“Got something for you to sign today,” he says, catching me off guard. I expected him to be halfway out the door like usual. He’s always walking around like a man on a mission, worse than the speed walkers who make laps around the square for exercise.
Finishing up the drink I was making, I hand it over to the customer. “Enjoy,” I tell her. “Come back and see us.” As I walk over to where Jim is standing by the counter, I wipe my hands off on my apron and catch a glimpse of the envelope.
Nothing good ever comes in a registered envelope. Taxes, past due bills, notices—those are the sorts of things people pay extra money to make sure you see them and pay attention.
“Sign here,” he instructs, sliding a card across the counter.
“Thanks,” I say absentmindedly as I take the envelope and begin reading the return address.
Laughlin Law.
Huh, never heard of them.
Grabbing a butter knife from the silverware caddy on the counter, I make quick work of opening the envelope. As I unfold the paper, my eyes are already scanning the letter.
Miss Cecelia Calhoun,
I’m writing you on behalf of my client, Theodore Duval.
At the first line, my heart is already beating faster in my chest. Theodore Duval was my uncle. He died five years ago.
Mr. Duval is contesting the will left by his father, Theodore Duval, Sr.
Wait. What?
I start back at the beginning, reading the first few sentences again, making sure I’m understanding them correctly. Theodore Duval, Sr.? I’m guessing that’s my Uncle Teddy. But who is this Mr. Duval? A junior? Which would make him what, my cousin? Why have I never heard of him? My mind is spinning as the door chimes.
“Be right with you,” I mumble, unable to tear my eyes away from the crisp white paper in my hands.
Working on autopilot, with my mind on the letter, I make a few drinks and serve some desserts, thankful it’s the middle of the day and between rush hours. I tend to the customers, forcing small talk when necessary and smiling when appropriate. But the second the last one leaves, I walk over to the phone that still hangs on the wall, dialing the only person who might have an idea what this is all about.
“Hey, baby,” my mama’s familiar voice greets on the other end of the line.
“Hey,” I say, unfolding the letter and scanning it again, hoping this isn’t what I think it is, but how could it—
“I know this isn’t a casual call, you never call during the day…so, what’s going on?”
She’s always been perceptive and reads me like the back of her hand. “I got a weird letter today…registered mail. I had to sign for it and everything.”
“Okay,” she drawls. “Who’s it from?”
“A Mr. Laughlin…” I say, pausing to swallow down the unease creeping up my throat, “on behalf of his client…Mr. Theodore Duval.”
There’s a long, uninterrupted silence before my mama finally breaks it by clearing her voice. “Come again?”
“Theodore…Duval,” I repeat. “How can Uncle Teddy send a letter from the grave?”
“He can’t,” she says as she releases a huff of displeasure.
“What’s this about?” I ask. “It says Mr. Theodore Duval is contesting Theodore Duval, Sr.’s will…that’s a lot of Theodores. I only know about one.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Mama?” I ask, a warning in my tone, one I don’t usually take with her, but I don’t like the sound of this one bit. I don’t like the sound of anything that threatens me or my business, and in turn, my family’s well-being. “What is this about?”
Her deep sigh is enough to make me want to crawl through the phone and demand answers. “Mama.”
“Well,” she begins, hesitant and like she’s still trying to wrap her head around the information I’ve given her. “There was a rumor floating around when I was younger, too young to be involved in adult conversation. Your Uncle Teddy had moved to New Orleans and met a girl. Supposedly, they had some kind of whirlwind romance, but when her rich daddy found out she was with a shop owner from New Orleans, he demanded she come back home.”
She breaks for another sigh and I brace myself on the counter.
“Anyway, I remember them talking about her being pregnant and that was really why her father made her come home. Your Aunt Irene and Grandma were talking at the kitchen table one day. I’d just come from school and overheard them whispering. Mama said something about the girl’s family probably forcing her to take care of it…Now I know they were probably talking about her getting an abortion. I think that’s what everyone assumed. Uncle Teddy never spoke about her again…or the baby. But…”
This time, the pause takes up the span of a minute, at least, or maybe that’s just how it feels because all of a sudden, I feel like my life is hanging on her unspoken words.
“But what, Mama? Just spit it out.”
“When I went to the reading of the will,” she begins again, taking small breaks to think as she speaks. “There was a letter with it…it was an old will…not even that official—something your Uncle Teddy had written up years ago, probably sometime after Mama and Daddy died, leaving just a few of us left. It said he left everything to his next of kin, which everyone in the room that day assumed was me, after his brothers and sisters died, that only left me…and you and Rory. He’d never married…never had any children…at least, that’s what everyone assumed.”
That statement makes me think of what my old history teacher used to tell us.
“You know what you get when you assume, right?” I deadpan, knowing she’ll get the reference.
Her laugh holds no humor as she says, “You make an ass out of you and me.”
“So, what you’re saying,” I continue, “is that Uncle Teddy left the building and business to his next of kin, which could be Theodore Duval…junior.” I just go ahead and connect the dots and rip the bandage off. It’s better to know what we’re dealing with than to sweep it under the rug and pretend like it doesn’t exist.
“I wish I had better news for you,” she adds. “I… I just never…you have to know if I ever thought this was a possibility, I would’ve told you. Please know I didn’t keep this from you intentionally. No one ever spoke about the relationship or the baby. It was just one of those things that wasn’t brought up around the dinner table, like politics and religion.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I scan the space around me—everything in this shop feels like a part of me.
Ever since the day I started working for Uncle Teddy, I just felt like I belonged here. I picked up the business in no time. He’d always joke that I could run it better than him. After I’d been here a year, I started in on him about opening up a coffee bar. He was hesitant, but I assured him he’d never have to run it, just help me get it off the ground.
That’s how we worked—he kept the day-to-day, tried-and-true portion of Neutral Grounds going and I added in new life, bringing in fresh concepts. Sure, I never made it to business school, but I got plenty of on-the-job training. My years working with Uncle Teddy were like an apprenticeship. He taught me everything I needed to know and then some.