Page 21 of Happy Is On Hiatus
“He didn’t pay the highest price,” Rose snapped back.
“He’s dead,” Sharae blurted out.
Silence fell like a heavy blanket, leaving each woman blinking and speechless. It was a first. The Aunts loved to talk. Whether they were on a three-way call with each other at the crack of dawn or into the late evening hours, sitting on the same pew in the sanctuary, or on Aunt Vi’s back porch in the Adirondack chairs they’d each picked out during a sale at Home Depot. They always had something or someone to talk about.
“C’mon and sit down,” Aunt Rose said, guiding Sharae to one of the cherrywood chairs pushed under the dining room table.
Sharae did as she was told, sinking into the chair, ignoring the crunch of the plastic that still covered the cushioned seat. Aunt Rose and her sisters all took a seat at the table, while Rita came to stand at Sharae’s right, resting a hand on her shoulder. Jemel came to her left, kneeling down beside the chair and taking Sharae’s hand in hers.
“An attorney, Desmond Brown, approached me at the courthouse on Tuesday. He said Sanford died in jail—sarcoidosis—and that I’m now the executor of his estate.” Saying the words out loud didn’t make them any easier to digest.
Her chest still burned each time she thought about it, like she’d had that spicy chicken from Del Alto’s on the Avenue.
“San had an estate?” Aunt Rose asked. “He could never keep a job, as far as I can remember. But I guess his preferred occupation of selling drugs was the cause of that.”
“Anything can be part of an estate,” Rita chimed in. “Bank accounts, an old trunk, a car. Anything he owned at any point in his life is now part of his estate.”
Sharae nodded at Rita’s very accurate description of an estate, like she was a lawyer instead of a stay-at-home world-class untrained chef. “He apparently owned three houses—two in the Lake Clifton area and one down in Ocean City. There’re some bonds and two bank accounts that he at some point added my name to without my knowledge.”
“Uncle San was an OG; he must’ve kept his business going from behind bars.” Jemel said what Sharae had assumed. That was the only way Sanford could’ve purchased properties and stashed money. “But how could he put your name on bank accounts without you knowing?” Jemel asked, still clutching Sharae’s hand. “Wouldn’t he have needed your ID and signature?”
With her free hand, Sharae rubbed the back of her neck. “He got a copy of my ID somehow and had someone forge the signature.”
“Hmph. A criminal ’til the very end,” Aunt Rose said.
Aunt Vi closed her eyes briefly and whispered, “Lord have mercy.”
“So what are you going to do with it all?” Aunt Ceil asked.
Sharae shook her head. “I’ve talked to Desmond twice since Tuesday.” And she’d been even more annoyed each time. But ignoring this legal situation with him wasn’t going to make it go away. “He says first things first—I gotta figure out whether I’m having a funeral or simply cremating him. Sanford had thought of everything else, but as far as what to do with his body, he left that up to me.” The sorry sonofabitch. How could he leave this kind of burden on her after all he’d put her through?
How many times had Sharae asked herself that question? Just as many times as she’d told herself it didn’t matter. Nothing Sanford had ever done or intended to do where she was concerned mattered to her. The only thing she’d ever remember and never forgive was him killingher mother. She closed her eyes to the pain of those words flitting throughout her mind.
“I don’t want anything to do with him or his belongings,” she said through clenched teeth. “I could care less about anything he owned. It can all go straight to hell with him.”
“Justine wouldn’t want that,” Aunt Ceil said quietly. “She’d want you to have anything that could help you in your life.”
Sharae’s eyes shot open for the second time tonight, and her gaze zoomed in on her aunt. “Not like this. Not anything that had to do with him. You know what he put her through, Aunt Ceil. Even before he finally ... finally ...” The word caught in her throat.
All her life Sharae had only been able to think of the man who’d offered his sperm to create her as the one who’d killed her mother. But she’d never been able to say it. Even now, the word just wouldn’t fall from her lips.
“No, baby,” Aunt Ceil said quietly. “None of us will ever forget that.”
“My sister loved that sorry bastard,” Aunt Rose added. She folded her plump hands in front of her and heaved a heavy sigh. “From day one, she loved him. Said he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. At least, until you came along.” Aunt Rose turned her attention to Sharae, the look in her warm brown eyes solemn and still grief stricken.
Sharae knew that look well. She’d seen it often staring back at her in the mirror.
“She loved him to death,” Aunt Vi added in an abrupt tone.
“I don’t know what to do,” Sharae admitted.
“You do whatever you want to do,” Rita told her. “Whatever is best for you.”
“Like you’re doing pursuing a divorce that you know is going to get plenty nasty.” The rows of lines that appeared on Aunt Vi’s forehead exacerbated her displeasure.
“You told them?” Jemel asked, her question echoing what Sharae was thinking.
They both looked up at Rita, who replied to them with a nod. “When I got here earlier today. It didn’t make any sense to keep it a secret.”
