house, and he noted how it looked the same as it had twenty years ago. Antique furniture, butter-yellow walls, and gleaming wood trim. Even the scent—Pine-Sol and cinnamon sticks—took him right back to his childhood.
When he was old enough to ride a bike, he would leave school on Tuesdays and race across town straight up to the back door. The cleaning lady didn’t come on Tuesdays, so his grandmother would have him over for cookies or cake, whatever it was she had around the house. As the years went on, she’d slip him cash, birthday cards, Christmas presents. And never once, in all those years did he question it or wish for more, fearful that he would lose that tiny gift of herself that she extended. It was nice to be back.
“I want you to know that I think what Ted has to say is going to make you very happy. I hope so anyway,” she said.
He turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine, Grandma. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Of course you don’t. But I waited a long time for your grandfather to come to his senses.”
Alex had no idea what she could mean, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Before he had a chance to respond, she turned and led him down a side hall into his grandfather’s library and office. He’d been in this room only once in his life. Right after he graduated high school, John Coleman had asked him in and proceeded to tell him that Coleman men joined the Marines. Any other military branch “was for pussies” and if Alex wanted to prove himself then he would follow suit after his own father, Brett, John himself, and John’s father. Before that conversation Alex had no interest in any armed forces, but the very next day he’d joined the plain-old “pussyish” army and had never spoken to John Coleman again.
Alex told himself that he wasn’t trying to prove himself to anyone every time he earned another bar on his uniform. First Basic, Airborne, RASP, and finally Ranger School. But he knew deep inside that all of it was just him giving good ol’ Grandpa the finger. At some point he’d gotten it all out of his system—he thought—and stopped carrying about what John Coleman thought. But as he stepped into the dead man’s office, he wasn’t so sure what he felt.
The carpet was ivory and lush. Three walls were wood paneled in a deep stained mahogany; the fourth wall, behind his desk, was a full bookcase crowded with family photos, various mementos, and books. Alex forced himself not to scan the frames looking for himself. He would only be disappointed. No, not disappointed—proven right. The man had no feeling for him whatsoever. Never did.
Alex turned to find Ted Orsman standing up from a navy wingback chair. His grandmother spoke quietly from beside him. “Shall I bring in some coffee?”
“Beverly, that would be lovely, thank you.” Ted gave Alex a firm handshake. “Alex, good to see you, m’boy. Time has treated you well. Wish I could say the same for myself.” He patted his gut.
Alex hadn’t seen Ted since high school. His son was a few years older than Alex. Not the case with the man’s daughter though—she’d been a year younger, and they’d ended up hot and heavy one night in the back seat of his car after a football game. Alex assumed he was the only one in the room who knew about that. He hoped so anyway. Ted had to be in his late fifties, his hair thinning and grayed, his stomach a little on the portly side. But overall he looked like his money made up for where Mother Nature had shortchanged him. His suit was designer and his shoes Italian for sure. Alex started to feel a little uneasy.
“Sit down, son. Might as well cut right to the chase.”
Alex hesitantly took a seat in the matching wingback and crossed one leg over the other. The man had him at a disadvantage because while he’d worn slacks and a button-up shirt, he felt like a piece of shit next to this guy sitting in this lavish house. “You had said this should
When he was old enough to ride a bike, he would leave school on Tuesdays and race across town straight up to the back door. The cleaning lady didn’t come on Tuesdays, so his grandmother would have him over for cookies or cake, whatever it was she had around the house. As the years went on, she’d slip him cash, birthday cards, Christmas presents. And never once, in all those years did he question it or wish for more, fearful that he would lose that tiny gift of herself that she extended. It was nice to be back.
“I want you to know that I think what Ted has to say is going to make you very happy. I hope so anyway,” she said.
He turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine, Grandma. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Of course you don’t. But I waited a long time for your grandfather to come to his senses.”
Alex had no idea what she could mean, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Before he had a chance to respond, she turned and led him down a side hall into his grandfather’s library and office. He’d been in this room only once in his life. Right after he graduated high school, John Coleman had asked him in and proceeded to tell him that Coleman men joined the Marines. Any other military branch “was for pussies” and if Alex wanted to prove himself then he would follow suit after his own father, Brett, John himself, and John’s father. Before that conversation Alex had no interest in any armed forces, but the very next day he’d joined the plain-old “pussyish” army and had never spoken to John Coleman again.
Alex told himself that he wasn’t trying to prove himself to anyone every time he earned another bar on his uniform. First Basic, Airborne, RASP, and finally Ranger School. But he knew deep inside that all of it was just him giving good ol’ Grandpa the finger. At some point he’d gotten it all out of his system—he thought—and stopped carrying about what John Coleman thought. But as he stepped into the dead man’s office, he wasn’t so sure what he felt.
The carpet was ivory and lush. Three walls were wood paneled in a deep stained mahogany; the fourth wall, behind his desk, was a full bookcase crowded with family photos, various mementos, and books. Alex forced himself not to scan the frames looking for himself. He would only be disappointed. No, not disappointed—proven right. The man had no feeling for him whatsoever. Never did.
Alex turned to find Ted Orsman standing up from a navy wingback chair. His grandmother spoke quietly from beside him. “Shall I bring in some coffee?”
“Beverly, that would be lovely, thank you.” Ted gave Alex a firm handshake. “Alex, good to see you, m’boy. Time has treated you well. Wish I could say the same for myself.” He patted his gut.
Alex hadn’t seen Ted since high school. His son was a few years older than Alex. Not the case with the man’s daughter though—she’d been a year younger, and they’d ended up hot and heavy one night in the back seat of his car after a football game. Alex assumed he was the only one in the room who knew about that. He hoped so anyway. Ted had to be in his late fifties, his hair thinning and grayed, his stomach a little on the portly side. But overall he looked like his money made up for where Mother Nature had shortchanged him. His suit was designer and his shoes Italian for sure. Alex started to feel a little uneasy.
“Sit down, son. Might as well cut right to the chase.”
Alex hesitantly took a seat in the matching wingback and crossed one leg over the other. The man had him at a disadvantage because while he’d worn slacks and a button-up shirt, he felt like a piece of shit next to this guy sitting in this lavish house. “You had said this should
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