My legs feel like pillars cemented to the ground. They won’t budge. Ryan, I tell myself, all you have to do is get through the reading of the will, man, then it’s over, and you’re free of the past and hello beach babes.

I take in a deep breath and mentally stuff the wild feelings I’m experiencing down in a safe file inside my head. I’ve become somewhat of an expert at creating these protective files, but today, I seem to suck at it. My nerves are still killing me. The building that stands before me looks as if it will eat me alive the moment I step through its doors. I’m not ready to face this shit. I need something to calm me down. A drink. Just one drink.

I have a few minutes to spare and walk down the street to the nearest bar. The bartender examines me and my ID for what seems like a whole minute. Damn it; please don’t question the ID, not today. I don’t need that kind shit now. She finally throws the ID back on the bar. “What can I get you, Mr. Darcy?” I couldn’t tell if she’d recognized me or not.

“How about a Long Island Ice Tea,” I added in a charming grin. That usually got me a little extra alcohol. I knocked it out in a matter of minutes and life was good. Oh so good. I had this shit now. I walk back up the street. A hot chick walks out the front door of the lawyer’s building. I take inventory. “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask her in a not so subtle tone.

She gives me an approving smile and checks me out as she walks by. I feel my confidence go up in an instant. Girls are always telling me I look like John Brook’s little brother, and I guess I can see why, we both have dark blond hair, green eyes, killer smiles and enough charm to turn the crankiest of females into adoring fans.

Most everyone assumes I’m in my early twenties; I’m taller than most guys my age and pretty built from the kind of work I’ve done. I’ve held a roofing job for the last two years and it paid okay under the table—my boss didn’t like to pay taxes, and I couldn’t fill out a tax form if I tried, so it worked out for the both of us.

Since going out on my own, I never told anyone the truth about my age for fear they might send me home—in fact, this would have been my senior year, if I’d stayed in school.

After I let the secretaries at the front desk know I’m here, I turn to find a chair. The girls behind the desk whisper to each other as I walk away.

 He’s the last living Darcy...

Is he single...?

No, he can’t be that young…he looks so much older.

How much do you think he’ll inherit, another one asks.

I ignore them, and go sit down. There’s a men’s magazine in front of me and I flip through it as I listen to the phones ring off and on. When I look up, one of the girls behind the large desk catches my eye—she gets up and comes over and asks me if I would like a drink. She’s a pretty little thing, closer to my age maybe, and seems a little quieter than the other two. She blushes every time I smile at her.

A couple of minutes later she escorts me down a hall.

I turn to her. “I’m Ryan.”

“Yes, I know.” She smiles and shakes my hand. “Ashley. Nice to meet you.”

I stop her before we enter the office and put my arm across the door she’s about to open. “So Ashley, my friend bailed on me, and I’m kind of in a bind.”

Her eyebrows turn in as the concern grows on her face. “Oh. How so?”

I lean against the door and lower my voice, “See, my birthday is coming up soon, and I was supposed to celebrate it in the Bahamas with my friend, but she left me for another guy just yesterday.” I look down at the ground and give a sad puppy dog face as I make up my brilliant lie. “And I’m gonna be all alone on my birthday.” Cue rejected face again.

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

Score.  

My eyes rise up to meet hers. “Hey, I have an idea…” I say it delicately as not to scare her away. I’ve done this so many times I’ve learned which ones scare easily and this one had I don’t take risks often written all over her face. They were the best challenge. “How would you like to celebrate my upcoming birthday in the Bahamas with me?” I grin, knowing she’s checking out my dimples. “My treat. Bring a friend. And I’ll fly you guys home a few days later.”

“Oh, wow, well,” she looks around to see if anyone is watching, and I steal a glimpse of her cleavage. Her eyes come back to mine, and her voice is a bit awkward. “Yeah, I would love to…,” she hesitates. “But, I don’t know you…and…aren’t you like, seventeen? I’m twenty-one!”

I lean in close to her delicately painted lips. “Look at me.” I have her full attention. I tilt my head a little and peek over the top of my sunglasses. “What is age, really?” Her eyes go up and down my face searching for an answer. “And Ashley, trust me, I promise you, you’ll have the time of your life.”

“Have you been drinking?” She jerks her head back and pulls herself out of the trance.

“Yeah,” I say realizing I might still smell like alcohol. “My going away party didn’t get over until early this morning. But hey, don’t worry, I don’t drink often.”

“Mr. Darcy.” She turns into a rigid professional robot. “You are cute, that’s for sure…And I’m flattered, but I can’t run off with a minor to an island…and with a stranger. Not my style.” She looks back at the other secretaries at the end of the hall. She whispers, “But you’re more than welcome to look me up after your birthday.” She winks.

“It’s next week.” I shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Talk to me after your birthday.”

“Oh come on.”

Ashley ignores me and pushes the door open with a coy smile on her face. “Mister Darcy is here.”

As she turns to leave, I slightly lift my sunglasses up to make eye contact, and she looks away with a grin. She’ll cave and go with me. I can feel it. Then, when I’m done with her, I’ll buy her a few goodies and send her on her sweet way. And everyone is happy.

Grand mahogany bookcases surround the room except for the wall of glass behind the desk. A twinge of the nerves hit again as I recall what I’m here for. A man with silver thinning hair stands up from behind the massive desk and extends his hand.  “Ryan Darcy, it’s a pleasure,” he says, “I’m Ronald Wagner—you may remember me as Ron—we met many years ago at your grandmother’s home.”

“Hi.” I say eager to get this thing going. “Yeah, I remember you.”

“I truly am sorry for your loss.” Ron shows more sympathy than I need. “Barbra Darcy was a fine woman. She brought a lot of good into this world.”

“Yeah, well...” I pull my sunglasses up over my head and sit in a brown leather chair in front of his desk. I see a picture of him standing with my grandparents on a golf course. I deliberately look away from the photo to his trophies. “We stopped speaking a few years ago.”  I haven’t seen my grandmother since the day I left her standing under the portico, she had black makeup running down her cheeks, they were tears I caused, and it’s not an image I like to think about often.

“Yes, I know…it’s too bad really,” Ron says as he sits down in his large wing backed chair. “She was an amazing woman—she did a lot for Oklahoma City.”

“Yep,” I said, “she even had a park named after her. She was a real saint. Could we go ahead and get started now?” I just want to get my money and be on my happy little way.

Ron sighs and rubs his silver balding head. “Yes, when the others get here.”

“Others?” I blurt out. “I thought it was just me!”

The door opens and in walks the pretty secretary again. “Ron, the ladies are here.” She glances my way but this time her attention is no longer important to me.

“Please, send them in,” Ron tells her.

I unwrap a piece of gum as fast as my fingers can move and pop it into my mouth. I wish I didn’t quit smoking a few weeks ago—I would rather be lighting up a cigarette right about now than chewing a fricking piece of gum.

A tall, African American woman wearing a crisp light blue suit walks in first. With each step, her two inch brown and grey dreadlocks springing out of her head bounce up and down. She immediately takes charge and goes up to Ron. “Hello, I’m Debra Johnson. We spoke on the phone.” She has a slight hint of a Creole accent. The two shake hands, and Ron responds, “Yes, Doctor Johnson, thank you for coming. And might I add, you gave a touching eulogy yesterday.”

“You can call me Debra. Thanks, it was a nice memorial service. Barb deserved that,” she says while surveying the room. Debra’s eyes lock onto me, they run up and down my body as if she is looking for some kind of flaw to pick out and destroy. I feel as if I have shrunk about five feet. “Well, look at young Darcy here all grown up. The last time I saw you, you were a little punk. Now I bet you’re just a big punk.” She sits down on the leather sofa facing the desk. “Why didn’t you come to your grandmother’s memorial service? That makes, what, the second memorial service you skipped out on now.”

Nothing like the past creeping in when you least expect it. Before I can respond I hear more voices from the doorway. I turn and see a short round woman about my grandmothers age with fake strawberry colored hair appear. My heart beats faster now. Why are they all here? Did my grandmother choose them over me?

Chapter Two

“Deb, lay off him, he has no family left.” The red head says. “I’m sure he is grieving in his own way.” She winks at me as her pink round face holds a kind smile. “Don’t worry about her, she’s not as mean as she seems—she’s really a big softie.” She pats my shoulder. “Hi sweetie, I’m so happy to see you!”  The sweet read head turns to Ron and salutes, “Maggie Roberts reporting for duty,” she laughs. “Hi, Ronny boy, it has been way too long.” Maggie goes around the desk and hugs Ron, and then says to him, “I don’t believe you ever met Cathy, right? Maggie points to a woman now standing in the doorway—she has black hair except for one small silver streak that runs down next to her face, her hair is cut into a sophisticated bob, and her tanned skin is much smoother and less wrinkled than the other two women.

“Ah, yes, Professor Spottedbear.” Ron’s smile widens and his face becomes a little more excited than it should be.

“Please, call me Cathy,” she says in a strong husky voice with no interest in him. “No need for titles.”

“Cathy, thank you for making it as well,” Ron tells her. He looks pretty ridiculous with the way he’s smiling at her. He must not get female attention much at his old age. “I heard you teach at UC Berkley—I had a cousin attend Berkley back in the day,” he goes on, “good school. What do you teach?”

Debra glances over at me and stares with a blank expression. My wet hands slide back and forth over each other. I run them along my jeans to dry them off.

“Anthropology and a few Native American Women’s History courses,” Cathy responds with a slight sophisticated air about her.

“Very nice,” he replies impressed. When Ron stops drooling over her, he turns his attention to Maggie. “I do apologize for not talking to you at the service.”

“Don’t worry about it—I was out of it.” Maggie says as she thinks of her loss.

He gives her a kind look. “Yes, I saw that, and I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt.”

 Maggie sits next to Debra on the sofa and changes the subject, “This is quite a surprise.” She looks over at Cathy who takes a chair by the desk near me. “Why would Barb want us here for the reading of the will?”

“She wanted us to help with Ryan,” Cathy coolly states. “But I don’t see how the reading of the will would have anything to do with us.” This is more of a question to Ron.

“I think her letter will explain things,” Ron continues, “So I assume everyone knows Barbra’s grandson, Ryan?”

“Oh, yes we do,” Maggie says with spunk. She focuses on me. “It’s been a while. You were just a skinny thing the last time I saw you. And look at you now.” She leans back in her seat and surveys me. “All filled out—and look at those guns—those are some big arms, ah, so grown up and such a handsome little,” she stops and looks me up and down, “or I should say, handsome big devil.”

I shrug and say, “I think I was thirteen or fourteen.”

“Are you sure? No, I think it was earlier at your mother’s funeral.”

I glance away. Did she really need to bring that up?

“Hell, no it wasn’t, Mags.” Debra leans forward making her dangly earrings swing. “Remember, he didn’t make that funeral either.” Debra looks at me as if she’s hoping I will give some sort of explanation.

I hate Debra. Always have.

“Oh, yes, that is right.” Maggie concludes.

Without moving her body, sitting tall and proud, Cathy lowers her voice a little and says, “Deb, I’m sure that Ryan had his reasons.”  

I knew these ladies were friends with my grandmother but I was always too young, or uninterested to really know the extent of their friendship. I’m curious now and waste no time.  “I remember seeing you all at my grandmother’s New Years Eve parties but I was always escaping out the back door to run the grounds or run around the house. I apologize; I never really got to know you all. Remind me, how did you know my grandmother?”

“We went to OU together,” says Cathy. “And at one time we were all we had.”

Maggie chuckles, “Yeah, I believe we used to call ourselves The Unwanted Club…no sorority would have us!” Maggie smacks her large thigh. “I was too fat, your grandmother was too, well let’s just say, outspoken and rebellious.”

“I was too black,” Debra chimes in, “And Cathy over there was too red and liked women.”

“Thanks, Deb.” Cathy adds with a sour tone then continues, “Yes, we were a motley crew indeed…and did we have some great adventures together.”

They all smile at each other.

The warm fuzzies make me want to run out the door.

“Boy, do we have stories for you,” Maggie tells me.

“Great,” I mutter with little enthusiasm as I look back to Ron to let him know we need to get this going.

“Okay ladies… and gentleman,” Ron says while opening a file. “I think you all understand you are here for the reading of the will of Barbra Darcy. So let’s get started.” Ron holds up a paper. “This last draft was drawn up three months before the cancer took her life.”

“Wait,” Maggie pleads. “Let me get us some tissues.”

I roll my eyes.

Ron waits for Maggie to hand out the tissues to the other ladies and then he looks down and reads, “Well folks, it looks like this is as far as I go. And that is okay, I’m at peace with my death. I even welcome it. I know Ted, Melissa and Robbie will be waiting for me at heaven’s door.” I hadn’t heard my grandfather and mom’s name in a long time and it stings a little. And who the hell is Robbie?

 “I have called you all here because I love you all dearly, and because I have a mission for you. A mission I hope enhances all of your lives in some way.”

“So typical of Barb,” Maggie tells Debra as she dabs the tissue around her eyes. “Always thinking of others.”

Ron continues to read, “I have thought long and hard on this one, and I would like to request that all of you take my ashes back to Bethel, remember the place we camped that weekend for Woodstock?  You know, under that big tree where we painted our names onto the rock with nail polish. That is where I want to rest. And I want you to take my dear Ryan and Ethel on the trip too.”

“Dear Lord,” Cathy says as she sits back and crosses her legs. “She still has Ethel?”

Debra shrugs. “I don’t know, I never saw Ethel at her Oklahoma City house and you know how they guarded their privacy at the California estate. But, I bet if she did keep Ethel, she still has Ted’s Eleanor, too.”

Maggie’s eyes squint and she tilts her head as she realizes something. “That makes no sense…she always talked about having her ashes spread in the ocean.”

“Where did she put Ted’s ashes?” Deb asks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie answers.

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “I’m not going on this trip…” I look at Ron, hoping he can get me out of this, “and with them.” I nod my head toward the women. “Let’s just take her ashes to one of those storage places at the cemetery and get on with our lives.”

“Unbelievable,” Debra whispers to herself. The room falls silent, and I realize that was probably not the right thing to say. I don’t know why I said it myself. I did love my grandmother very much. We were close when I was a kid, and I lived with her for a while after my mom died, but after she betrayed me on my fifteenth birthday, I shut her out.

Ron reads on, “In exchange for doing this for me—Cathy, I will donate a million to your reservation of choice. Debra, I know you are always looking for funding for Cancer research, and I’ll give you a million. Maggie, we’ve had many talks about helping the Inner City kids here in Oklahoma City, and I know your heart’s desire is to build the first private non-sectarian school in the area, so to your project, I’ll give three million as this mission is very close to my heart as well. Now, to each of you, for taking the time to do this for me, I will give an extra million for your personal use.”

I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry. I was literally watching my inheritance go to these old ladies.

Ron glances up at me before clearing his throat and proceeds. I lean as far forward as possible to cling to what would be his next words.

“My dear Ryan,” Ron reads, “I tried as hard as I could to help you find your way but it seemed the harder I tried the more I pushed you away. I could never understand why you felt you couldn’t trust me. Maybe I didn’t make the right choices concerning you. I realize now that I might have been a little too hard.”

That’s an understatement. She was like a dictator when I lived with her.

“I don’t know. God knows I’ve played it over and over in my head thinking of all the different ways I could have helped you. I’m sorry I failed. I had no idea the military school would cause you to leave like you did. I was only trying to find the best place for you. I didn’t know how to deal with your rebellion. There was so much anger in you, and for the life of me, I couldn’t and still can’t figure out what you were so mad about. I know some of it was because of your Mom’s accident but this started before then. I just don’t understand it, you had a good life, or so I thought. You were always a good boy, mischievous as hell maybe, but still you had a good heart, and then one day you changed on me and after that change, I couldn’t reach you. I just wish you would have reached out and told someone what was truly going on in that head of yours. 

“I know you had some anger toward your mother while she was still alive, and I don’t understand that either, she was a good mother, even with that jerk of a husband we both hated that tried to push everyone out of her life at the end, but one thing I know to be true is that she loved you with all her heart. Never doubt that.

 “Now, I had hired a person to follow you when you ran away. I know, but you can’t blame an old granny for looking out for her grandson. I wanted to allow you your space, but still, I wanted to know you were okay.

“I’ll start off with the positive—I am proud you went out and got yourself a job—even if it was illegal, tax wise—yes, I caught that. You have definitely proven you are a hard worker and you can take care of yourself. However, the last report I got wasn’t good. You’re still self-destructive with all the drinking and drugs. You have an awful temper and you’ve turned into quite a womanizer. Honey, simply put, you’re lost. And trust me—a lost person cannot handle this kind of responsibility—this is more money than most people make in several life times.

“So unfortunately, I don’t think you are at the right place to inherit the entire estate valued at ninety-four million, after my friends and charities get their shares, so what I have come up with is this…”

My heart beats fast and hard and my hands grip the arms of the chair, the words are becoming fuzzy at this point, but I do all I can to hear them correctly.

“And by the way, I would like you to meet your godmothers—Debra, Maggie and Cathy. You met them when you were younger, you may remember. I trust these women with my life, and I hope you will grow to love them as I do.

My head is spinning now. Where is this going? Why do I need godmothers?

“What I have come up with is a to-do list for you, Debra will give you the list after your trip to Bethel, and you can look over it then. After you take my ashes to New York, you can have my beloved Ethel and Ted’s Eleanor and a modest income. And trust me—you are lucky to even get that. But the rest of the money, the houses and all the assets will be held in the Trust until you are twenty-five—this should give you enough time to complete the list, and hopefully, grow some more. At that time the ladies can decide if you have matured enough to take control of your money. If you are not ready, you will have to wait another five years—this review will occur every five years until they feel you are ready. Ron has been instructed; he knows that you must have all three votes by the women to get the entire estate. So until then, my dear Ryan, you will have to prove yourself worthy—you will have to learn to find yourself, to find your place in the world. And let me tell you, your place is not as a self absorbed womanizing brat. I know you better than that and I see right through it. I expect more of you. I want you to get over your anger, mature, love someone other than yourself, become benevolent and see that there is more to life than just serving all your carnal desires. I know that that sweet little boy is still in there, and I refuse to give up on him. So this is my gift to you—my beloved grandson—I will help you find yourself with the help of my friends through this list. Use this trip to get to know these women, learn to trust them and allow them to guide you. Their combined experiences, understanding of the world and love for me will not steer you wrong. I guarantee you.

“And you can resent me all you want for now, but one day, I promise you, you will see it was the best thing for you.

“With all my love, Barbra K. Darcy.”

Ron lays the paper down.

“I can’t believe this.” I put my head in my hands and stare at the floor. “How could she do this to me? Why the hell do I need to be benevolent? What? Am I supposed to flaunt my good actions like she did? It’s not like I’m out there hurting people, a thief, or….she acts like I’m some frickin’ murderer like I’m an awful person!” It becomes hard to breath. My chest is burning; there is a fire there that wants to escape via my mouth. And now it’s not just my mouth that wants to explode, it’s my hands, it’s my feet. Every inch of my body is about to go ape shit in this office.

Maggie stands next to me and rubs my back. “Oh honey, she’s really doing the best thing for you.”

My fist slams down on Ron’s desk. “She’s controlling my fucking life!”  Everyone jumps. “That’s what she’s doing!”

“Now, calm down son.”  Ron puts his manicured hands up. “No reason to get violent here.”

I glare at him and pull away from Maggie. I don’t want her touching me. “And what are Ethel and Eleanor?” I ask, “Cats, dogs, turtles…hell, I don’t want animals. I can’t even take care of myself let alone something else.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to keep Eleanor, she was your Grandfather’s baby.” Cathy proclaims with her subdued voice. “We all wanted Eleanor. And Ethel…” she chuckles, “well, I think the only person on the planet that wanted Ethel was your Grandmother. We drove Ethel to Woodstock in nineteen-sixty-nine.” Cathy holds a slight smile as the nostalgic thought pleases her. Debra has that same smile but then it falls as a revelation hits her, and she says to Ron, “We have to drive from Oklahoma City to New York in Ethel? No air conditioning! What was Barb thinking?” She looks at me as if I’m not there and lowers her voice. “And with this child?”

“Oh great,” I say interrupting them as I graciously ignore the fact that I was just referred to as a child. “A big freaking tank. I get a hippie car while you guys get millions! That’s so typical of my family…They screw their own.” I take in a deep breath. “I don’t wanna go.” I glare at Ron. “I’m not going!” I protest by crossing my arms and acting more immature than I have in ten years. “I don’t want her hippie cars or some shitty allowance.” Actually, I did need a car and the cash, but I don’t want to admit it in front of them. I want the whole lot. I want what is rightfully mine. I can manage it myself. I’m a man now, damn it. Have I not proven that? This is so fucked up.

Ron holds out a photo. “Maybe you should reconsider the offer. Take a look at a Nineteen-sixty-eight Mustang GT Five Hundred Eleanor…convertible.” Ron has a slightly dreamy face as he looks at the picture. “Estimated value of ninety-five thousand dollars.”

Our eyes lock.

I take the picture and study it. Now I see why I should reconsider the offer. It is a badass looking muscle car—a little different from the other Mustangs of that era. My Grandmother never told me about Grandpa’s car. We never spoke about him after his death.

Ron goes on to say that she kept Eleanor and Ethel at the house in Santa Barbara. I was never taken or even invited to go out to that house. She called it her 3-D Thomas Kincaide painting; she said it was her place to hide from the world and be herself. I saw a few pictures of it once. It wasn’t big like the house here in OKC, it was more of a small cottage and on the beach; it had several acres of land, and lots of flower gardens.

Ron goes on as I eyeball the photo of the car, “I had both vehicles driven here and put in storage, as per Barb’s request.”

Without taking my eyes off the mustang, I say, “It’s just one trip, right.”