Page 44 of I Knew You
“He doesn’t know yet,” I replied. “I have to tell him. Soon.” I took a sip of my beer. “But it’s weird between them. I think they get along, but they aren’t close. She doesn’t want to ask him to help her with the surgery expenses.”
“Why? Isn’t Whit loaded?”
I chuckled. “Loaded doesn’t begin to describe it. He’s a starting NFL quarterback.”
“I don’t know the first thing about football or Whit. I’ve never even seen the man. So, Julianna’s an independent sort?”
“Trying to be,” I replied. “I’ve encouraged her to tell Whit, but damn, she is stubborn. Anyway, she’s getting ready to go through some serious stuff. I don’t want anything to be too messy between us.”
“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I think it’s already messy,” she replied softly. “She’s always been it for you. You won’t even entertain the thought of committing to anyone else. Is she single?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I don’t know how or why, but she’s single.”
“Then it’s easy. Be together. Be happy. Make little happy Dracula babies. I always wanted to be an aunt.”
I downed the rest of my beer and tossed the bottle in thetrash. This was hard for me to explain. She didn’t know anything about the night of the wreck. I hadn’t wanted my sister to see the level of callousness her father could attain. She knew he was terrible because of the paternity denial, but that was all the evidence she had. I hadn’t been a true brother long, but Whit has taught me how to be a good one, and I’d do anything to save Melanie one ounce of unnecessary hurt. Another part of me didn’t want her to know how badly I’d messed up with my decisions, afraid she might look at me differently, too. Mel looked up to me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“It’s not that easy. Her best friend hates me, and personally, there’s a lot of regret on my end. It’s a lot to consider.”
“You’re the best man I know, Bram. If this woman is worth her salt, she knows it too.”
The compliment made me smile.
“Thanks, that’s kind of you. I gotta go. Tell Doug and Junior I want to see them in my office first thing tomorrow morning.”
She laughed. “That’ll scare the shit out of them.”
“That’s the goal. Talk to you later.”
I pressed the end button, and my phone immediately began to buzz again.
“Hey, Gladys,” I answered. Gladys Bell was Mill Creek Aid’s president of operations. Five years ago, she took on the role after retiring from city government. The job didn’t pay anything—no one who helped MCA took a salary—but she treated it like the career of a lifetime. And she was efficient.
“Oh, Bram, it’s bad.” Gladys was the most uplifting and optimistic person I knew, so this instantly captured my full attention.
“What’s going on?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “It has to do with the secret project.” I froze.
“What’s happened?” I asked, gripping the edge of the counter.
“I had some extra time today, so Allie and I came to the storage container. We were sorting through some things and taking inventory for Friday’s dinner when some man showed up and handed us a plain white envelope. It was addressed to MCA on the front, so I opened it. But inside, it was addressed to you.
“It said that the mobilization of heavy equipment was spotted on the property off the park, and it reminded you that buildings within so many yards of public recreation spaces are prohibited under some ordinances. It said to cease all construction immediately or face hefty fines from the town. It’s on Mill Creek Township letterhead.”
I frowned. “That’s not right. I have all the required permits. They said it wouldn’t be an issue, even if it were a little close,” I quickly remembered Gladys didn’t know anything more than I did. “Something is up. Can you send me a picture of the letter? I’ll get it on Friday.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
I hung up, and a few moments later, a picture of the letter came through. I opened it, zoomed in, and my blood boiled. The letter with the zoning board president’s signature was on the town stationery. Yet, the first paragraph referenced my father’s lawyer in Roanoke.
I was building a new community center for MCA. I had wanted to do the project for a long while and finally pulled the trigger a few months ago. The Senior Citizens’ Community Building, where we had most of our events, was aging and too small. The wealthy nearby who funded significant upgrades to the local schools didn’t care much about MCA out of solidarity with my wealthy father. So, I’d taken the burden to find more space upon my shoulders.
All my assets, including my home, were tied up in buildingthis center. But somehow, my bastard of a father found out, and he had found a way to hold the town accountable for shutting me down.
Part of me wanted to jump in a vehicle, drive straight to my parents’ mansion, and deck the man right in the face. But that’s precisely what he was doing—baiting me. Not only was he denying solutions for problems he created, but he was also sticking it to me personally. He knew I’d be angry and wanted me to lose my cool. He wanted me to confront him to fit his narrative that I was just like him, to make me out to be his protégé, if it was the last thing he accomplished. He thought that the town would believe I had abandoned the project, making me more like my father in their eyes.
No one knew I was building the center, except the contractor and crew I’d hired with NDAs. Gladys and Allie were involved, but I wanted my contributions to remain confidential. I didn’t like the attention and the wariness of the older community members who only saw me as an extension of my father.
