David Baldacci - First Family

"Make sure you keep it in a safe place," warned the banker. "Because a copy won't be good enough for probate. How about a safe-deposit box here?"

"Don't you worry about that," said Quarry. "Anybody tries to break into my house gets their head blown off."

"I'm sure," said the banker a little nervously.

"I'm sure too," said Quarry.

Fred and Quarry stopped at a bar for a drink before heading back.

"So now it is okay to drink, Sam?" asked Fred, tipping the mug of beer to his mouth.

Quarry pitched back a few fingers of bourbon. "It's after noon, right? All I'm telling you, Fred, is to have some reasonable standards."

They drove back to Atlee. Quarry dropped Fred off at the Airstream.

As the old man slowly made his way up the cinderblock steps, he turned back to Quarry who sat in the old truck. "Thank you for the money."

"Thank you for witnessing my will."

"Do you expect to die soon?"

Quarry grinned. "If I knew that I'd probably be off in Hawaii or something going for a swim in the ocean and eating me that calamari. Not riding around in a rusted-out truck in nowhere Alabama talking to the likes of you, Fred."

"By the way, my name isn't Fred."

"I know that. 'Cause that's the name I gave you. What is it, then? Your real name? I didn't see your ID that good or how you signed the will."

"Eugene."

"Is that an Indian name?"

"No, but it is what my mother named me."

"How come?"

"Because she was white."

"And she really lived to ninety-eight?"

"No. She was dead at fifty. Too much booze. She drank even more than me."

"Can I still call you Fred?"

"Yes. I like it better than Eugene."

"Tell me the truth, Fred. How much longer you got to live?"

"About a year, if I'm lucky."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. How did you know?"

"Seen a lot of death in my day. The chest hack you got. And your hands are too cold and your skin under the brown is too pale."

"You're a smart man."

"You know we all got to go one day. But now you can enjoy what time you got left a thousand times better than you would've a few hours ago." He pointed a finger at his friend. "And don't leave nothing for me, Fred. I won't be needing it."

Quarry drove off in a swirl of dust.

When he got back to Atlee the first plump drops of rain from an approaching front were starting to fall. He walked in and went straight to the kitchen because that's where he heard her. Ruth Ann was scrubbing some big cook pots clean when Quarry's boots hit the kitchen floor. She turned and smiled.

"Gabriel was looking for you."

"Told him I was going into town with Fred."

"Whatcha go into town for?" Ruth Ann asked as she worked.

Quarry sat down and took the document out of his jacket and unfolded it. "What I wanted to talk to you about." He held up the paper. "This here is my last will and testament. I got it signed today. Now it's all official."

Ruth Ann put down the pot she was scrubbing and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Her brow creased. "Your will? You ain't sick, are you?"

"No, at least not that I know. But only a fool waits until they're sick to make a will. Come on over here and take a look at it."

Ruth Ann took a hesitant step forward and then quickly crossed the room and sat down. She took the paper from him, slipped a pair of drugstore glasses from her shirt pocket, and put them on.

"I don't read all that good," she said, a little embarrassed. "Get Gabriel to do it for me mostly."

He stabbed a finger at one part of the paper. "It's mostly lawyer talk, but right there is all you got to pay attention to, Ruth Ann."

She read where he indicated, her lips moving slowly as she read the few words. Then she looked up at him, the paper trembling in her hands.

"Mr. Sam. This ain't right."

"What's not right about it?"

"You leaving all this to me and Gabriel?"

"That's right. My property. I can give it to whoever I damn well want to, 'scuse my French."

"But you got family. You got Mr. Daryl, and Miss Tippi. And your other daughter too."

"I trust you to take care of Daryl, if he's still around. And Tippi. And Suzie, well, I doubt she'd want anything from me seeing as how she hasn't even called me in over four years. And you and Gabriel are my family too. So I want to provide for you. This is my way of doing that."

"You sure 'bout this?"

"Sure I'm sure."

She reached across the table and took his hand. "You a good man, Mr. Sam. You probably outlive all of us. But I thank you for all you done for me and Gabriel. And I take care of everybody, Mr. Sam. Everybody real good. Just like you would."

"Ruth Ann, you can do anything with the property you want. Including selling it if you need the money."

She looked appalled by the suggestion. "I ain't never gonna sell this place, Mr. Sam. This here's our home."

There was a noise at the doorway and they looked over to see Gabriel standing there.

"Hey, Gabriel," said Quarry. "Me and your ma just talking about some things."

"What things, Mr. Sam?" Gabriel looked at his mother and noted the tears sliding down her thin, flat cheeks. "Is everything okay?" he said slowly.

"Come on over here, you," his mother said, beckoning to him. He ran to her and she hugged him. Quarry patted Gabriel on the head, folded up his will, put it back in his pocket, and left the room.

He had another letter to write.

And he had to go see Tippi.

And then he was going to the mine.

It was getting close to the end now.

FOR THE SECOND TIME in as many days, Sean and Michelle listened to a preacher talk about the dearly departed. It was a rainy, blustery afternoon and black umbrellas were braced against the elements as Pam Dutton was laid to rest in a cemetery five miles from where she'd died. The children were in the front row under the canopy with their father. Tuck's head was bandaged and the man looked like he had downed a few cocktails and a handful of pills. His sister, the First Lady, sat next to him, her arm protectively around his shoulders. Colleen Dutton was perched in Jane's lap. John was snuggled against his father. Next to Jane was her husband, who was dressed in black and looking solemnly presidential.

A wall of "A-team" Secret Service surrounded the burial site. The surrounding streets had been cleared and shut down, with every manhole cover in the roads the motorcade had taken welded shut. The cemetery was closed to everyone other than the bereaved family and invited friends. A regiment of journalists and TV crews waited just outside the gates hoping to catch a glimpse of the president and grieving First Lady when they left the graveyard.

Michelle nudged Sean and inclined her head to the left. Agent Waters of the FBI was in attendance. And his gaze was dead on Sean and Michelle.

"He doesn't look too happy," she said.

"I bet he's never been happy in his entire life."

They'd caught an early morning flight back from Tennessee. On the plane back they'd talked about what had happened the night before.

When they'd gotten back to Frank Maxwell's house, the man hadn't returned. Michelle had tried calling him on his cell phone but there was no answer. They were just about to call in the cops when he had come through the garage door.

"Dad?"

He had pushed right past her, gone to his bedroom, and closed the door. When Michelle had tried the door, it was locked.

"Dad?" she'd called through the door. "Dad!" She started beating on it, until a hand grabbed her. It was Sean.

"Just let him be for now."

"But-"

"There's something going on here that we don't understand, so let's not push it for now."

Sean had slept on the couch and Michelle in one of the spare bedrooms. Her brothers were staying at Bobby's house nearby.