Page 118 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Just like that.” Myles waved a hand like he was doing a magic trick, as if that was all it would take to move to an entire new province.

“Why not? You dropped everything to come here. Why not just keep going like that?”

“It isn’t that easy. There’s a lot that goes into buying and selling houses, not to mention how much red tape is involved in moving from one province to another.”

Jet retrieved the basket and started down the stairs. “It’s only as hard as you want to make it, and I don’t know why you have to make everything seem impossible. It isn’t.” He was gone through the door at the bottom of the stairs before Myles could find an answer for that.

And then, before he could go after him, his phone rang. He would have ignored it, but a glance at the screen showed him the lawyer’s number.

“Dammit.” He picked up. “Mr. Giroux.”

“Mr. McCreevy.”

“Why do you sound so grim?”

“Because you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”

“What does the bastard want?”

“Two things, actually. One, he wants to finalize the addition to his will of a trust fund for Jet’s education.”

“Why?” Myles didn’t trust that for one second. “What does he want in return?”

“Nothing, apparently. He has no other next-of-kin. Jet’s it.”

“So? That never bothered him before.”

“He’s dying, Myles.”

“So?” He should have more compassion. But there was no way he would let the man get his hooks into Jet now, then die on him. It was the last thing his nephew needed at the end of this already difficult summer.

“He wants to meet his son before he dies.”

“And?”

“A dying man’s wish, Myles? Really?”

Myles collapsed onto Jet’s bed. “Fuck my life,” he muttered.

“Before you panic, let me just say that there are things we can do to protect your rights.”

“Like convince Jet he doesn’t want to be part of a millionaire’s life? Can you do that? Because at the end of the day, legalities aside, what Jet says he wants carries a lot of weight, right?”

The long silence was really all the answer Myles needed.

“He only wants a chance to meet him,” Giroux said at last.

“If Natalie hadn’t died, would he have ever wanted to? Or if he wasn’t kicking it now, before he had other kids, would he have bothered to include Jet in his will?”

“A draft of the will revision was made over a decade ago, actually. Before he was diagnosed, as I understand things. I suppose Jet would have found out on Bentley’s death, or when the trust passed to him when he turns twenty, or enrolls in post-secondary somewhere. Whichever came first.”

“So now, less than a year after his mother died, you want me to introduce him to a dying father. What the hell?” This was so much worse than Myles’s had feared.

“The decision is up to you, of course. Bentley has sent me a copy of the will and assured me it won’t change, whatever you decide to do about meeting. He’s set aside the funds to pay for Jet to go to university, or college or get an apprenticeship. Whatever he wants, regardless of what happens with the rest of his money.”

“What does he think might happen to it?”

“He knows you’ve never liked him. He knows you dumped a lot of your father’s money into veterans’ charities and homeless shelters.”