Our Heart (36 page)

“Hey, Jason! I was hoping I would have a chance to see you before the funeral. You’re looking good…been a long time. How’s life treating you these days?”

I knew the voice and, as I turned to confront the speaker, I knew it would be Nick. Only, it wasn’t the Nick I had known six years ago, the one that I hoped I’d never have to lay eyes on again. This Nick was twice the size of the one I’d left in my wake, long ago. He had ballooned around the middle, evidence of too many beers and pizzas and a total lack of exercise. His face wasn’t even recognizable to me, only the clear blue eyes and Roman nose remained of the Nick I used to know. It was the eyes that I was drawn to, and I stared into them with the all the anger I had once set aside. Before I could open my mouth to say anything, another thought crossed my mind and the wind left my sails. It was very possible that I was staring at Zachary’s father. In the end, Nick had gotten the one thing he was always after…Allison.

My anger turned to disgust and shame. It was an emotional overload as the memories of the past came crashing down upon me yet again. I wanted to get away from this place and, judging by the look on Nick’s face, I think he concurred. He was showing tremendous apprehension at the gambit of emotions playing across my face.

I managed to keep my voice steady. When I responded to him, it was like a father confronting his son, who had just broken an irreplaceable and important collector’s piece. “Not now, Nick…I need some time to think before I talk to you. I really wasn’t expecting to see you here and I don’t want to say something now that I might regret later.” I’m not sure whether my comment made Nick better or worse. He nodded in acknowledgement and understanding of the situation. He lowered his eyes from mine. He turned and started to walk away, but after two steps, he stopped and turned to face me again.

The distance between us created a false sense of security. He found the courage to make the comment I think he had waited to say for a long time, “I’m sorry about the way things happened between you and Allison. I’m sorry…I…” his words dying and the last thought unspoken. He quickly spun around and moved away from me as fast as he could walk, without breaking into a run.

I stood rooted for a moment longer to let the emotions inside of me ease from the boiling point to a steady simmer. Able to think clearly once more, I turned to gaze through the TV & Repair window, hoping to catch another glimpse of Allison. I looked directly into her face, as she looked out at me. I knew in a heartbeat she had witnessed much of the interaction between Nick and me. Gone from her face was the happy smile I’d seen earlier. She wasn’t thrilled at all and had both of her hands placed firmly on each hip. She narrowed her eyes as she stared through the glass window at me. I averted my eyes, suddenly feeling the need to be repentant. I didn’t get the chance. With one last hard stare she reversed direction, giving me her backside to gaze at as she made her way to the back of the store.

I watched her walk away, dragging my heart behind her. My
subconscious
told me something else as she left my field of vision. There was strength and conviction in her behavior. She may still have some feelings left for me, but my road home was not paved in gold, but rather broken glass. I would need to tread carefully or find myself lost on a deserted desert highway with no hope for deliverance.

I spent the next forty-five minutes walking around town and remembering events and places from my past. I tried my best to get the upcoming appointment out of my mind and to find other thoughts to dwell on other than Allison and Nick. I was mostly successful and, when the time came to walk to Mr. Kittelson’s office, I was essentially as ready as one could be.

Howard Kittelson was completely unlike my perception of his voice on the phone. He also didn’t look like any television portrayal of a lawyer that I had ever seen. There was no suit, no wingtip shoes, not even a tie. His office was as plain and comfortable as he was. Howard Kittelson was dressed in dark blue slacks and a mauve colored polo shirt. He could have been anyone in town and from any profession. I couldn’t help but grin when he offered his hand to me, embracing me with his warm smile. I didn’t know the woman who was sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, but she was as genuine in her looks as was Howard Kittelson. Mr. Kittelson caught my glance towards her and his smile broadened as he introduced me to his wife, Sally. We spent the next few moments in an introductory chat and I found myself becoming comfortable with both Mr. Kittelson and his right-hand lady. He praised her for all the wonderful things she did for him and the collective success of his practice.

It was pushing one-thirty before my father made his way through the front door. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that he had read Grandpa’s letter before he came. It was written all over his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from his own recent bout of crying. He was quiet and solemn, as he stood across from me and shook hands with Mr. Kittelson. I could only imagine what my grandfather had written to him. My father had a hard time looking up, into my face; instead, he focused on the pattern etched in the tile floor of the reception area. I was astutely aware of the quizzical look that Howard Kittelson gave first to his wife and then to me. He was unsure of my dad’s emotional state and was trying to decide how best to proceed. My father bailed him out, apologizing for being late. He told him upfront that he had just finished reading a last letter from his father. Howard Kittelson nodded sympathetically and that was the end of his worry.

Howard Kittelson slipped easily into his lawyer mode and ushered us into his office, just off the reception area. Along with all the normal law books, lining several bookcases, the walls were adorned with photographs of himself and a small group of friends standing by different golf course welcome signs, from across the United States. He noticed me taking in the pictures on his wall and causally conveyed a story, I’m sure he had reiterated several times before. They were eight friends, who had all graduated from the University of Drake’s law department. They had become close friends along the way. Every year, their group planned a golf trip destination, to play one of the premier courses in each state. They had been doing golf trips for the past sixteen years and, this summer, they were going to Washington State. Last year, they traveled to Wisconsin, and the year before that it was New Mexico. The group had decided to save Hawaii for their twenty-fifth trip and Alaska for the fiftieth.

It was comforting to listen to Howard talk, and he asked us to call him by his first name. His voice had a reassuring quality to it, and I truly believed that if he had chosen to sell used cars, I would
have gladly overpaid the asking price and still felt I had gotten the best deal in town. My father and I settled into the two chairs placed in front of Howard’s desk. He sat, leaning forward, both arms outstretched and holding a manila folder in his hands.

Without hesitation, he opened the folder and seemed to scan the contents within. “Jake Owens was an interesting man if he was anything at all,” Kittelson proffered without looking up from the manila folder. “The entire value of Mr. Owens’ estate is approximately two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, which includes the house and tentative value of all his possessions. There is slightly over forty thousand dollars in bank accounts and other investments. He has no outstanding debts or claims that I am aware of, so the provisions of the will should be fairly simple to comply with.”

With what could only be described as a bemused look, Howard Kittelson laid the folder flat on the table. He interlocked his fingers and looked directly at the two of us sitting across from him. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he shifted his focus back and forth between the two of us. In that moment, I became immersed in a feeling of dread. I knew I should now be prepared for the proverbial, “Here’s the rest of the story.” My father didn’t say a word and we both waited for Howard to deliver the punch line.

Kittelson obliged us. “In a small town, it’s no secret when families are not,” he hesitated, “acting very
compassion
like. I’m not sure what your father…grandfather is trying to accomplish, but as they say I’m just the messenger.” I could see my dad brace himself for the words to come as he sat back firmly in his chair. His knuckles were pure white, as his hands clutched and squeezed the ends of the armrests. I was now even more uneasy, knowing that my father was preparing for the worst. I wondered what had happened to the Howard Kittelson, car salesman, I had met earlier. This version of Howard Kittelson was more like a surgeon preparing to deliver the bad news to the expectant family. I didn’t like this and shifted in my chair to ready myself.

“I don’t believe that forced reconciliation can be achieved. The stipulations that your father placed within his will…I believe, will cause more damage than good, but it was his dying wish that it be written this way. This latest revision to his will was done only a matter of a few months ago. I have no evidence or reason to believe that he was anything other than in his right mind.”

Kittelson’s words were beginning to have a draining effect on both my father and me. It was like we were in some old Edgar Allen Poe story. The two of us tied to a cold slab, waiting for the ever-falling pendulum to finally slice through us, but not before the torment of impending doom could consume us first. Waiting to hear what my grandfather had in store for us and the way in which Howard Kittelson was conveying it, was torment in itself.

Finally satisfied that we were both in proper despair and hopelessness, he continued. “Jake used to make a lot of comments about how sad he was that the two of you managed to turn a cold shoulder to each other. During the last few months, and up and till the time he signed his new will, we had many in-depth conversations on the subject.” With this comment, he looked my father squarely in the eyes, though not with contempt. My father held his gaze and nodded a silent resolute understanding. I wondered if there wasn’t something the two of them knew that I didn’t.

Turning his attention to me he went on. “He had many regrets and undying hope, more than I think is relevantly possible, but there again, it is not for me to judge his wishes, only to convey them to you. I will make this one comment before I continue; he felt that much of the damage done to your relationship is his fault and what hurt him the most was his inability to rectify the situation while he was still alive. When he spoke of the two of you, it was never with disappointment, sadness, or hopelessness. In fact, he would beam brightly and become animated describing all the achievements that the two of you accomplished in your lives and how proud he was of both of you. It was that spirit he saw within you that caused him the most pain. For whatever reason, he believed in his heart he was responsible for creating the void between the two of you.” It was all I could do to stay composed as he talked. I saw in his eyes compassion and an understanding of our situation, better than I understood it myself. His words covered me like a blanket, one too thin to adequately keep out the cold, but somehow warm enough to provide minimal comfort from the teeth chattering drafts.

Listening to the words he spoke, I knew the perception of my life was only that, a notion of my own secluded reality. My life and how I saw it was now up for reconsideration. It was clear to me, as I sat in Mr. Kittelson’s office. This realization is something that can only come with maturity and experience. For some, it may only arrive as they face the end of their lives, when it’s too late to change a well-worn course. I wondered what it was my grandfather had done that had caused him to be reflective and driven him with such purpose to rectify. It seemed our family was built on more than just secrets, locked rooms, and missing journal pages. I deeply felt the words he spoke and sadness grasped at my heart for the years I had lost. I not only punished myself, I nearly succeeded in turning my back on my home and my grandparents. I let in the emptiness and chose it rather than trying to cross the emotional void and change the relationship between my father and me.

Howard Kittelson, confident that he had set the desired mood, once again turned to the folder and documents within it. I watched his movements with sudden clarity and knew without a doubt that my grandfather not only deeply loved me, he loved my father as well. The last eight years must have been more troublesome to him than he had ever let on to anyone. Family wasn’t just linage but an embodiment of the soul. In some small way, through his death, he was hoping to make the family’s soul whole again. I was emotionally ready for the last wishes of Grandpa Jake.

Mr. Kittelson began, “I’m not going to go into the burdensome legal jargon, just the highlights of Jake’s decree and dissolution of his assets. The house and all of its contents are going to be placed in a trust, as is the cash and investments. The liquid assets, money, and investments will be used to pay for upkeep and future taxes due on the property until such time that the trust is dissolved.”

I couldn’t help but take a cautionary look toward my father. He sat slumped in his chair, looking straight ahead and through Kittelson as he talked. He didn’t show any signs of apprehension or anxiety, just the calmness that comes with accepting the judgment of peers, when you know you have been guilty as charged. I felt sorry for him and for me as well. The length my grandfather had gone to, so we might see the imbalance of our past, was not lost on me.

“I’m guessing that this is a surprise, but probably not, especially if you’d been around to see Jake in the last couple of years and right after Sarah passed away,” added Howard Kittelson, as he stared directly toward me. I wanted to melt into the chair and, at the same time, shout in defense how much I loved Grandpa Jake. I knew it would sound hollow and empty, lacking conviction, because I carried inside of me guilt for not being there for Grandpa after Grandma Sarah had died. I left town as soon as I could, thinking more about myself than I had him.