Page 54 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter One

Nate

L ast year, I was at the height of my career playing baseball with the Funky Monkeys in the Banana Ball league. Then I got hurt, and instead of telling me it was over, they dragged it on and pretended as if I could get back to where I was. I just had to have faith and wait and see, but eight months of daily rehab didn’t make a fucking difference, and my dreams were crushed. I couldn’t stay out there in Savannah after that. It was too hard seeing all my friends living my dream. It’s selfish, I know, but I think I deserve to be a little selfish after all that. So I moved back home to Philadelphia to try to figure out what to do next. The only problem is, I have no idea how to do anything but play baseball.

Life can be a cruel bitch when she wants to be. Case in point, my mother sitting in a giant conference room, with views overlooking the streets of Philly, waiting for a lawyer we’ve never met. They’ve set out coffee and pastries, but as if anyone would feel like eating at a time like this. I know my mother doesn’t. She’s hardly eaten in days.

“What is taking them so long?” I ask her as we wait for the lawyer to return.

“I’m sure they will be with us as soon as they can. It was nice that Jack thought to leave you something, and I’m so glad to have you here with me,” she says, and I lay my hand over hers and give it a soft squeeze.

“I don’t know why he’s left me anything. You’re his sister. Everything should just go to you.” I couldn’t care less what he’s left me. I used to see Uncle Jack every summer as a kid, but I haven’t seen him since I was, like, thirteen. Mom and Jack had a huge fight one summer. I remember them screaming but can’t remember what the words were, and we just never went back.

“He loved you.”

“He loved you, too, Mom. I know it has been a while but…”

“We started to talk again a few months ago.”

“Really?” She never told me that.

“I was going to suggest we go see him during the holidays, like we used to, but then…” She sniffs and grabs her bag, rummaging through for a handkerchief. I have no idea what she’s going through. I’m a single child, but just the thought of losing her, the one person I do have in my life that I love, sends a pang to my chest and forces a lump into my throat. I can’t let this become about me, though. This whole year has been about me, and right now, this has to be about her. About showing her that she’s not alone. She has me.

I wrap my arm over her shoulder and hug her to my side, leaning my head against her shoulder.

“He knew you loved him.”

“Thanks, hun,” she says, and I lean back in the chair. What could be taking this fucking bloodsucker so long? They’ve had this meeting on their books for a week now. You’d think they’d be ready to go on time. Nothing like dragging out someone’s pain as long as you possibly can.

I know the feeling, not what Mom’s going through exactly, but I know pain. I know loss, and I know about people delaying the inevitable.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Buxton,” the lawyer says, strolling through the door with a small stack of yellow folders in his hands.

“Miss,” my mother corrects. Something she’s had to do plenty. Why do people always assume a woman with a kid is married? She never has been, and my father, well, let’s just say his donation was all either of us got from him.

“Yes, sorry, Miss Buxton,” he corrects, taking a seat directly opposite my mother. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

I scoff, and my mother shakes her head.

“There’s no need to be rude, Nate.”

“Sure, you’re sorry for our loss, but you’ll still take your fees, right?”

“The firm will be paid for handling your late uncle’s affairs, yes.”

“Then let’s just get this over with so my mother can try to start moving on. You’ve had us in here for twenty minutes.”

“Yes, again, I do apologize for keeping you waiting. We were hoping the third beneficiary was going to be able to be in attendance, but they couldn’t make it.”

“So we have to come back again?” my mother asks, and I’m about ready to blow, but he’s shaking his head.

“No, they provided us with consent to go ahead with the reading of the will and then provide them an update afterward. So if you like, we can get started.”

“Yes, thank you,” my mother replies, and she reaches for my hand again.

The lawyer starts reciting the terms of the will. I’m not actually paying attention. Instead, I’m fixated on his hair. It’s medium length and swept back, but whenever he tilts his head forward, it doesn’t move. Not even a little bit.

“Nate,” my mother says, nudging my side again.

“Huh, sorry what?”

The lawyer slides a photo across the table. “The Buxton Estate, surrounding grounds, and operational accounts have been left to yourself and a second beneficiary.”

“They what now?”

“Well, isn’t that lovely,” my mother says, picking up the photo. She runs her fingertips down it slowly. “Your uncle loved this place.”

“But why leave it to me? Does it say somewhere in there why he left it to me? I don’t want an estate. What am I supposed to do with an estate? I thought he’d leave me like a coin collection or the old Ford that he used to drive around.”

The lawyer shakes his head. “The terms of the will don’t include his reasoning, I’m afraid.”

“You used to summer here, do you remember?” my mother asks, still clutching the photo. “Maybe you could run it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know how to run an estate. I’d be better off selling it and then you could pay off your place in Philly.”

The lawyer interjects before my mother can.

“Your mother’s been left the death benefit and the balance of his personal accounts along with some shares, all together coming to a total value of one point three million dollars. In regards to selling your inheritance, the second beneficiary would need to sign off on a sale unless they chose to buy you out, which they reserve first option at market value. That part is stipulated within the terms of the inheritance.”

“So, who’s the second beneficiary? I don’t have any cousins, and Uncle Jack was the only other family I thought there was.”

“A Mr. Remigius Dubois now controls fifty percent of the estate. He will be notified of his share after our meeting today.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” my mother says, finally laying the photo down on the table. “Maybe if I had returned to the estate, I would have met them. So many things must have changed over the years. I should have gone back…” she trails off, her gaze moving to the window but not before I see her eyes glass over.

“We always think we have more time,” I tell her, resting my hand on her shoulder. She places her palm over mine and takes a steadying breath.

“Then we have to learn from this. Both of us,” she says, turning in the chair to face me. “Promise me.”

I have no idea what exactly I am promising to do here, but I agree.

“Sure, Mom. I promise.”

“There is some paperwork for you both to sign,” the lawyer says, moving right back to business. I should be grateful he’s not dragging this part out, but also, fuck man, read the room.

It takes longer to get through the paperwork than it did for him to read the will, and when all is said and done, we leave their pretentious offices and head to one of our favorite spots. Tillie’s Bakery on seventh.

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” my mother says before pausing to sip her tea. “But Jack left you the estate, and I think you should go.”

“You want me to go to the estate, to do what?”

“To run it. Or half run it with this Remigius person.”

“I have zero clue about how to run an estate.”

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

“Mom, the only reason I’d be going to the estate is to check out how best to sell it.”

She sighs. “Then do that then. It could be a nice holiday for you.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind if I sold it?”

“Jack left it to you, so you can do whatever you want with it. We just agreed to not wait to do something we want to do. Right? We won’t wait for another day, when today can be that day.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“I’ll go check it out. But only to set up selling my half. Who knows, maybe this Remigius person will want to own the whole thing and I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Or this could be the thing you’ve been looking for. The new adventure now that?—”

“Don’t, Mom.”

“Honey, whether you talk about it or not, it still happened, and the sooner you start living again, the sooner you’ll find something else to love.”

“I won’t love anything as much as I loved playing ball.”

“Maybe, but how will you know if you spend your days cooped up in your old room playing video games online with ten-year-olds?”

“They aren’t all ten.”

She cocks an eyebrow as she takes another sip of tea. “Okay.”

I pull into the driveway of the estate. The large ornate gate that would have once kept the grounds closed off sits propped against the overgrown hedges, leaving the driveway open. From here, I can see the estate itself, looming in the distance, a huge white manor. As the car bumps along down the dirt drive, the tires kick up stones that rattle against the underside of the car, leaving a trail of dirt smoke behind us.

A giant oak stands in the middle of long grass to my left, a broken rope hanging from one of its branches, and memories of a tire swing come to mind.

It’s kind of creepy keeping the rope hanging up there all frayed at the end. That will have to come down before we list it for sale, and the lawns will need a proper mow, I think, before pulling up on the manor itself. I don’t get out, just sit in the idling car, staring out the windshield at the enormous three-story house.

I remember walking up the large steps with my mother, dragging a suitcase behind me like it was the heaviest thing in the world, and I can’t help but smile as I gaze up at the painted brick facade. Thirteen large windows overlook the grounds, most of them the same, shaker style with clear glass, but to the right where the building juts out a little like an L shape, there are two that are tinted. I guess if my room was on the ground floor, I wouldn’t want people walking past to be able to see in either.

The huge white door has a stained glass window set at the top that runs completely across it and depicts woodland or at least trees of some kind, and the whole thing is framed by an ornately carved trim, also painted white. It’s actually quite pretty. A memory flashes of my mother holding me up to peer through the glass. We used to truly love this place.

“No. This is not a trip down memory lane, this is a means to an end. I’m here to look over the place and figure out how to sell it, then get back to Philly to figure out what the hell is next in my life. The only thing I do know is, this is not it. I can’t run a hotel. How would that even work?” I ask myself as I pull around back. While the front of the manor looks to have been painted at least within the last few years, the rear has definitely seen better days. The paint is peeling from the brick in too many places to count, and one of the upper windows has been boarded up in sections instead of replacing the small glass panels it’s lost over time.

“Great, more work to do before this thing can be sold.” I mean, I guess I could list it as is and see what offers come in, or this Remigius person might be keen to buy me out, but it would get a higher price if it was in better shape. While the windows at the front were set in even numbers, at the back, there’s a long lower window to the right of the stairs of the back entry. No fancy stained glass on this side. The door is plain wood, but it does have two carved framed sections and a large brass handle that gleams in the afternoon light.

I pull in beside three other cars out back and switch off the ignition.

“Okay, let’s get this over with so I can get back to…” I can’t finish that sentence because as much as I hate to talk about what I’ve lost, I did lose it. Now I have nothing. No career, no job, nothing. Maybe this can at least be a distraction from the shit show that my life has become? An ache radiates through my shoulder, and I try to massage out the pain, but I know it’s not going anywhere. It’s been a constant reminder of everything I had to let go of. Everything I left behind in Savannah. My hopes, my dreams, fuck… my whole damned life. Well, one thing is for sure, nothing is going to change sitting in this car staring up at the place.

Time to see what this old place has to offer.