job, while a third crew was tearing out the old kitchen flooring to install new tile. The last crew was prepping the interior walls of the house, readying them to be painted as well. Once all that was completed, he had a local interior designer on standby to hang new curtains and drapes. His family and neighbors would view it as a much-needed renovation, but to Anson, it was nothing more than a very expensive trap.
****
When Sam and Chance showed up for work that morning and saw what was taking place, they were in shock. They stood on the threshold in the kitchen, staring in disbelief.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“What’s it look like?” Anson asked as he circled the work crew and headed for the door.
“You’re fixing the floor?” Chance said.
“Good observation, but it’s not just the floor. It’s the whole damn place,” Anson said. “Let’s go outside to talk.”
They followed him out and then into the yard.
“What the hell, Dad?” Sam asked.
Anson shrugged. “I’m fixing the place like Delle wanted, and putting in some air conditioners, too. It’s damn hot inside.”
“It’s been hot for as long as I’ve been alive,” Sam muttered, still pissed at Anson for what he’d done.
Anson looked up, his eyes narrowing in a warning Sam recognized. “Don’t challenge me,” Anson said softly.
Sam stared back until, to his shame, he was the first to look away.
Anson shifted his focus to Chance, but he refused to meet his father’s gaze. He grinned, knowing they’d been properly cowed.
“Well, now. Let’s talk about what’s up today. Chance, I want you to check the grow sites up north. Sam, you take the ones to the East. If either of you see anything off, let me know. Last time I was up north, I swore someone had been there. It could be some Cajun up the bayou decided to snag a little weed thinking it wouldn’t be missed, but I’m not running a charity. Pay attention. When you come back, there’s a shipment of bamboo to get ready. The invoices are on the clipboard in the shed.”
The brothers glanced at each other and then walked away.
As soon as everyone was otherwise occupied, Anson got a flashlight and headed for the attic. When he opened the door, the movement sent dust motes swirling. The heat in the highest floor of the old mansion was basically unbearable, but he didn’t intend to linger. Sweat beaded almost instantly on his upper lip, and soon ran out of his hairline and down the middle of his back, as well. He wiped his face with a handkerchief as he moved farther inside, wrinkling his nose as he went.
The musty smell came from the accumulation of centuries: old furniture, dressmaker’s dummies from at least three different eras, a half-dozen chests, Christmas decorations from the family before them, boxes and boxes of crap, and a multitude of old paintings from his long-dead ancestors.
He caught a glimpse of movement that made his heart skip a beat before he realized he was looking at himself in a full-length mirror. He stared, then frowned and looked away from the signs of visible aging on his face.
The single window facing the East was covered in grime, leaving the room and contents in a sepia-colored half-light. He walked the length of the attic and back, ducking a birdhouse hanging from the low ceiling, and what looked like a handmade wind chime. He hadn’t been up here in years, but he seemed to remember playing in a small storage space his mother had called a cubbyhole. After pushing a few chests and boxes around, he finally found it and got down on his knees to open it only to find that it was stuck. He pulled harder on the little knob, then harder again until it finally opened up with a loud squeak.
As he peered into the darkness, he thought again about what he was planning and for a few seconds contemplated the idea of relenting on revenge. But then, he heard a loud bang as one of the workers dropped something downstairs, remembered the gun going
****
When Sam and Chance showed up for work that morning and saw what was taking place, they were in shock. They stood on the threshold in the kitchen, staring in disbelief.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“What’s it look like?” Anson asked as he circled the work crew and headed for the door.
“You’re fixing the floor?” Chance said.
“Good observation, but it’s not just the floor. It’s the whole damn place,” Anson said. “Let’s go outside to talk.”
They followed him out and then into the yard.
“What the hell, Dad?” Sam asked.
Anson shrugged. “I’m fixing the place like Delle wanted, and putting in some air conditioners, too. It’s damn hot inside.”
“It’s been hot for as long as I’ve been alive,” Sam muttered, still pissed at Anson for what he’d done.
Anson looked up, his eyes narrowing in a warning Sam recognized. “Don’t challenge me,” Anson said softly.
Sam stared back until, to his shame, he was the first to look away.
Anson shifted his focus to Chance, but he refused to meet his father’s gaze. He grinned, knowing they’d been properly cowed.
“Well, now. Let’s talk about what’s up today. Chance, I want you to check the grow sites up north. Sam, you take the ones to the East. If either of you see anything off, let me know. Last time I was up north, I swore someone had been there. It could be some Cajun up the bayou decided to snag a little weed thinking it wouldn’t be missed, but I’m not running a charity. Pay attention. When you come back, there’s a shipment of bamboo to get ready. The invoices are on the clipboard in the shed.”
The brothers glanced at each other and then walked away.
As soon as everyone was otherwise occupied, Anson got a flashlight and headed for the attic. When he opened the door, the movement sent dust motes swirling. The heat in the highest floor of the old mansion was basically unbearable, but he didn’t intend to linger. Sweat beaded almost instantly on his upper lip, and soon ran out of his hairline and down the middle of his back, as well. He wiped his face with a handkerchief as he moved farther inside, wrinkling his nose as he went.
The musty smell came from the accumulation of centuries: old furniture, dressmaker’s dummies from at least three different eras, a half-dozen chests, Christmas decorations from the family before them, boxes and boxes of crap, and a multitude of old paintings from his long-dead ancestors.
He caught a glimpse of movement that made his heart skip a beat before he realized he was looking at himself in a full-length mirror. He stared, then frowned and looked away from the signs of visible aging on his face.
The single window facing the East was covered in grime, leaving the room and contents in a sepia-colored half-light. He walked the length of the attic and back, ducking a birdhouse hanging from the low ceiling, and what looked like a handmade wind chime. He hadn’t been up here in years, but he seemed to remember playing in a small storage space his mother had called a cubbyhole. After pushing a few chests and boxes around, he finally found it and got down on his knees to open it only to find that it was stuck. He pulled harder on the little knob, then harder again until it finally opened up with a loud squeak.
As he peered into the darkness, he thought again about what he was planning and for a few seconds contemplated the idea of relenting on revenge. But then, he heard a loud bang as one of the workers dropped something downstairs, remembered the gun going
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