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I give her only silence.
“I remember this road,” Sara says, eyes focused on the headlights in the darkness. “You’re going to the cabin.” It’s not a question, so I don’t reply, just continue driving.
I have a feeling Sara knows exactly what I’m doing. Yet she remains silent until I turn onto the dirt road that leads to our cabin.
“Don’t do this, Zain,” she says. “It’s not right.”
Engine off, I get out of the SUV and shove the door closed. “You can leave anytime,” I remind her, hoping she’ll do just that.
Pushing the key into the lock, I give it a jiggle and it turns on the first try. The door creaks on its hinges when I push it open, and dust motes float in the air as I take my first step inside.
“Betsy would be so mad if she knew what you were using this place for.” While Sara’s voice is soft, her stance is anything but. Arms crossed over her chest, she scowls at me, tiny creases mar her brow. “You’re disrespecting her memory with this. This goes against everything that she was, Zain.” She extends her arm and points to the SUV where Lorenzo Garcia awaits.
“Jesus, Sara! Just… fucking go,please, you don’t need to be here.”
The memory of how this cabin came into my undeserving hands will never be forgotten. I don’t need her piling on the guilt.
Sara glares at me for a full minute so I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, she’s gone.
17 years old…
I was heading out the door on my way to work when my phone rang with an unknown number. With Sara staying at a friend’s house, I answered the call immediately, hoping nothing was wrong.
“Hello?”
“Is this Zain Lennox” the deep, unfamiliar voice asked. Taken aback at this guy using my full name, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My old life as Dom’s bitch was behind me, our deadbeat parents were gone, and no one from my past who knew what was good for them would contact me out of the fucking blue.
“Who’s this?” I demanded.
The man cleared his throat, stuttered, then after a short silence, asked again, “Is this Mr. Zain Lennox? This is Ian Jonesfrom Jones & Associates Law Firm, I’m afraid I can’t go into detail unless you’re Mr. Lennox”
Jesus fucking Christ. How many times did the guy need to use my full name?
“I’m him,” I said. “What kind of proof do ya need?”
He went off on a spiel, asking for my date of birth, past and current home address, and the names of my parents and my only sibling. “Then we can get to the details of my call,” he tacked on at the end.
After providing the information, I mentally slapped myself upside the head when I considered it could have been some kind of scam. Thank fuck the guy was legit.
“I have here the Last Will and Testament of Mrs. Betsy Redding. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Lennox. Unfortunately, Mrs. Redding passed away due to complications with pneumonia—”
Guilt stabbed at my gut. Since I fled our family home with Sara, I hadn’t gone back, and had no idea the old lady had fallen ill. For years, she was the only one who ever cared enough to ensure Sara and I were fed, clothed, and taken care of. As much as she could manage anyway.
“She died?” I stupidly said, still stunned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m sorry, I should have been clearer.” I heard shuffling papers, a few taps of a keyboard, then Mr. Jones continued, “Mrs. Redding had no children, no siblings, no extended family or close friends. In her Will, she’s asked that her two homes and all her possessions be left to you. I’d like to arrange an appointment with you to finalize the Will and get everything signed over to you. Does Friday work for you? I have ten a.m. available.”
No. No, this can’t be right. The denial was strong. I did nothing to deserve this type of ‘gift’ from an old lady I didn’teven visit when she was sick and dying… alone. Another wave of guilt crashed into me. “Whoa, slow down, what the fuck are you saying, man? I barely knew her, sure she helped me and my sister out, but to leave me her house. What the fuck?”
“Two houses,” he said. “And all her possessions. I have a list here, it includes—”
“Stop!” I shouted. “Did you just say two houses?” Fuckfuckfuck.
“Yes, there’s the house on Taylor Street, and the cabin up on Pikes Peak. I’ll warn you that it can be a tricky drive up the mountain once the snow sets in, but the SUV she left to you will make it an easy drive.”
“Holy shit…”
There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. “There’s a letter here addressed to you and Sara. It’s unopened, as requested by Mrs. Redding. She was a meticulous planner, so I’m sure the letter will answer many of your questions.”
