Mind Made Up Pt. 01

Castillo. It's a small town just off the main road, down the hill leading to the beach. You can miss it if you're not looking. Not because of its size, mind you, but because it's off the beaten path - hiding behind the hill.

Castillo means castle, I think. Spanish settlers, maybe. Who knows? It's where I was born, grew up, went to elementary and high school, before moving away to the nearest city to college. 17 thousand dollars in student loans later, and still no permanent work, after one year of graduation. That makes me 22 years young, as my dad used to say.

Dad. He's the reason I'm coming back for a few weeks - not that I have better places to be than his funeral. We weren't close. He wasn't a bad father or anything - he just never cared for me, really. My parents split up when I was 5. An affair that led to complications, my dad's mistress having a baby on his arm and revealing it at church in grandiose fashion. Scandal to be assured. My dad was cast out of the community, my mom was shamed to no end, leaving us, mom, my sisters and me, to deal with the outcry and backlash from the community.

We survived, of course, but mom closed herself off too for a while, and we were left to fend for about a year. Then, as she recovered from the shock, she got really protective of us, the opposite end of the spectrum. We all left at 17 for college, or other reasons. Stacey was first, 2 years before me (so she's 24) - she went out to travel the world in Europe, hooked up with some guy over there, and remained for a time until she got tired, dumped him and moved back. She's now studying to become a landscape artist. Then it was me - I haven't been back except for holidays and an odd week during the summer for my mom's birthday. Finally, Heather, the youngest of us, also wandered out to college, three years after me (making her 19), leaving my mom all alone in our house. Heather's been swapping degrees; her first year, she studied in History, but then moved to Psychology. I'm expecting her to swap majors again next year.

Obviously, they're also coming to the funeral. Man was a bastard in love, but he wasn't mean to us per se; he was always on time with payments to my mom and, although we rarely saw him, when we did, he had this kind, quiet composure, never bitter or angry. Always smiling, or at least pretending to be. I'm older now so... I can understand what he must have been feeling. I suppose that's why I came to the funeral - why we are all there, in fact.

My mom's been doing her best, the last two years, alone. She's never had anyone serious in her life since my dad. For one year, she dated one of her coworkers, but it didn't work out and she called it off. She still works, or rather, she's been working to supplement her income since we've moved out, since my dad no longer had to pay alimony. I do remember that she got a stipend every month still, but she never touched it. It's money from the man who betrayed her, so when we were gone, she had no desire to keep taking his cash. It's resting in a bank account, somewhere. My mom's probably saving it for us, if we ever need it.

All these thoughts cross my mind as I make my way towards the notary's office. I walk silently, dressed in black, and I pull up to the door, then pull it open for my family. Mom walks in first - she hasn't been crying but her eyes are still swollen. She smiles at me and I catch her dark brown eyes peering into my soul; she's hoping my heart isn't suffering too much. I reassure her with a smile and she walks on. My two sisters ignore me mostly; we haven't had much of a chance to talk since we got here, and we may not, depending on how things go in there. I walk in after them, catching a waft of perfume from either Heather or Stacey. It's a pleasant, flowery scent. It reminds me of the flowers we left with the casket.

Down the hall, someone is waiting to usher us into the office; the notary has all the documents sealed in an envelope, waiting to be read. I help my mom to sit as my sisters go for chairs; I end up without one, so I just lean in against the door frame. The notary is a burly man, in his late fifties, balding spot. His voice is raspy as he breaks the silence.

- Well now... well now.

He stares at my mother a bit too long for my tastes.

- Mrs. Hammond...

- It's Miss Carrier, or Jane, she politely corrects him.

- Yes, of course. Jane. And your children are here too.

She introduces us, pointing to each as she gives our names, in order of birth.

- Stacey. My son Grant. And Heather.

I bow when my name is called out. The notary acknowledges me and my sisters, then moves on.

- There was no one else mentioned in the will, so I shall proceed.

My mother seems surprised.

- No one? Else? she blurts out.

- Quite so, the man confirms. I have consulted the presentation letter and no other names are mentioned.

Our mother glances back at us, concerned. We know what she is thinking but we decide to table that discussion for now. We let the notary read out the details. It's boring stuff. My father lived in an apartment and he's donating all the furniture in there to my mom. There are also a few trinkets to hand out to his children. He made boxes for each of us. My mom smirks.

- It's a revenge, she plainly says. I have to take the will as is if you are to get your boxes. He's making me sell all his stuff. He knew I want none of it!

- We can do it for you, mom! Stacey claims, waving her head and making her auburn hair dance about. It's no biggie.

- Absolutely! Stacey confirms.

My sisters look at me; it wasn't my intention, but I decide, for the sake of my mother, to go along.

- Just let handle it, mom.

- I'll still want to see what he had, she mentions. Although why he kept ME in the will, I will never understand.

We finish our tasks at the notary and get his keys; my father had no vehicle so it's only two keys, the front and back doors of his apartment. As we head out, my mom grabs my arm.

- Thanks for doing this for me.

The commentary is meant for the three of us; we quietly acknowledge it.

- Can we get something to eat first? Heather asks. I haven't eaten this morning.

- That's your problem! my older sister replies.

- Please, mom?

- Let's get takeout, I propose.

We jump into mom's car and let Heather take the wheel; she's still learning how to drive, and this is as good a moment as any. Mom sits with her in front, so I end up in the back, behind mom, with Stacey at my side. I glance at her. She's been working in the sun; her tan is far more pronounced than before. She turns her head and sees me staring.

- What?

- Gotta learn to put some sunscreen on, Stacey! I banter.

- Shut up! she snarks back.

I giggle inwardly; nothing's changed, even after so many years. It's fine with me. Middle child, and all, I remind myself. Stacey had to be the adult and lead by example; Heather was allowed much more freedom being the youngest. I was somewhere in between, a mix of responsibility and fun.

The drive-thru is quick service and we bring the food along, Heather only scrounging up a few fries as she passes the order to my mom. She drives slowly, with the unease of someone who hasn't yet adapted to the responsibility on the road. I stare at her a moment, catching the glint of hazel eyes as our gazes meet in the mirror. She smiles.

- So what's going on with you? Stacey asks me nonchalantly.

- Nothing much.

- No job yet?

I sigh; she puts a supportive hand on my shoulder.

- Not easy for people to get hired in your field, eh?

- It's not rocket science! I joke. I just need someone to look over my portfolio and give me a chance. It's hard enough getting in the door.

From the driver's seat, Heather speaks up.

- You could go on the tube, you know. Showcase your art. Do videos. Get a following.

- I could never do that! I reply. Besides, who's going to want to look at some drawings I made on the computer... I think I have a better chance working at a game studio, if I can just get an interview.

- Didn't you want to be your own boss? Stacey chimes back in.

It's true. It's been my dream. Three years of computer design courses, a diploma, and my own company. I've had bosses in the past - part-time jobs - and I hated every second of it. In that way, I'm exactly like my father. He could never take orders or follow the basic rules of society. I'm better at the latter, but not always.

- I'd like that best, I answer.

The car gets to its destination not long after that. Heather takes her time parking, but she doesn't need help - I can see the pride in her eyes. Small victories, she calls them. They give her motivation and validation. My mom cheers her on. It's cute.

As we enter the building, my mom stares at the key in her hand; we're here to clear out my father's affairs, which my mom now all owns, except apparently for three boxes that are supposed to be there under our names.

- Your father wasn't that old, mom calmly states. 45 is not old.

- That's why they delayed with the investigation, mom, Stacey replies in the same detached tone. To make sure there wasn't foul play.

- I know. Given your father's reputation in town...

Mom doesn't finish the sentence; Heather chimes in.

- I wonder why he never left.

I have my suspicions on this, but I decided not to raise any; I don't think, now that he's dead, it would matter anymore. We walk up the stairs to his apartment. Mom puts the key in the hole, turns the knob. We've never been here before. None of us so we have no idea what to expect.

The room opens into a large room - a mix of kitchen, living room and dining room. It's fully stocked, and the appliances still look new. There're barely any decorations. A picture of his three children is stuck to the wall in a frame, but it's old. It was before their separation. Mom stares at it.

- ...only good thing he ever did for me, she mumbles.

Emotions are swallowing. I hug mom from the side; Stacey does the same from the other side, and Heather does it from behind. She calms down and apologizes. We tell her she doesn't have to.

When we sit down at the kitchen table, we dive into the food. Emotions again - they've made us hungry. It's mostly silent: we assess the state of the place. It's rather clean and well-kept, but we haven't seen the bedroom or bathroom. We also haven't seen the boxes with our names on them. We can get to that later. Mom's mostly on our minds and she's evaluating the appliances and furniture.

- Well... maybe there are a few things that I could keep, she blatantly says. Your father... had good taste - and some of it seems far superior to what I have at home.

- Your fridge is practically dying, Stacey comments.

- True...

Clearly, it's gonna be a bit more complex handling this than just selling everything in it, but I don't mind. With nowhere to go specifically and no costs to pay while in town - I'm staying in my old room - I'm golden. I know my sisters are also planning on staying the week, at least. It's summer after all, so no classes for Heather. It's harder for Heather since this is the busy season, but her boss is understanding and has given her at least the week off, more if she needs it.

As she's staring at the room, Stacey asks a relevant question:

- What was dad's job?

We're stumped. None of us can answer.

- He was a salesman when he was with me, mom claims. Sold women's wear, in fact.

It's a sore subject, because we know that's where he met the other woman with whom he had the affair. We don't insist on the past, but Stacey remains with her original inquiry.

- Was he still selling women's clothes?

Again, none of us can answer. Maybe we will find pay stubs or hints about his profession somewhere in here.

We finish eating; mom packs up everything and throws it away. I stretch. Time to search the place.

TWO HOURS IN, I sit back down in my father's bedroom. Mom's handling the kitchen because that's what she wanted to do. My sisters have been alternating between the living room and the bathroom. They decided that I should handle my father's clothes - to see if any of them fit me. I must admit that man had good taste and I have decided to keep a few items - mostly shirts. I've also managed to unearth the box with my name on it, but I have set it aside for later.

- I'm done! Heather calls out from the bathroom.

I hear her walk out, then she peeks into the bedroom.

- How's it goin', Grant?

- See for yourself.

I've emptied the closet and the dresser. She sees two piles of clothes, one big, one small.

- Let me guess. We're giving away all this?

- That pile, yeah. I'm keeping the rest. Or maybe mom will want to look before we pack it up - that's why it's not in a bag yet, I explain.

Heather yells through the doorframe:

- Mom! Wanna look at dad's clothes?

- Nope!

The answer is quick. I roll my shoulders. Heather throws her tongue at me, then moves over to the dresser, where the box with my name on it is resting.

- Hey! That's mine! I say.

- What's in it?

- Don't know.

- Haven't checked yet? she inquires.

I nod negatively.

- Well, I found mine - and Stacey's too. It was just old pictures of us, or things we drew when we were young, and that dad kept.

My mind wanders: was it mom who kept dad away from us all this time? She always told us he didn't want to fully be part of our lives, and that may be true, but I can't shake the feeling, from what we discover, that maybe she forced him out. Still, I can't blame her - and eventually, we were old enough to make our own decisions about him.

- So, can I peek? Heather asks.

- Go ahead, I say.

She smiles as she opens the box and peers in; I turn back to my duties but even as I do, I hear my sister let out a slight moan. I glance back at her as she stares into the box.

- What is it? I ask.

- It's so pretty! she blurts out, her eyes lost in contemplation.

I walk over to the dresser, push her aside and look in. A ring. A nice ornate ring possibly made of gold. There are a few gems encrusted in the metal.

- Wow, I mumble.

- I know, right?

Heather presses against me to get a better look; the sensation of her hips against mine sends a curious shudder across me, but I dismiss it.

- I'll look at it later, I tell her.

- Why couldn't dad leave me anything like this? she asks.

- Because he didn't have any feminine jewelry, I blurt out.

She pushes me back and smiles, laughing. Again, the contact stimulates an odd reaction of warmth in me. Heather steps back and heads for the door.

- I'll see if mom needs help.

I watch her walk away and I can't help but notice the sway in her hips. I turn back to my tasks on the bed, dismissing all these reactions as trivial.

IT'S AFTER SUPPER now. We packed as much as we could in the car and dropped much stuff at the local charity. Mom made us some her famous spaghetti with meatballs and we chatted around the dinner table, recalling childhood memories. I missed my sisters too more than I cared to admit. Stacey was always controlling but it helped make me into a responsible adult; Heather was always trying to play with me and she kept me grounded. Things haven't changed. Stacey is trying to guide my future job prospects with her own recommendations while Heather is telling me to relax into it, that the world will provide. Mom just listens to us; it's clear she's missed this as well. Two years on her own haven't done too much for her emotionally; I'm glad I can stay a while but I'm troubled by what will happen when I leave. Even though it was my father who was ostracized, mom still took the brunt of it and a lot of people in town seemingly blame her for not being able to 'keep her man'.

What a bunch of horseshit! I tell myself.

I'm sitting in my old room now; I can't help but smile when I think that my sisters are going to share their old room. They do have five years between them. When I was young - before I hit puberty - I shared a room with Heather. Mom wisely traded that arrangement before things got awkward. My fifteen-year-old sister was not so pleased to share a room with a ten-year old girl, but it was probably better than the alternative. And obviously, now that they're adults, this arrangement works best as well. It also allows me to enjoy the privacy. Instinctively, I've locked my door, so I can be alone with my discoveries.

I reach and open the box again; my eyes lands on the ring. It's extremely pretty. I'm wondering if the gems and gold are real, or if it's all imitation. How much can this be worth, and could I sell it to finance my life's work? I put the ring aside - wondering why I never saw my father wearing it at the same time - and go back in. There's an album of photographs right after - pictures of my family, apparently. I grab it and open to the first page. A folded letter is there. I pull out and check the first picture behind it. It's a family portrait - the five of us, before things got bad. The same picture dad had on his living room wall. I'm about to open the letter when I notice a second picture album underneath the first. I pick it up and open it too.

Shock. I close it quickly. That was a picture of my mom. When she was younger. Naked. And not just naked. Seductively naked. I hesitate to open it again, but I do - skipping that page, hoping for a different picture. And it is: another, this time anonymous, naked woman. Again, she holds a seductive pose.

Was my dad a photographer? These seem personal. Did he catalog his conquests? The pictures are dated somewhat, not recent. Not the first ones, anyway. But the photo book contains roughly forty pages. I'm wondering how many naked girls are in there. I flip quickly to the end and find only a few pages missing. From the print quality, I determine the last picture is much more recent and the girl appears young (compared to my father). I close the book.

- Hmmm... thanks dad, I suppose? I blurt out.

These images have made me edgy. The box contains only a single letter with a name on it: JESSIE. I turn back to the letter, unfold it, hoping my dad's words will explain why he left me his collection of personal... pornography.

To my son Grant,

I can hardly recall our last conversation. I wish I did. Maybe the words would come easier if I had a better understanding of you, as a man.

This is the most recent version of a letter that I was able to write for you. I'm guessing you're quite curious about everything I left you. Simply put, they are my best and most precious memories.

The ring. It belonged to my dad. He left it to me when he died. Now, I want you to have it. It's been in the family for generations, from what little I know about it. Your grandfather said it brought him luck. It has been my experience that the ring does, indeed, bring a certain form of luck. I entrust it to you. Wear it with pride, if you want. I hope it will grant you the same benefits as it did me.

The pictures of my family are the most treasured moments of my past life. Before I decided that I wanted to change. I never blamed your mother for what happened, and my greatest achievement in life has been the three of you - though I can only claim that I helped bring you into this world. Your mom did all the heavy lifting.

Speaking of her: Grant, she's alone and she's scared for her future. Take care of her. I wanted to be there, but she would not have me. Luck has its limits, unfortunately, and she is my one regret. I know that she was hurt by my actions. I entrust her wellness to your hands.

As for my third gift - well, that was my side project. I don't think I need to go into details. You can figure it out for yourself.

There's one last thing that I'd like for you to do, though I know I can't really ask. It's about Jessie. My other daughter. If you could track her down for me and give her the other letter. It would mean the world to me. And if you won't do it for me, then do it for her. Please.