David Bell - Never Come Back

“This,” I said. “Elizabeth Yarbrough. Who’s that and why is she in Mom’s will?”

“You don’t know who she is?” he asked.

I sat back in my chair and tried to think. I ran through the names of every relative I could think of—and there weren’t that many. Dad was an only child. My grandparents were dead. And then there was Paul and Ronnie and me. As far as friends… I think every single one of them was at the funeral, and I didn’t remember that name—Elizabeth Yarbrough—although it could have slipped past me.

“Is she a friend of my mother’s?” I asked.

Mr. Allison frowned a little. He dug around on his desk and pulled out a manila folder. “You know what I do now that I’m getting older? I take notes whenever I talk with a client, just in case something like this comes up.” He flipped the folder open. “Here we go.” He read over something in the folder. “It just says here your mom came in and made this change to her will, adding this Elizabeth Yarbrough woman as one of her beneficiaries.”

“Did my mom say why?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. It says here that I asked your mom who this Yarbrough woman was. A friend or a relative. Your mom just said she was somebody close to the family, and I let it go at that.” He closed the folder. “You know, I’ve handled your parents’ wills and things since you were born. Neither one of them was very rash or impulsive. If your mom said she wanted to make a change like this, I figured she meant it. I try not to argue with women who know their minds.”

“Doesn’t she have to tell you who she’s leaving money to?” I asked. “You’re the lawyer drawing it up.”

“She’s under no obligation to tell me anything, even if I am her lawyer. It’s a family will. It’s not the Magna Carta. Now, if someone wants to contest it, that’s another matter.”

“No, no,” I said. “I’m not saying that.” I stared down at the paper again, at that name. My first name too. My chest felt hollow. Here was something else I apparently didn’t know about Mom.

Mr. Allison said, “It says right there Elizabeth Yarbrough of Reston Point, Ohio. That’s about an hour from here. Does your mom have any people there?”

“No,” I said. “She’s from Haxton.”

“That’s the other way,” Mr. Allison said. He scratched his chin. “You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”

“That Elizabeth Yarbrough is the person who called you on the phone the other day?”

“Exactly,” he said. “She must have known, or suspected, that she was going to be named here. Your mother must have told her about that, and she must have known your mother had died. Of course, anyone could find that information out.”

I remembered the phone call, the one that had come on the day of Mom’s funeral. The woman said she was just getting to know Mom but couldn’t make it to the service. She didn’t give her name.

“I guess we’ll hear from her again,” I said.

He tapped the will with his index finger. “Do you want to look at the next page? There’s a provision for custody and care of your brother, who I believe has some special needs.” I turned the page, and he said, “As you can see, your mother named you guardian of your brother and placed his share of the estate in trust to be managed and controlled by you. A little farther down, you’ll see she named you as executrix as well. She certainly had a lot of faith in you, and I bet that gave her a lot of peace.”

“But—” I stopped myself. I knew Mom didn’t have much faith in me, which is why she needed to beg for my promise to care for Ronnie. In the end, it didn’t matter. She had given that responsibility to me whether I wanted it, or even felt up to it. “This is a change as well. My uncle was supposed to be Ronnie’s guardian. That’s how it was in the other will.”

Mr. Allison opened the folder again. He read off the paper, his lips moving ever so slightly as he did so. “It is,” he said. “Your mom transferred the guardianship from your uncle to you. And your mom was pretty clear about that, according to my notes. She said she felt her brother was getting on in years, and she wanted the peace of mind of knowing someone would always be around for your brother. So that’s you.”

“You know my uncle, right?”

“Paul? I do. He’s a good man. Schoolteacher, right?”

“Retired.”

“I guess he’s about that age. What about him?”

“I don’t… I guess I need to talk to him about all this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “He’s not named anywhere in this document. Of course, you’re welcome to explain things to anyone in the family if you so desire. But like I said, your mom knew her mind.”

“My mom didn’t tell me she was naming me Ronnie’s guardian,” I said. “Why didn’t I have to sign anything or fill out any forms? Wouldn’t I have to do something like that?”

“I figured she told you,” he said. “Usually the person making the will hashes that out with the guardian before coming in here. Besides, you’re his sister, right? There’s just you and your uncle. Who else would be taking care of him?”

“Right. I’ve even thought about how I could make it work. I’m in school full-time. Graduate school. It’s going to require some juggling.”

“Most things do.” He scratched his chin again. “Your brother is over eighteen. He’s an adult. A disabled adult, but an adult. He doesn’t have to live with you. You don’t have to be his full-time caretaker. There are homes where folks like your brother live pretty independently.”

“I know. I’m aware of that.”

“All I’m saying is that you have options. Part of the reason you didn’t have to sign anything or write your name down in blood is because your brother is an adult. This isn’t like someone left an infant on your doorstep.”

I put the will back on his desk. I sat still, letting it all sink in. Paul had been cut out. If he’d suggested to Mom that she send Ronnie away, I could see Mom taking that step. Maybe. Even for Mom, it was pretty harsh, but still. She had little tolerance for anyone who crossed her about Ronnie. And I had no idea who Elizabeth Yarbrough was, but at least I hadn’t been disinherited. “Is there anything else in there?” I asked. “I mean, did she leave any notes or letters? Any instructions?”

“If she did, they’re not with me,” he said. “You can check for a safe-deposit box or something like that. Maybe she said something there. But I just handled the will.”

I let out a deep breath. I hadn’t even known I’d been holding it in.

“It’s a lot to take on,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “You know, my brother… he’s in the hospital right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I heard about that too.”

“He’s in Dover Community being examined.”

“I see.”

“The police ordered it,” I said. “They have some questions about Ronnie’s behavior as it relates to my mother’s death. They’re trying to determine if it’s possible that Ronnie was involved in some way.”

Mr. Allison was a professional who had probably heard all manner of strange admissions coming across his desk. “I see,” he said again.

“Did my mother ever mention being afraid of Ronnie?” I asked. “Did she ever try to… I don’t know… have something done for him?”

Mr. Allison was shaking his head before I even finished the question. “Never,” he said. “Didn’t even hint at it. Again, that’s just what I know, but she never said any such thing.”

His words brought me some relief. But they also left me standing on square one. “Do you have any advice about the situation?” I asked.

“I don’t do criminal law,” he said. “With someone like your brother, someone who has those special needs, the police have to tread carefully. They don’t always, but they’re supposed to. Chances are the medical exam is a pretext to give them cover. They know where your brother is, they can watch him, and, yes, they want the shrink to look him over and see if he does have any violent tendencies. But, really, they’re probably trying to make a case. Bottom line—they can’t just keep him there forever. Once the exam is over, they have to release him or charge him. You should keep an eye on what they’re doing, and if they sit on the pot too long, insist he be released. If it comes to that, I’d be happy to help you. Did they examine him yet?”