Page 63 of Desperate Haste

“Malcolm,” he corrects again.

“Malcolm,” Quincy sighs. “Mr. Westing left a great deal of his estate to you. Surely he told you this prior to his death.” Our hands are still intertwined as we sit in different seats and he looks over at me with wide eyes. Clearly, he had no idea any of this was going to happen. Unable to form words, he simply shakes his head slowly side to side. When our eyes met again I can see the overwhelm and confusion swirling behind them.

“Can you please share with us what Mr. Westing has left Malcolm?” I ask, hoping that by speaking up it will snap Malcolm out of the daze he seems to be in.

“Well, for starters, Malcolm—should he want it—has full ownership and rights to Butcher and Block. Mr. Westing signed over all the necessary paperwork for the ownership to be transferred to Mr. Kang upon his passing as well as the deed to the building the business is operated out of. Should he not want it?—”

“Of course I want it,” Malcolm snaps like a dog whose bone was just threatened to be taken away. I understand why the insinuation that he wouldn’t want it upset him, Butcher and Block is like a second home to him. It’s his last remaining connection to Marshall he has.

“All the same,” Quincy speaks with caution, “should you decide you do not want it, it’s to be sold and ninety percent of the sale is to be donated to local outreach programs for those battling addiction. The other ten percent is allowed to be kept by the seller. That would be you, Mr. Kang.”

Malcolm is staring at his hands which are in a prayer position in front of him as he leans over his knees. In an effort to comfort him, I place a hand on his back and slowly start to move it in small, circular motions.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“No. There’s two more things he’s left you.” The man leans down towards the floor and pulls a small cloth pouch from an inside pocket of his briefcase before sliding it carefully across the table. Malcolm watches the pouch reach our side of the desk but doesn’t reach to take it. “First, his ring. I’m sure you’ve seen him wear it, he never took it off. It was the first thing he bought for himself as a celebration of being five years sober and for opening Butcher and Block.”

It’s then that Malcolm extends a hand, unties the bag, and dumps the ring into the palm of his hand. A small, silver band tumbles out with a spiral stamped into the center of it. I feel my brows meet in the center of my forehead, confused by the meaning of the shape.

“It’s a symbol for resilience. Spirals, or a helix, are symbols of resilience you can find almost anywhere; nature, space, architecture. He told me that once, when I first met him, after asking about the symbol when I first saw it on his ring.” He doesn’t look at me while he explains and keeps his eyes locked on the ring as if in a trance or lost in a memory.

“And finally, a letter.” We both look at the man who was once a stranger when he speaks, both somehow forgetting that he’s there at all. He flips an envelope between his fingers before extending it out for Malcolm to take.

We wait to see if he opens it, but instead, he stands from the chair and tucks the letter into his back pocket. I study him for a beat and am about to ask him if he wants to read it when he speaks.

“Is that all, Mr. Palmer?”

Quincy remains in his seat, looking up towards Malcolm before dropping his eyes to look at me. I can tell he’s surprised by Malcolm’s hurriedness by the way his jaw hangs slack.

“Uhh, yes, I believe it is. If you would like to take over ownership of Butcher and Block?—”

“Of course I do,” Malcolm growls.

Quincy pinches his lips together in a tight line before standing from his chair. “Then in that case, my office will be sending over the necessary paperwork tomorrow. Expect it at your address by the end of day. Once everything is signed and legally turned over, the keys are yours.”

The two men shake hands before Malcolm reaches for mine and leads me out of the study. By the time we reenter the living room, the remaining guests have left and it’s just his friends who are sitting around the expensive marble coffee table.

“Everything okay, brother?” Kolbi asks, untangling the arm he has around Magnolia.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Look, Ophelia’s not feeling very well so we’re going to head out. Is there anything you need me to do before we go?” My sudden illness is news to me but I try to not let it show. When my eyes connect with Bailey’s I know she can tell he’s lying.

“Nah, man, we got it. You two go, we’ll help Kolb clean up,” Hank offers, pushing up from his chair and clapping a hard hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.

“I never offered to help,” Conrad groans with a curled lip. Bailey doesn’t miss a beat and smacks him hard in the back of the head. “Ow! I said I didn’t offer, not that I wouldn’t. We’ve got this, Malcolm, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll see you at campaign night next week.”

“Don’t be late,” Conrad calls out as we head for the door and I can hear the sound of a hand meeting his head again and him crying out in pain followed by the sound of Bailey’s voice chastising him.

“Can you justnotfor once? Go be productive and ask Ms. Ruthie if she needs help with anything.”

We ride in silence the entire way back to my place. I want to ask him how he is, or why he suddenly wanted to leave after hearing about what Marshall had left him, but he seems too emotionally raw to talk about anything. So I welcome in the silence and wait for him to speak first.

But he doesn’t.

Not when we get back to my complex. Or as we ride the elevator up. Nor does he say anything when he strips out of his suit and leaves it in a balled up heap of fabric on the floor. He doesn’t say goodnight or make any of his standard remarks as I undress and slip into my nightgown. I wait for him to say something before we fall asleep next to one another, his body pressed into mine from behind.

But he doesn’t.

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