The End of FUN (10 page)

I had to read it twice to figure out what was going on, and even then I wasn't so sure.

“Holy shit. He left it all to me?”

Dad frowned. “I'm the SOB who had to deal with him all my life, but yeah, it appears so. The old man was crazy, and a pain in the ass in both life and death.” He plopped down on the couch. “That will proves it.”

It
was
kind of crazy. But as I read over the words again, this realization began to sink in. Maybe it
wasn't
crazy. Ten acres, house, truck, tree, every rock and brush—and all of it mine? Holy shit! Problems solved! Wow. You think you're in a hole, and then suddenly you find yourself standing on top of a mountain. And that mountain is made of money. Enough to pay everyone and take care of all my problems. Awesome!

“The old goat was insane.”

“You're not disputing it, though, right? I mean, you're not just angry because—”

“Am I pissed I got squat?” My dad was standing again. “I'm happy to be rid of him, not gonna lie. That's my reward. Sorry to say that about my own father, but it's true. But there's someone else we're forgetting in all this.”

“Who?”

“Your sister, smart guy. How come she got cut out?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, here's what you need to do. You need to sell his place and give her half. It'll take a while, the market is down, but maybe in a year or so you can get a decent price….”

Right. Of course. Here I was still getting used to the idea that I'd suddenly inherited an entire house + some property + whatever else, and he was already jumping on me to sell it and split it with Evie. But what really got me was how he wouldn't even give me the chance to come up with the idea on my own. Because who knows? Maybe I
would
have offered her something. Definitely I would've. Although maybe not
half
. I mean—come on. He
did
leave it all to me.

My dad continued with his plan: “The reason I say you can wait on putting it on the market immediately is because I think there may be money available now. You know, from the land sale.”

“What land sale?”

“The eighty acres he sold to the Coyote Heights golf course. This was maybe five years ago, remember? They never finished it. The whole thing went under when the Restructuring happened. Here's what I want to know: Who thinks it's a good idea to build a luxury golf course in the middle-of-nowhere Antello?”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I know for a fact he got paid. He kept ten acres for himself. Sold the rest. Didn't trust the banks. And the question is, where did he put the money? I guarantee you he didn't spend it. Which is why I wanted you to come over here in the first place.”

He went back into his bedroom and returned with a big framed picture.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Portrait of Mary,” he said.

It was quite a picture, actually—there was more than just Mary. But yeah, in the middle it was her, Mary, holding baby Jesus in her arms, and it was a pretty terrifying scene: the two of them were sitting up in a cloud above the fiery flames of hell, tormented souls reaching up for their ankles, and an angel at the bottom right grabbing one of them like, “Sorry, pal, you need an appointment to talk to the lady.”

“It was hanging in his living room.
Look behind the portrait of Mary
, right?” Dad turned it over and handed it to me. “Thought I'd let you do the honors. Rip into it. Let's see if we got some money here.”

And in my head I was like,
We?

The backing was wood, and it wasn't easy to rip into. I had to pick it off piece by piece, like taking apart a puzzle. When at last I'd unveiled the back of the canvas…there was nothing there. Zero. Nada. No words. No message. Just the back of the canvas.

“Houston, we have confirmation,” said Dad. “The goat was crazy.”

“Well, was there anything
behind
the picture?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like on the wall. Like a secret compartment.”

“Nope. Just the wall.” Dad gazed at the broken pieces at our feet. “It doesn't matter. You and Evie can still sell the property.”

“So you keep saying.”

He shot me a look. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“He left it to
me
. It's my decision what I do with it or who I share it with.”

“You know what your sister would do if it was her name on the will? She'd put it on the market the next day and split it with you.”

“Would she?”

“You bet. If you don't believe me, go ask her yourself!”

“Maybe I will!”

But first I had to deal with the dog. When I went for my shoe, her lip curled and she let out a low warning growl.

“Yeah, she gets like that. Your shoe is her new favorite—isn't it, Bones? Give her a couple hours and she'll get over it. You wanna go to Evie's? You can wear something of mine.”

“I don't want to wear something of yours.”

I reached for my shoe again. Bones growled louder.

“It's either that or go barefoot with a bloody hand,” he said.

“Fine. Whaddya got?”

YAY! for my shoes, Osmos
™
IVs, and BOO! for the cheap, low-cut moccasins my dad offered me, hardly footwear at all. True, it was only a couple blocks to Evie, but even so…who offers moccasins when it's snowing? I made it maybe half a block before losing one in a snowdrift.

It took me a good ten minutes to find the moccasin—I'm not even exaggerating—and let me tell you, standing on one foot in the snow can really put a guy in a foul mood. By the time I got to my sister's place I'd really worked myself into a lather.
Give her half.
She fakes an illness, skips the funeral, and I'm supposed to
reward
her for that? OTOH, I knew deep down that it was true: Evie probably would share half with me. That's just how she is.

When I banged on the door, my sister didn't answer. Instead, it was Sam.

“Aaron! Why, you're freezing! Get in here!”

YAY! for Sam Latham, whose congenial nature and big heart is like a megadose of the HeartHealth
™
lifestyle of Kashi
®
Heart to Heart
™
Honey Toasted Oat cereal. Sam's a big guy with a crew cut, and he's Evie's housemate and also her best friend—and we've always gotten along real well on account of he's without a doubt the nicest guy I've ever known. Over the years he's helped me out with all kinds of stuff, from dating advice, to fashion, to the best way to conceal a fat zit. Basically, he's the closest thing I've ever had to another big sister.

“How's your day going?” he said.

“Well, I buried my grandpa, talked to a weird old lady who told me about Jesus, a dog stole my shoe—and here I am.”

“And here you are!”

He brought me in and sat me down on the sofa, told me Evie would be with us shortly, then handed me a blanket, a cup of tea, and a plate of snickerdoodle cookies. I munched on a doodle and he filled me in on the latest news of Evie's disease.

“We spent the morning in the emergency room—as you might imagine, it was an ordeal.”

“What'd they say?”

“The results were positive. But there are several strains of Avian Superpox, and only the Zanzibar and Vatican strains have made it over to America, and neither of them is all that super. More like a mild case of chicken pox. She's not even contagious anymore. It's going to be over in a day or two, which is a good thing, because I have to be in Utah in two days to meet my oldest sister's latest baby. Her
third
, by the way. All my sisters are returning to the homeland to spawn. Sandra also has three. Shaley has two. Not even twenty-five years old and I'm already an octuncle. Can you believe it?”

I could believe it. Sam's nine sisters were well known throughout the area for their extreme hotness, desirability, and untouchableness due to them pretty much being Mormon princesses.

Sam's gaze drifted to the hallway. “But what do we have here? Could it be? All fresh and smelling of lavender and calendula and—is that
rosemary
? Honey, you smell good enough to
eat
.”

Yep, there she was: my sister, Evie. Scrubbed clean but still looking a little harried in her bathrobe, and also a little hairy—the curse of our family—shower-fresh Evie with unshaven legs and dots all over.

“Hi, Aaron,” she said. “No comments about my appearance, please.”

“Let me tell you,” Sam whispered loudly. “She's been handling the whole thing just
wonderfully
.”

“I have not. I've been a big baby.”

“Well, yes, Evelyn. That, too. You're itchy. Who could blame you?”

“Not you.”

“Certainly not. Neither of us would. Isn't that right, Aaron?”

“Holy cow, Evie! Look at your face!”

Evie frowned. “Look at my
all
of me. I've even got them on the bottom of my
feet
. I'm not even going to tell you where
else
.”

“Her b-hole!”
Sam whispered.
“And also her—”

“Samuel Latham!”

So it was true. All of her—at least as much of her as I could see sticking out of the robe—covered in these little red bumps. This was a first. Evie had an affliction that was actually visually verifiable. You didn't have to take her word for it. It was all right there to see.

And I would've expected her to be as smug as a bug in a rug about it, but she seemed more worried than anything else. Would her pristine complexion survive this assault? Or was she going to come out looking like Little Miss Acne Scars? Sam told her she'd be fine. Skin is amazingly resilient. She needn't worry. They were taking every precaution. I got the sense that this was territory they'd covered before. Sam sounded a little weary defending his position.