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* * *
“That was the last one, Boregard,” the lawyer said.
“No one calls me by that name, sir. It’s Bo. Just like my daddy went by.”
“OK, Bo. Got it,” he confirmed. “Makes sense being as you look just like he did at this age.” He pulled the final signed document across to his side of the fancy desk and laid it on the pile with the rest. “Miss Hazel did right by you, son.”
John Hunt, Beaufort’s most affordable attorney, neatly stacked the pile of paperwork to the side, giving me an opportunity to ask the only question I showed up there for. “Do I own the fishing shack now?” I asked.
He nodded.
“And, you’re sure the four acres of land is included too?” He nodded again and I relaxed a bit further into the leather chair. What a relief. “That’s all I wanted so that’s great news, sir, and thank you, sir.”
“There is still the matter of the house in town, Bo. And the money your grandmother had saved.”
I wasn’t aware of any money being saved. How’d she manage that? “Don’t really want either, sir. I’ve been living on the island the past year anyway,” I stated. “You can keep that stuff.”
He chuckled and placed his expensive-looking pen back in its velvet box. “Things don’t work like that, Bo. We’re talking a significant amount here.” He tapped his hand on the file. “It’s been six months, probate has ended, and everything’s yours now.”
I felt bad Memaw had passed and lining up for any money she’d left behind seemed unkind. “How much are we talking about?” I reluctantly inquired, figuring a few hundred bucks.
“Forty-six thousand and some change in the bank and a paid-in-full deed to the house in Beaufort. The house is worth at least a hundred-and-fifty thousand,” he said, lifting a brow to impress upon me it was a lot of money.
“No way!” I spat. “You’re sure the money was hers?”
He chuckled. “Positive, son. And the deed to the house is in a safety deposit box at the same bank.”
“Can you help me sell it?” I asked. “I’m planning on living full-time on Parris Island, sir, so I don’t need a house in town.” There was another reason I no longer wanted to live in town as well but he didn’t need to be made aware of that. Heartbreak knows no boundaries, but still, I tried hard to avoid Beaufort’s city limits.
Memaw’s attorney had known both my grandfather and my daddy well. “You plan on living in that shack?” he asked, looking at me like I’d lost my damn mind.
I stood up, gathering my copies from his desk. “That’d be correct, sir. My fishing shack.”
“All alone? Out there?” he inquired. He appeared unconvinced. “Full time?”
“With all due respect, sir. I’ve been alone most of my life. I loved my memaw, but I like it out there and won’t be needing her house. I’d appreciate you helping me sell it if you would, sir. You can take your expenses out of the sale and put the rest in that account you told me about,” I said. “I don’t expect to need much of it unless I fix up my place on the island.”
“How old are you, Bo?”
“Nineteen last week, sir.”
He fixed his gaze, his brow furrowing. “Don’t give up on the rest of the world just yet, son.”
I headed for the office door and turned to him before walking out. “Why’d you say that, sir?”
He glanced out of his office window, smiling at something invisible to me, before turning back. “You know, son? Life is strange,” he began. “It has a way of knocking on your door and bringing surprises. Try to be open to them.”
We studied each other for a moment. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
* * *
“So, Memaw, you had all that money in the bank and we ate grits and eggs for dinner three nights a week?” I teased after filling her in on the lawyer’s office visit. “I’d say that was some shit there, Memaw, but thank you, you know, for the house and the fishing shack,” I added, pulling at a weed daring to encroach on her grave site. “I hope you don’t mind but I sold your house. Too many sad memories there now that you’re gone.” I thought of things in the house that were important to her and knew she’d be wondering about them from the other side. “Yes, I kept all the photo albums. Pop-pop’s Purple Heart too.”
Like every conversation we’d had the past year, Memaw wasn’t good company. Standing, I gazed at the lowering springtime sun, its light fragmented by Spanish moss hanging from the live oak and cypress trees.
“Maybe I’ll stop by in December, Memaw. You know, to see you for Christmas. I doubt it’d kill me to drop by. I love and miss you every day,” I whispered, taking a final sweep with my hand across the top of the proof-of-death monument. I took note of her birth year and did more math. “What would you have wanted for your sixty-third birthday?”
CHAPTER TWO: Hayes
