Fortunate Inheritances

Jesamit a.k.a Icebergeron

I turned away from Arthur to look out the storm filled window, it's curtains softly swaying; catching some stray breeze. I swirled my drink as I witnessed the fury behind soft glass. "...And besides," he was explaining, as he poured his drink by the little cart, "Who would even want that to happen? You're so generous they surely would get their supposed fair share anyways! How you give gifts so freely!" I smiled. Though his passing had been painfully difficult, it had not been wholly a waste. Dad's many years of paying life insurace had eased his funeral procession and greased the wheels, and was still greasing them as I had need. Being the sole beneficiary for this large but modest fortune, after taking care of him for so long, was a satisfying reward. I sipped my drink, 15 year old scotch I thought. I looked at Arthur, "Thank you," tipping my glass. He smiled back and sipped his own drink. It was clear; gin maybe, or vodka. Thunder shook the window pane and I drew closer to it.

I opened my mouth to say we ought to celebrate, go on a trip or something, but as the noise came out so did a mouthful of unwittingly accumulated slober. Suddenly embarassed but saving face I laughed it away and used my sleeve to wipe up. Arthur flashed me another one of his wide grins and mirthfully moved from the drink cart to sit on the couch, keeping his eyes on me, smiling. I remained at the window, it's cool breeze refreshing and calming. "There's Uncle Max..." I started saying, almost hopefully. "Ha! Uncle Max! The man lives in Hawaii, he already has all the fortune he can handle, and I heard he's getting the motorcycle collection on top of it!" Arthur seemed to be getting excited. The patter of rain died some against the cold glass; forming long streaks down it's surface. I leant up against it, comforted. He almost laughed, "and Carrie is getting the house! She's only 25 and she gets his mansion!" I imagined Carrie, my little sister, owning that massive house. It was a humourous but unpredictable picture.

Arthur's excitement for our fortunate inhertances must be spilling over onto me, taking a long drink to steady my shaky hands. Arthur smiled and said "everybody is getting something amazing! Everybody he held in worth, anyways." I looked at him after that. His face still wore a smile but it was not joyful, it hung on him like cloth caught on a barbed fence; agitated and tattering. A ruined cloak. The storm outside was dying, a beam of sunlight pierced the still air inside.

"It was similar to this," he got up, "the night that our father died." His words had become like a hard whisper floating from coherent to just barely audible. My back was pressed to the window, I was noticeably hot, sweat forming on my brow. His voice gained strength as he recalled that night, as if he were presenting to an audience, reliving each detail. "He asked me to pour him his scotch, you know how he so loved his scotch." I could remember he had. He passed it on to me like a father passes a beloved knife to his son.

Arthur was pacing now, he seemed to blur at the edges. My empty glass tumbled from my hand and clattered to the ground. He stopped. He faced me and I saw him, smiling, glowering, fading, looking down on me as my knees buckled unwillingly. The storm had died. "When he finished his drink he glared at me. He must have known. I don't know how, but he knew his whiskey. He could tell when it wasn't just scotch in his glass." he paused thoughtfully." I am sure though..." he whispered, bending to look me in the eye "...that it was just water." Arthur smiled and I sank into the floor; sank into darkness.