OFF THE MARKET Read online

  "Damn him," Paul muttered. "And damn this whole town."

  Chapter 2

  Paul was up at dawn, partly out of habit, partly to avoid any more bad dreams. The one about Shirley was one of the worst ones but he rarely dreamed it anymore. He took his time in the shower, letting the hot water pound away at his tense, tired muscles until they felt relaxed and the water ran cold. He delayed as long as possible, not wanting to join the others but knowing Matt was right that he should be there, and found he was the last one down for breakfast.

  Joe was sitting beside Mr. Barbour, calling him Bill like they had been friends forever, talking up a storm and inhaling pancakes like a man who hadn’t seen food in a lifetime. Matt ate quietly for the most part, answering Mrs. Barbour's questions in his slow, patient way that made him so good with finicky engines and fussy customers alike. Angie was also there, which surprised Paul, her plate already empty except for traces of sticky golden syrup. She was the first to notice Paul and she smiled up at him.

  "Good morning."

  For a moment Paul was lost in her smile and before he could reply Mrs. Barbour was out of her seat and bustling about. "Oh, you're up. I wasn't sure if you'd join us before your meeting this morning."

  Paul glared at Joe, wondering just how much the younger man had shared with their hosts. Joe, for his part, ignored Paul completely, as he often did, and forked another pancake onto his plate.

  "You look like you didn't sleep well," Mrs. Barbour continued. "A good breakfast will make you feel better." She set out a fresh plate and a full mug of hot coffee at the empty seat beside Angie.

  Now Joe looked up, meeting his eldest brother's gaze full on, his eyebrows raised, and smirk on his face, and a dangerous twinkle in his eye, as if daring Paul to refuse the offered chair. At home Paul could be surlier than Joe could be mischievous, though his ranting and raging only seemed to amuse Joe. Here, however, his usual behavior would be looked on as rude. He wasn't sure why he was afraid of offending these people, or inviting a poor opinion of himself, especially after everything that had, and hadn't, happened, but he was.

  He took the offered seat stiffly and tried to smile, or at least not scowl so openly. The past is in the past -his actions and their choices. I have to forget long enough to get the hell out of here again. He took a deep breath. "Thank-you Mrs. Barbour. Breakfast would be nice."

  Joe's jaw dropped and even Matt's eyes opened a little wider, but they remained silent as Paul took two pancakes and topped them with butter and syrup. In their house, which was a three-bedroom flat with little in it, breakfast consisted of coffee, and, if you were really hungry, a slice of toast or two. None of them really cooked, only enough to not have to eat take-out every night, and pancakes was never on the menu. Even so, Paul was never anywhere close to approachable until he'd had at least one cup of coffee.

  Mrs. Barbour smiled sweetly. "You don't have to be polite. Take as many as you want. Joey's had a full half dozen."

  "And counting," Joe grinned, stabbing yet another pancake from the platter and using it to mop up the syrup puddle on his plate.

  "You'll make yourself sick," Matt chided, but he was smiling.

  "I'll pass out in a food coma before I make myself sick," Joe replied.

  Mr. Barbour chuckled. "Sounds like me and my brothers back in the day. Only two of us left now." He shook his head still grinning. "We don't make nearly as much noise now."

  "Thank heavens!" Mrs. Barbour laughed. "Christmas used to be an absolute zoo!"

  Matt and Joe both took a long sip from the coffees, trying to force smiles. Paul scowled openly and hacked a piece off his pancake. They were all thinking the same thing - Christmas in their house had never been a zoo, and hadn't even been something they had looked forward to. Each had their own memories of presents they had given their father that had not been acknowledged or appreciated, memories of gifts given to them that had been thoughtlessly bought, memories of their mother, slaving over a hot stove for two days, even missing her favourite mass, the Christmas Eve candlelight vigil, in order to put a perfect dinner on the table, only to have it ruined by some idle comment blown out of proportion by their father, memories of tension, fear, and pain, and memories of their mother crying herself to sleep.

  Mrs. Barbour sighed and her stream of one-sided conversation suddenly changed subject. "You know, you boys missed a very nice service last week. I know, your father passed so suddenly it must have been impossible to get away, but still, it would have been nice if you had been there. It's always so sad when the family pew in the front row is empty. Honestly, I thought there would have been more people there in general, after the packed church at your mother's service, and the fact that your parents grew up here in town, just like your grandparents. Such a pity, he died young as far as some men go."

  Paul set his coffee mug down on the table a little too hard and the hot brown liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the table cloth. Paul just ignored it and stabbed another piece of pancake, shoving it into his mouth.

  A sudden silence descended on the table, thick and awkward, until Mr. Barbour cleared his throat and said, "What are your plans today, Ange?"

  Too quickly Angie started talking. "I have no clients today, but I need to get some estimates for those buildings the mayor wants repaired. I'll have to drive up to Elk Lake and talk to Mr. Peterson. He'll overcharge me for having to send one of his men down here to even do the estimates but he's the closest contractor."

  "Paul's a contractor," Joe said.

  Paul glared at his brother, for all the good it did, and then turned to Angie. "That doesn't sound like a realtor's regular job description, if you don't mind me saying."

  Matt stared in amazement at Paul. His older brother barked commands and demanded answers, he didn't ask indulgences of anyone, not even his paying clients. And after Mrs. Barbour's ramblings, I would have expected him to be even surlier than usual.

  Angie gave Paul a frazzled smile. "I know. And I'm mostly winging it right now. The housing market in town and the surrounding areas is pretty slow, so when the mayor offered me an hourly wage to see about getting the abandoned buildings sellable again I leapt at it." She shrugged. "I should go if I want to be back for dinner tonight."

  As she rose Joe said, "Paul's a contractor, he could save you the trip."

  Angie, who unlike her mother had sensed the rising tensions at the table, smiled at Joe. "You three already have plans today. I'm used to the drive."

  "She's right, we have things to do," Paul said forcefully.

  "Oh nonsense," Mrs. Barbour said. "Old Mr. Philips won't keep you more than a few hours. And you won't want to drive through the dark tonight so you'll be staying the night. You know full well there's not much to do in town."

  Paul could feel himself being maneuvered into a corner and looked helplessly at Matt who shrugged his shoulders.

  "And you're a bear when you're bored," Joe added.

  Paul sighed, resigned. "Alright, fine. After lunch I'll take a look at some of those buildings and give you a quick estimate." Paul tried not to notice how big Angie's smile got, and he tried to keep scowling.

  "Oh, thank-you! You're saving me quite the drive, and a lot of time. I'll be able to get my paper work caught up now!" There was an obvious spring in her step as she hurried off to the kitchen with her plate.

  Mrs. Barbour gathered an arm full of dishes and jams from the table. "I should start my tidying." On her way past the head of the table she lightly kicked her husband's shin.

  "Right. Tidying," he said. He winked at Joe, grabbed the coffee tray from the side board, and trudged off.

  "Well," Joe said. "It looks like you've made somebody's day."

  "What about my day?" Paul growled.

  Matt was used to the bickering between his brothers. Joe's cheerful and friendly nature was so different from Paul's tight-lipped seriousness that some head butting was inevitable. It wasn't that bad though; no matter how loud Paul yelled or how hard he scowled, he nev
er ridiculed and he had never once even raised a hand to threaten violence against either of them.

  Joe shrugged. "You were going to be grumpy all day anyway."

  Paul's voice dropped in volume. "I don't want anything to do with this town or anybody here, do you understand? They turned a blind eye to what our father was, and to what he did to us. We're not here to make friends or do favours. We're here to settle Dad's estate and get the hell out again."

  Joe's smile was gone. "Alright Paul," he said. "I understand."

  Paul's eyes softened as he stared at his brother. "Come on. I won't get through this on my own so we'd better all get moving."

  Chapter 3 – Then

  Paul sat at a table set for two in a fancy Italian restaurant, fiddling with the table settings and looking at the door every time someone came in. Finally a young woman in a little black dress came in alone. She matched the description Tony from work had given him when they’d sprung this blind date idea on him a week earlier. He’d only agreed to keep them from harassing him about being an uncultured country boy who would never get a girl but he had to admit that the girl was attractive. He stood and waved to her and she weaved her way between the tables and shook his hand.

  “Paul Anderson?” she asked.

  “Yes, and you must be Kaylee. Have a seat, please.”

  She smiled as he poured her a glass of wine. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. It took me a little longer to get ready than I planned on. I was just so nervous.”

  “I know how you feel.” He twisted his wine glass. “I was twenty minutes early, I was just too nervous to stay home any longer.”

  “Oh! Now I feel really bad about being late! You must have been sitting here for forever.”

  “It’s fine, really, but I think I was driving the waiter crazy. Here he is.”

  They made small talk while they waited for their meals to come, Paul talking about his job in construction and his two younger brothers, Kaylee chattering away about her job selling perfume at a department store and her dreams of climbing the corporate ladder to management. Paul was surprised by her open and sometimes risky sense of humor and pleased to see she ordered something more substantial than a salad. The night went better than Paul had expected and though he remained guarded he agreed to see her again in the near future.

  The near future ended up being a week later when he agreed to meet her for drinks. They went to a movie the next weekend and to her place for dinner on a weeknight, and soon they were an “item” as the guys at work called it.

  Kaylee, the petite blonde who wore high heels everywhere and talked incessantly, became a regular guest at the apartment, and she got along great with Paul’s brothers. She didn’t see how they teased him when she wasn’t around and he took the jokes in stride.

  After two months she invited Paul to spend the night at her house and Paul accepted. The night had been wonderful, but it had marked the beginning of the end for them. Kaylee, who had been content to talk about politics and work and the latest trends in movies was suddenly obsessed with learning every detail of Paul’s life: where did he come from, did he have other siblings, where were his parents, had he always wanted to build houses, and how many girls had he dated?

  Paul was alright with her learning that he liked his coffee black, and that he cheered for the BC Lions in the CFL and the Green Bay Packers in the AFL. Her other questions bothered him and he brushed them off, becoming surlier with each passing day.

  Matt and Joe stopped teasing him, a sure sign that they had noticed things were steadily going downhill and the guys at work had stopped asking how things were going with Kaylee, knowing it was probably a matter of time before they broke up.

  The final straw came when Kaylee, curled up in his arms in her queen sized bed, whispered, “Paul, do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” he answered, and he did. He knew that she wouldn’t steal his wallet while he was sleeping and that she wouldn’t cheat on him. He had given her a spare key to his apartment, and he’d let her drive his car. All that pointed towards trust in his mind and he closed his eyes, ready to drift off to sleep with her soft, warm body in his arms.

  “But you never talk to me,” she said. There was no trace of whining in her voice, which he appreciated. She sometimes came across as an airhead, with her constant chatter and her obsession with fashion, but she never whined.

  “I’m a quiet sort of guy,” he said. “And we do talk, a lot, about a lot of things.”

  “But never about you.”

  There was no dodging it this time, no politely sidestepping questions, no putting off conversations. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You came from somewhere Paul, and that’s important.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  She sat up. Her hair, which she so rarely wore loose, hung just over her shoulders and was mussed in the back. “Paul, what happened to you? Why can’t you tell me about your family?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” he said again. He swung his legs out of bed. Maybe he had no experience with women, but he could tell when a good time was going bad. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  She tossed his key across the bed to him. “Unless you’re calling to talk, and I mean really talk, about your life, don’t bother.”

  “Kaylee, I didn’t want this to happen.”

  “Then maybe you should have let me in.”

  He frowned, swallowed the pain, and went home.

  Chapter 4 - Now

  Barnes Lake was laid out like many small towns. Where the main road forked off from the highway there was a gas station on one side and a diner on the other. The diner had changed hands a few times, and the decor was updated every ten years or so but it was still a road side diner with booths under the windows and stools along the counter. The decor was in need of updating again and the paint was peeling badly.

  Along the main street stood the post office, the "mom-and-pop" grocery and goods store, the post office, and the medical center which contained a doctor's office and a pharmacy. The school, a big building that housed all the kids from age five to age eighteen stood a block back and took up a full block with its sports field and faded playground. Around that lay two or three concentric rings of houses, all laid out in neat little straight lines on city-wide lots with large elms along the boulevards, and the Bed and Breakfast the Mr. and Mrs. Barbour owned. Behind the post office stood the long cul-de-sac with the twenty-two modern looking houses Paul had helped build, the same houses Angie was now in charge of getting repaired. On the far side of the school stood the older houses, the double-wide lots with the big, two-story, homes that had stood since the town had been subdivided out of the surrounding farm lands. This was where the boys were headed for as they left the bed and breakfast.

  Mr. Philips, the semi-retired lawyer who lived in Barnes Lake - retired because he was seventy, "semi" because he was the only licensed lawyer in town and sometimes had to step up to deal with an estate - had arranged to meet them at the house. The boys drove even though the Bed and Breakfast was within walking distance of the house. Most of town was within walking distance of most everything else in town, if you had the time, but the boys didn't want to wander past the old places where memories dwelled and they didn't really want to run into anyone else.

  The house hadn't changed, but it had aged and not well. Mrs. Barbour had warned them about the state of the porch and the general disrepair of the place but Paul still had to stop on the walk and stare for a moment. The fence had been leaning and the gate didn't latch, lawn hadn't been cut in weeks, there were downed branches all over the yard, the hedges were not pruned, the decorative shutters on the second floor windows were hanging at odd angles, and the paint was weathered, sun faded, and peeling.

  Matt and Joe were almost at the side door when they realized Paul wasn't with them. They exchanged a look and a nod and Joe went on ahead while Matt went back. "What do you think?" Matt said softly.

  "Let's get this over
with," Paul growled. He didn't want to share his pain and disappointment over the appearance of the house with Matt. He stalked the rest of the way up the walk and into the house with Matt a few steps behind.

  Mr. Philips was a thin man but without the pinched look that seemed to haunt certain men in old age. He still had most of his hair, though it was shockingly white, and his kindly face was deeply wrinkled. He smiled at the boys for a brief moment, and then gestured to the chairs arranged around the kitchen table.

  Paul couldn't help but glance about and was heartbroken to see that the inside was as poorly maintained as the outside. The whole place looked faded and dusty and ready to fall apart. He dropped into one of the chairs, already scowling.

  "Thank-you for meeting me," Mr. Philips said. "If you recall, your parents had a joint will, it could only be opened when they were both gone. After the funeral, which you did not attend, I took the liberty of reviewing the will myself. If it had been straightforward I could have done this over the phone and saved you the trip, but there was a complication."

  Before Paul could snarl at the poor man, Joe said, "Would you kindly read us the will?"

  Mr. Philips nodded. "I'll read it to you in plain English, without the legal high-handedness, if that's alright. The legalese has started to give me a headache." He cleared his throat.

  "This is the official will of Gordon and Cassandra Anderson, to be opened upon the death of both parties. It is our wish that all of our possessions and monetary assets be divided evenly between our three sons, with the exception of five hundred dollars which is to be given to the Barnes Lake parish church. Our eldest son, Paul Anderson, is to oversee the retrieval of our monetary assets from the bank, as well as the donation, and the division of possessions.

  "However, we wish that the matter of the house and land be settled first. Should any of our sons, Paul, Mathew, or Joseph, wish to inherit the house then the total property value shall be subtracted from their share of our other assets. Should none of our sons wish to own the house then it is Paul's responsibility, as executor of the estate, to see that the house is sold at a fair market value. The cash from the sale, along with our other assets and possessions, can then be divided."