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He nods. “I totally understand. I understand why you couldn’t tell me this over the phone.” His voice is robotic, as if this hasn’t quite hit him yet.
It hasn’t hit any of us, though murmurs of sadness echo through the group. Soft weeping, lots of sniffling. We all try to be strong, but Uncle Joe is our patriarch, and this…
This…just isn’t right.
He’s only sixty-three years old, and he doesn’t look a day over fifty. He’s in great shape, and he takes care of himself. He still works on the ranch some days.
Uncle Joe clears his throat, and the room silences once again.
“As I said,” he says, “the average life expectancy after diagnosis is fourteen to sixteen months.” His dark eyes sparkle, and a small smirk spreads over his face. “I will tell you, though, that I do not consider myself average. Approximately one percent of glioblastoma patients last ten years, and the longest anyone has survived is twenty years and counting. I personally plan to blow that record out of the water.”
Murmurs of agreement resonate throughout the room along with more sniffles and weeping.
I can’t help a smile at Uncle Joe’s attitude. He’s not known to be jovial at all. That would be Uncle Ryan. So his optimism touches me deeply.
Then I take a good look at my father. His eyes are glazed over. This must be killing him. He and Uncle Joe have been best friends since they were kids. They’re like brothers.
And a thought hits me like a brick—how happy I am that it’s not my father with this horrid diagnosis. Which, of course, makes me feel even worse because I don’t want this happening to Uncle Joe. He’s the backbone of our family, and I love him. He’s like a second father to me.
“Even so,” Uncle Joe continues, “in the event that I don’t beat the odds, we need to figure out fair distribution of the property. Brock is correct that Ryan, Lauren, and I only have two children as opposed to Talon and Marjorie’s four.”
I speak up then. “Honestly, I don’t think any of us care, Uncle Joe. I think we’d all give it up if it meant you’d still be around.”
“I agree, Dad,” Brock says.
“Me too.” From Brock’s brother, Bradley.
More murmurs of agreement.
Uncle Joe clears his throat. “The fairest thing to do would be to do a per stirpes distribution. Divide into fifths because there are five children of Bradford Steel, and then those fifths go to the children in equal shares.”
Uh…what? Sure, I just said I’d give it up if we could keep Uncle Joe, but?—
“Which means Pat Lamone gets twice as much as I do?” I say.
“That’s not fair, Dad,” Brock agrees.
Dale and Donny don’t look happy, but neither speaks. Diana goes red, though.
She stands. “No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. No way will that asshole get twice as much as I do. Or Bree, Dale, Donny, Dave, Henry, Angie, and Sage. No fucking way. Not on my watch.”
“Dee…” Aunt Jade says gently.
“No way, Mom. I’ll leave this family and you’ll never see me again. I swear.”
Aunt Lauren wipes her nose with a tissue. “Please. This is all my fault. I don’t need anything from this family.”
Diana looks down the table at Aunt Lauren. “I have no problem with you, Aunt Lauren. Or with Jack. But I just can’t…” She shakes her head and walks toward the door.
Uncle Joe sighs. “You see why I needed you all here now?”
Diana returns and sits down. “I’m sorry, Uncle Joe. None of this is as important as what you’re going through.”
“Can I say something?” Pat interjects.
Brock shoots him an angry look. “Uh…no.”
“This concerns him too, Brock,” Uncle Joe says. “And remember, right now, legally, Aunt Lauren and Uncle Ryan own this whole ranch. They don’t have to share it with us.”
