Boyd didn’t seem pleased to see him any more than his grandfather. He finished high school and, without a second thought, joined the military.
On his second tour, he received word his grandfather died. Granted a leave, Garrett attended the funeral. Hardly anyone attended except his mom and a couple of seniors.
A stout man dressed in a suit approached him and shook his hand. “You must be Garrett Johnson. I’m Barney Cofield, your grandfather’s lawyer. He asked me to pass on a letter to you. Can you meet me at my office in town tomorrow morning at eight?”
Confused, Garrett nodded his head. “I haven’t seen him in almost seven years. Why did he write to me?”
“I don’t know the personal contents of the letter,” the lawyer confessed. “I’m reading his will, and he requested your presence there.”
Garrett gave him a chin nod, watching his mother and her current boyfriend sneaking alcohol into their coffee like two teenagers. Disgust ran through him as he turned to leave. He departed in three days and didn’t plan to spend the remaining time with his family.
The following day, he entered Mr. Cofield’s office. His mother sat in the corner, tapping her shoes, eagerly awaiting the reading. “It’s about time you showed up. Mr. Cofield refused to tell me anything about the will until youarrived. It’s not as if we don’t know how this will go. I’m his only daughter,” she said, trying to convince herself.
Mr. Cofield cleared his throat. “If you’re ready, we can begin.”
Garrett sat down, and his mother sidled up next to him, leaning in to hang on every word.
“I, Gerald Johnson, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath my farm, all of my belongings, and my assets to Garret Gerald Johnson. To my daughter, I leave the sum of one hundred dollars. Maybe this will teach her to stop living off men and get a job.”
“What?” his mother screeched, standing. “The bastard left everything to him?”
The lawyer passed her a single one-hundred-dollar bill. “I wrote the will myself. He seemed rather adamant that everything be left to Garrett.”
His mother spun around, angry with him. “What did you do? How did you convince him to leave out his only daughter, who cared about him?” she demanded.
“The old man never laid eyes on me after you picked me up all those years ago,” Garret said slowly, attempting to hide the resentment he held for her.
“Give it to me,” Bernice ordered. “I need the money. You joined the military, and you’re only useful to me if you die.”
Garret took the will and thanked the lawyer. “I’m returning to my unit in two days. I’ll leave you my contact information. Since I don’t plan on staying there, can you arrange for the sale of everything?”
“You’re selling it?” she screeched. “I want my share of the money.”
His gaze fell on her hands. “It appears you already have your share.”
Garrett turned and left, leaving her to stare after him.For nostalgia’s sake, he turned toward the old farmhouse. Driving up the dirt drive, Garrett stopped in front of the big white house. The old man didn’t treat him kindly, but he taught him how to survive. Maybe his grandfather knew what his mother was capable of.
Grabbing his go bag from the trunk, Garrett decided to spend the night. He entered the house and gazed around. It seemed as if life stood still the moment he climbed into his mother’s car all those years ago. The same furniture, the identical window hangings, and his grandfather’s sweater lay across the worn recliner. He dropped his bag on the sofa and entered the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he took out the bottle of vodka and poured a healthy portion into a clean glass.
“To you, grandfather,” he toasted. He walked around the house and added a picture of his parents on their wedding day. His father left long ago, adding to the list of people who never wanted him.
Climbing the stairs, he gazed over the fields, showing the cattle, hay, and cotton. He owned all of it for miles around and yet, it didn’t fulfill him at all. Garrett entered his old room, plucking the model cars he spent all his free time designing and making. His grandfather taught him how to whittle and use a knife. The cars reminded him of his accomplishment. Grabbing a box, he dumped them all inside and took them to the head of the stairs. He went into the old man’s room, noticing pictures of him hung all over the walls. He took out the envelope and opened it.
Garrett,
You must think me a mean son of a bitch. I don’t blame you. To prepare you for your mother’s return, I pushed you. Yes, I can make excuses, but I’m six feet under, rotting in a grave. What’s the use of lying now?
Your life won’t be easy. As much as I wanted to protect you, I knew she’d fight me tooth and nail and end up winning.
Your mother grew up as a wild child. We never knew what she’d do from one minute to the next. She’s never changed and never will.
Forgive me for the way I treated you. I wanted you to have a fighting chance, and I’m sure you learned the lesson the day you got into your mother’s car. I leave you all my possessions, which never amounted to a hill of beans, but I have faith you can turn them around. Do with it as you will, and I hope you find some amount of comfort in knowing you were always wanted and loved.
Gerald Johnson
Garret carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope.
Wanted and loved seemed as far away as it did before.
