ChapterFive
Whenever Silas wasover at his brother’s home, he expected to contend with a couple of things. Like, at least one of the five family dogs would use him as a resting post. Today, the four-year-old pit bull rescue, Ollie, was lying across his feet under the dining table.
Also, one could bank on Isaiah and his husband, Victor, going off on a tangent to argue the ins and outs of a book or movie Silas had never heard of.
“His home was literally a panopticon, a clear representation of the prison his lifestyle had become,” Isaiah said authoritatively.
“I simply don’t agree,” Victor scoffed.
Silas’s niece, Maggie, took advantage of her fathers’ momentary distraction to transfer all the peas on her dinner plate to Silas’s. And Silas, her unrepentant co-conspirator, gobbled them up.
“Papa, Daddy, I’m done,” she said, presenting her empty plate.
“Me too,” Leon parroted despite still shoveling food into his mouth.
“Okay, thirty minutes of TV, then it’s teeth, then bed,” Isaiah said, and the kids got up and rushed to the living room.
Before the husbands could enter another debate, Silas said, “We good to talk about the will now?”
It was all he could think about the entire day, and he wanted relief from the mental burden. He needed some good news. The type that sounded verbatim like, “The will is invalid, and you’re free to run the business as you see fit.”
“Right, yes,” Victor said, rising. “Let me get it.”
In the meantime, Silas helped his brother clear the table.
“You want some strawberries and whipped cream?” Isaiah asked in the kitchen. “Please say yes. The garden’s been bearing a lot this season, and neither of us has had time to do any canning.”
“Have I ever said no to dessert?” Silas asked.
They returned to the dining room with bowls and found Victor already seated with the papers.
“Well?” Silas asked his brother-in-law as he settled back into his chair.
Victor began by removing his thin glasses, a bad sign.
“I looked over the will, and unfortunately, I don’t see anything that would make me question its legitimacy.”
Silas felt like a balloon that had popped. His shoulders slumped, and a distressed grunt left his lips. “I can’t do anything about it? Nothing at all? I’m not above doing something slightly illegal.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Legally, I don’t see on what grounds you could contest the will.”
“Fuck,” Silas said.
Balance had almost been restored. Mountaintop had essentially been his yesterday; Raven had signed the bill. But within seconds, all had been rescinded because of a small bet and a bruised ego. There was no explanation, no apology Raven was willing to hear after that.
“I just changed my mind,” she’d calmly stated when he’d approached her with the torn contract. She couldn’t even admit that her discovery of the bet had facilitated said change.
“Being patient is all you’re left to do,” Isaiah said.
“You sound so much like Pops,” Silas said, exasperated.
Their father had a collection of proverbs he liked to dole out, regardless of whether they were trite or presently helpful.
“If she’s as miserable working at Mountaintop as you described, then you shouldn’t worry too much,” Victor said. “A person can’t do something out of spite forever.”
“Oh, that’s so not true,” Isaiah said to his husband. “The Waynes and the Bardots can’t stand each other. And that’s been going on for generations.”
“Okay, so according to your brother, you’re doomed,” Victor said.
