m not?”
He returned his gaze to me, his eyes softening. “I know. And I regret to tell you so soon after your father’s passing. It’s not a burden I want you to hold.”
I shook my head. “Benson, you’re like family. Of course, I want to be here for you. Go to your appointments?—”
“No, no,” He smiled sadly. “You have enough to worry about.”
“But I?—”
“Summer.” His voice was firm, “Please let me die in dignity. I don’t want someone to have to take care of me.”
I pressed my lips together, holding back my words. I definitely wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing, but I knew saying so would only make him dig in. So I nodded. “Okay.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I needed you to know since I'll be leaving town now and then for doctor visits. If you don’t see me around, that’s where I’ll be.”
“Okay.” A weight settled on my chest—another death.
“Now that we have that out of the way, tell me what that's about," he nodded to the thick, yellow envelope that had come in the mail yesterday.
I sighed, taking in a deep breath, and Benson's eyes tracked my movements as I tucked myself even tighter into the blanket. He knew me well enough to know when I was trying to comfort myself.
“The government is suing the estate."
This time, Benson's silence was deafening.
