Alma's Will (7 page)

Magda Caille

To be sure, brother and sister coming face to face in Marker's office was an unpleasant experience for both parties. By no stretch of the imagination could one have called it a reunion; "confrontation" was a more accurate description. Ed's prediction had hit the nail on the head, though: If anyone found the brief meeting traumatic, it wasn't Cameron—it was Liv.

When she got to Marker's office and saw that the black man had brought three people there with him, none of whom was his homosexual lover, she thought, "They've hired a whole team of lawyers!" She hadn't expected three. Mr. Worthy had told her that someone called Magda Caille, from Lambda Legal, would be representing them.

She had to be told what Lambda was. "A lesbian," she said, making a face.

"Not necessarily. I have no idea what Magda's sexual orientation is. I only know her professionally, and I can assure you that she knows her law inside and out. She's one of the best lawyers in the state."

"Why else would she work for them?"

"Because someone in her family is homosexual. Because she has homosexual friends. Because she believes in equal rights for everyone, whatever their sexual orientation. Other people have values too, Mrs. Redding. Just because they aren't ours doesn't mean they don't have them."

"They have all the same rights we do," Liv had commented. Seeing her now, though, a petite woman with curly blonde hair and wearing a stylish, very feminine skirt and blouse, Liv thought he might be right. Her manner was brisk but not unladylike, the rapidity of her speech clashing with her Southern accent. This Ms. Caille neither looked nor sounded like her idea of a dyke.

After explaining that his "partner" would not be joining them, Christ introduced the other three. It seemed the two men were not there in a legal capacity and were both named Blacknoll. Liv eyed them with distrust.

"Brothers?" she inquired. She didn't see much of a family resemblance, but it wouldn't hurt to appear sociable.

"No," one answered. "I took Ed's last name when we were married."

Liv made no attempt to hide her disgust. She turned to Mr. Worthy and said bluntly, "I told you they had equal rights already."

"Only in Massachusetts," the man said. Then he dropped the bombshell. "Before we got married my name used to be Cameron Enslik."

"Ronnie's dead," she snapped back.

"Ronnie's dead, but I'm still very much alive."

"Who's Ronnie?" Mr. Worthy asked Liv.

"Her brother," Cameron said.

"I think it would be best if Ms. Caille explained the situation," Marker said, and in a few brief sentences Magda sketched in the story of the gay son Bill and Alma Enslik had chased from their home a quarter century before.

"Let him prove it! I dare him to prove it!" Liv cried.

"That will be easy. And let me tell you this, Livvie—"

"I don't want him to call me that! I'm Mrs. Redding."

Cameron fixed a stern gaze on his sister and continued, speaking with emphasis as if to drive his point home, "You take my word for it, I'm going to fight for this will with all the strength I have. I'm not going to let go of it. It's the only thing I have that tells me Mama loved me. And if we lose—"

Magda Caille put a hand on his arm, and he fell silent.

"If you'll excuse us a few minutes, I'd like to have a word with my client," Worthy said.

She knew what those few words would be: "I asked you specifically if your mother might have had any reason for leaving the house to a gay organization. Why didn't you tell me?" She had a feeling he wasn't going to go easy on her, either.

* * * *

Magda Caille was relieved that Alma Enslik's son had understood her gesture and cut himself short when he was about to turn on his sister. She had only met him an hour before in the hotel coffee shop, so she was unable to predict how Cameron would react in what had to be a stressful situation, nor had there been time to talk to him about how much information they could safely reveal.

Jay had opted to stay home, which was probably a good idea because the business of the house upset him deeply. It hadn't taken her long to discover that beneath the relaxed, outgoing, almost bubbly exterior of that slender, blond young man who seemed so full of love for his partner, there lurked a frightened little boy who might easily fall to pieces. It was better to give him the responsibility of setting up the safe home and let Baron handle the legal challenge. For all that the dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, solidly built man who towered over them all came across as serious and soft spoken, he was unflappable and the kind who likes to get down to business.

When Magda entered the coffee shop, she saw two men sitting at a table whom she suspected were the ones she was supposed to meet, but Baron hadn't arrived yet. When he got there, the two men stood up to greet him and he led them over to her booth.

"I thought you might be them," she said, "but I couldn't be sure."

"Yes," Baron confirmed, "Cameron and Edward Blacknoll."

"Married?" Magda asked, a broad smile on her face.

They answered in unison. "Two weeks ago."

She shook hands with them and they got into their seats while Baron continued his explanation. "Ed's a volunteer at the safe home in Boston my partner once lived in. When Jay contacted Marc—he's the director—about an organization to give the house to, one thing led to another, and… Well, I think you need to hear what Cameron here has to say."

"I'm listening."

She heard the man out and could see by the look on all three faces that they anticipated her reaction would be one of jubilation. Instead, she cautiously asked, "Can you prove who you are?"

Cameron hesitated. "There's my passport and my driver's license, but I went by a lot of other names during the years I was living on the streets, and I was arrested under some of them. Would Livvie's lawyer be able to dig up my past? It could hurt me professionally."

"Not legally if it's been sealed."

"Everything I did before I turned eighteen has been. I don't have a record. "

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Chris Worthy's not about to break the law."

"Do you think Livvie would think twice about going after me if she finds out?"

"Chris won't tell her. He has her number, and if she went public with it, it could cost him his license. But we shouldn't have to go that route. You must've been able to get hold of a birth certificate if you have a passport."

Cameron shook his head. "I used some documents the judge issued when he ordered my record sealed. There's a birth certificate at the hospital where I was born, but I wouldn't know how to go about proving its mine."

"Is there a death certificate?" Magda asked.

"No way."

"Then if you're absolutely certain you're her son, there's always DNA."

"I'd have thought Cameron's existence made this an open and shut case," Baron said.

"Probably, and we had everything going for us before this came to light." Magda glanced around the coffee shop, put a finger to her lips, and spoke in an undertone. "Strategy time."

Cameron, Ed, and Baron leaned toward her, hanging on her every word. "What interests me," she explained, "is that it gives us a new tactic to pursue, if it comes to that. I don't mean playing up the human interest angle in the papers. I don't have to tell you that we have more enemies than friends in this part of the country, and the last thing we need is to lure the loonies out of the woodwork except as a last resort. If we lose, however, we can claim that there being
two
living children renders the entire will invalid and sue to have half the estate go to Cameron."

Ed gave a low whistle. Cameron insisted he didn't want any of their money for himself.

"But I'm right in assuming you'd use the money to finance that shelter for gay youth your mother wanted?" Magda went on.

"Absolutely. I'll fight tooth and nail anyone who wants to get in the way of my mother's attempt to make amends… beyond the grave."

"Beyond the grave? Your mother was very much alive when she made her will."

"Not her; me. She thought I was dead."

* * * *

Marker waited a moment after the office door had closed behind Mrs. Redding and her lawyer before saying, "With luck, that will wrap it up. You've won, you know. She has to realize that."

"Don't count on it," Cameron said. "She reminds me of my father. How long do you think they'll be?" There wasn't a trace of emotion in his voice.

"That depends. Not long if Mr. Worthy just wants her to tell him about that long-lost brother; if he means to talk some sense into her, it could be a while. If he doesn't, I will."

"Doesn't succeed or doesn't try?" Ed asked.

"Succeed. It would be unprofessional of him not to try, and Chris is top notch. If he can't get through to her, I don't imagine I will either."

Magda pointed out that if Liv lost, the court costs would come out of her part of the estate, and asked, "Do you think that will sway her?"

"Anyone can see this isn't about money," Cameron said, "and if she's prejudiced and pig-headed like Dad, nothing will sway her."

"As if there's any question about that," Baron observed.

They heard footsteps approaching outside the door. Magda grinned and said, "Here comes the opposition."

Back in the office, Liv made a show of refusing to look at her brother and his husband. She sat rigidly in her chair, staring straight ahead, her lips pursed and her knuckles white.

Worthy did all the talking, explaining that from his client's perspective, Mrs. Redding had no brother. Whoever this man was, her parents had disinherited him years ago, so his existence was irrelevant and, as far as she was concerned, he had no claim on the estate.

"You know that's rubbish," Magda said. "I hear it in your voice."

"Mrs. Redding," Marker said, "don't you see what a coincidence this is? It seems that fate meant to reunite you with your brother.

Liv answered, cold as ice, "I don't believe in fate," and she stood up to leave. She'd spoken no other words for the entire second half of the interview.

As she walked out, Cameron said with a sneer in his voice, "Why so unforgiving, sister?"

Aunt Sadie

Baron knew every detail of Jay's story: the brutal beating, the name-calling, how he'd been locked in his room and had escaped through the window, his week of living on the run, finding his food in dumpsters and hiding from the cops, afraid they'd take him back home, and also the rape.

As for himself, he'd had the good sense not to come out until he'd grown up and was ready to make a life for himself. When he did, Aunt Sadie had not rejected him, so maybe it would have been safe for him to come out. Then again, maybe not. She'd have had to contend with the neighbors and with her church. They didn't have to know once he wasn't living with her anymore, and if staying in the closet had made her life easier, it didn't begin to repay what he owed her.

Baron thought it a miracle that Jay had come through his teenage years relatively unscathed, that he'd become such a caring individual and so successful in his work. His own brothers, who'd had the advantage of a loving home, hadn't fared nearly as well, getting hooked on drugs while still in junior high, running around with a gang, stealing cars, and worse. Cameron, who was now, in his own words, a "fancy-pants lawyer," had probably done some of the same things and other things, too. (Jay had missed the implication, but Baron had understood Cameron only meant he hadn't been caught when he'd said "not the drugs or hustling.") The difference lay in their motives. Unlike Baron's brothers, Cameron hadn't done whatever it was he did for cheap thrills and to show everyone how tough he was.

Now Orville was dead, the victim of a
drive-by shooting in retaliation for something or other; and Shel had spent the last ten years in prison for rape and wouldn't be up for parole for another ten. He doubted Shel could make it on the outside. He'd seemed harder than ever the last time he'd gone to see him.

"Guess now I know why yo' was always such a goody-goody," Shel had said when he learned Baron was gay. "Good thing
you don' look like no fag. Jesus, if the guys in here foun' out my bro was a pussy boy, the whole lot of 'em 'd be after my black ass. Don' you go prancin' aroun' none with yo' cocksucker frien'. Word gits aroun'."

Baron had ignored the bad-mouthing. "Not as much of a goody-goody as you think, Shel. I smoked pot."

"An' did yer homework too, and sucked up to the teachers. Hey, you still smoke? Think ya kin smuggle me in some shit?"

A loving home did he say? Was he so sure of that? He was the youngest, less than five years old when Aunt Sadie took them in. He scarcely remembered their father, and didn't understand what his mother was doing with those men she brought home every night. It all made sense to him the night Orville had called her a ho'. Aunt Sadie had slapped him across the face. "Yo' watch yo' mouf, boy. She yo' Mama."

"Well, ain't she?" Orville answered, rubbing his jaw.

"She a ho' awright," Shel agreed.

"It put food on de table," Aunt Sadie said. "She do what she have to, Lawd forgive 'er."

She'd done her best, Aunt Sadie had. The oldest of eight children, she'd pretty much brought up her brothers and sisters single-handed, including Baron's father, and held down two jobs at the same time. She'd never married and had no children of her own. Her solace in life, she'd always said, was her church. That, and how Baron had turned out. She never tired of bragging about him. The members of her congregation must have known he was gay by now, but they ignored it out of consideration for her. How often did they see him? Once or twice a year? Now if he lived in Atlanta…

He'd brought Jay to meet her when they first moved in together. She was more than polite to him, but when they left she told Baron, "I lak yo' frien'. He nice. But it don' do to bring him here. Make folks suspicious, seein' you with Whitey."

Baron thought about what Magda had said, how the fight over the will might make the papers. It'd be an embarrassment for the old woman if his name were mentioned in connection with it. Well, that couldn't be helped—if it happened, it happened—but he ought to warn her.

He drove up to Atlanta. She looked the same as ever, but her movements were slower. A big-breasted, pockmarked, very black woman with swollen ankles and varicose veins, always neatly dressed in a simple gray skirt and blouse.

Her face lit up when she saw him. "Honey, why you ain' tol' me yo' comin'? I'd 'a baked a cake. I'd 'a fried up some chicken. They ain't nuffin' to eat in this house."

"I'm taking you out to dinner, Aunt Sadie. Somewhere nice."

"Someplace dat serve dem foreign foods, I s'pose."

"Wherever you like, so long as it's nice."

"I got a letter from Shelby las' month," she said when they were in the restaurant. "He need money."

"I told you, Aunt Sadie. If he asks for money, you let me know."

"I figger if he ask me fo' it, he don' wanna ask you."

"He doesn't know my address. I don't want him trying to get in touch with me where I live."

"He yo' brother. But I s'pose y'all gotta watch out livin' wif de Whities in dat nice middle-class neighborhood. Sorta like me not wannin' ya to bring Jay when ya comes to visit. Now you tell me what brung ya here t' Atlanta."

"A nasty business, Aunt Sadie."

"Y'all in trouble?"

"Hardly."

He told her about the will and how his name might get in the papers.

Aunt Sadie shook her head. "Dem people, so col' an' unforgivin'. An' her own brother too!"

"You know, Jay spent three years in one of those safe houses."

She leaned across the table and patted his hand. "Y'all do what ya hafta. I don' see no problem dere."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I ain't gonna git hurt. Anybody gimme lip, I remin' 'em what Jesus say. How ya lives is between you an' yo' God. Ain't none o' dere damn business."

"You're so good, Aunt Sadie. I know what I am goes against your religion, but you've always been so accepting of me."

She fairly beamed at him. "Acceptin' o' ya, chile? Why, you my pride an' joy!"