Truth or Consequences

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been'. -John Greenleaf Whittier My grandmother, Mae Herring, said, 'Never be afraid of change because as one door closes, another opens in its place.' Who the hell says that when they're dying? I mean. I understand someone saying, I love you or live your life to the fullest because one expects that. But why tell someone not to be afraid of change? Isn't all change inevitable? Well, I never understood her when she was alive, so I guess it makes sense that things wouldn't be any different, even in death. But I can't believe she's gone. She was my bedrock, the strength I drew from. The one true pillar I could depend upon for perseverance and sustainability. Now that she's gone, she's left me with an emptiness of vast proportion. I tuck a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. Drawing in a deep breath with my nose, I exhale through my mouth, trying to ignore the tight knot contracting in the pit of my stomach. All I wanted to do was parade around in my green pajamas and fuzzy blue socks this morning. Instead, I stand outside of Gerald Levin's office, my late grandmother's attorney. Yawning, I walk in with Boyd and Ruthie Rice, then sit in the empty waiting room. I thumb through some magazines. The pages are a blended blur of colors because I can't focus my thoughts. Who schedules an appointment on a Sunday morning? More importantly, why did I agree to show up? The side door opens with a squeak, and a man enters the room wearing a plum-purple dress shirt. He's young, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties. Crisply tailored clothes drape his slender frame. The button-down shirt tucked neatly into dark pleated slacks hugs his body. The cuffs of his pants hang just at the base of a pair of black wingtip oxfords. Hmm. Wonder how often he has to polish those shoes to make them shine. Tipping my head back, I find he's appraising me. Geez, how long was he observing me watch him? "I didn't hear you folks come in." The man continues to stare. "I hope you haven't been waiting long." Boyd rises from the chair. "No. Not at all. We just got here. I'm Boyd Rice. We have an appointment this morning with Gerald." "My name is Stephen Briggs, and actually, the appointment is with me, Mr. Rice." Stephen extends an arm, shaking Boyd's hand. "Mr. Levin sends his apologies and regards. He had to leave on urgent business yesterday. However, he fully briefed me on the current case." Boyd's brows shoot up in surprise. "Oh." Stephen offers his hand. "You must be Danielle Herring." His eyes light up. His expression pulls the ball of tension tighter in the pit of my belly. I stand, extending a hand. "Call me Danny." His warm hand engulfs mine in a firm but gentle grip that he's slow to relinquish. My mouth goes dry. His brow quirks upward, and I take a step back. "My office is around the corner. Please. Come with me." I follow him down a short, narrow hallway with Boyd and Ruthie on my heels. His office is plush with cherry-wood furniture. An array of law books of various sizes lines the built-in bookshelves that spread across two walls. I sit in the first leather-backed chair in front of Stephen's neatly organized desk. Ruthie takes the middle seat while Boyd pulls up a third next to his wife. Stephen Briggs rises. He stands beside his desk with a hand in his front pocket. "Miss Herring, you didn't know your grandmother?" The coins in his pocket clang together, producing an audible warble. "What do you mean, I didn't know my grandmother?" The anger in the pit of my stomach rises. "Who the hell do you think you are?" "Danny." Ruthie sucks in air, and her nostrils flare. "Please. Try to understand. We were only trying to shield you." "Shield me from what?" "I know you're upset." Stephen Briggs' posture stiffens. "But please. Try to be reasonable." "Be reasonable, really? Where do you get off telling me something like that about my grandmother?" Clenching my fists, I jump out of my chair. My nails bite into the palms of my hands, and every muscle in my body tenses. "I need some air." I make it as far as the door. Stephen Briggs places a light hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off. "Miss Herring, I'm sorry if what I said before upset you. Please come and sit down." I open my mouth, but I'm unable to utter a single word. For a split second, his expression flickers with an unbridled fury before taking on a more passive appearance. I rub my eyes and try to clear my thoughts. Stress lines form between Boyd's brows. "I know you're upset." "Upset is an understatement." "You need to know. You need to understand everything." Anguish washes across Boyd's tanned face. "Come, take a seat." Stephen guides me back to the leather chair in front of his desk. "We all know you loved Mae Herring and that your grandmother loved you. That's not the issue here. You need to consider the possibility you didn't know her as well as you thought." The stress lines in Stephen's face soften. "What? What're you talking about? I know who my grandmother was. Who're you to tell me that? You didn't even know her." A mental numbness washes over my body. "Boy, I really don't need this today." "There was a side to your grandmother you knew nothing about." Stephen sits up straight, leveling his chin. "Now, please, hear me out." I press my back into the folds of the chair. "Why should I?" "Let me finish. And don't interrupt me again." Stephen conveys his annoyance in a clipped tone. He presses his lips together into a fine white line. Wait. Did he just tell me not to interrupt him? Oh, my God, I can't believe I'm having this conversation. But what if he's right? Could there be something in my grandmother's past I know nothing about? Ruthie slumps forward in her chair. She pats my hand. "Danny, please." I recoil from her touch. "Stop it. Don't do that." Stephen clears his throat. "At least hear me out. Then you can pass judgment. Can you manage that?" "Yeah, I can." "This all started with John James Herrington, who moved to New Mexico in his early twenties. The man had nothing but the shirt on his back. But through hard work and dedication, he built the Rocking H Horse Ranch with his bare hands." "What's that got to do with my grandmother?" Stephen closes his eyes. He pauses as if silently counting. Several seconds pass before he reopens them. "People said the day John James Herrington met your Grandma Mae; it was love at first sight. They said she inspired him to achieve greater things than before. Spring of 1963, they married. John and Mae tried to have children for years. May 1976, they had fraternal twins: a son and a daughter." I open my mouth to speak. Stephen raises a hand in front of my face, silencing me again. Oh, my God, this guy's an ass.