(((AUTHOR'S NOTE: hey, guys, it's me again. This one should prove to be interesting to write. I just wanted to let you know that 294 things has been removed because I'm reworking it. It should be back up within the next couple weeks.
357 Things I Am Not Allowed to Do has been taken down because I'm just a couple weeks shy of publishing it. Yes, it will be available for sale- in a limited venue, but still. So I've taken it down. Please send me a message with your email address or a fictionpress screen name where I can reach you if you would like updates, and to be notified of when the book is for sale. Thanks for all your support guys!)))
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"Mera?" Craig called me. "This lady has a question for you."
I frowned, putting the last box of red pumps on the shelf before walking over to where Craig was standing with a rather large, rather mean-looking woman. "Yes, ma'am," I said politely. "How can I help you?"
"Do you have this in blue?" She held up a canary yellow sweater.
I blinked, then glanced at Craig, confused. Why couldn't he answer this question? "Yes, ma'am. It's right over there."
The woman didn't even look where I pointed. "Do you have it in a size thirty-six?"
That would be why Craig had called me; he smirked and walked away. Jerk. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't have plus sizes in this section," I said, carefully apologetic. "If you'd like, I can take you to the other women's section- there's a great selection, an array of sizes-"
"I was over there ten minutes ago," the woman said, her tone growing to more of a shriek. "The selection isn't worth a damn. And why is that,"- she looked at my name tag- "Mera? Does your company have something against fat people?"
Dear God, grant me patience. I do not get paid enough for this.
After calming the irate woman, calling a manager over to personally apologize, and giving her a twenty percent off coupon to get her out of the store, I gladly clocked out. Climbing into my old, beat up Ford Taurus, I pulled my nametag off, tossing it into the passenger seat before heading off to my second job. At least everybody knew me there.
"Bad day?" Nurse Joanne asked as I checked in at the desk of the Spring Tree Assisted Living Home.
"All the wackos are out for their early Christmas shopping," I responded wearily, then gave her a bright smile. "I'll be fine. How's Mrs. Derek?"
"Wouldn't take her meds this morning," Joanne told me.
"I'll talk to her," I said. "Then I have Mrs. Curry and…" I checked my schedule sheet, and my smile became more genuine. "Mr. Farth. Good. I'll be out of her by eight, okay?"
"That's fine, hon," Joanne said, nodding. "Have fun."
My job at Spring Tree was simple; I was a companion. No, not that kind of companion. Many of the elderly people in the home had no relatives in town, or ones who just wouldn't visit. Lonely people got depressed, and depressed people- especially elderly ones with medical issues- lost their will to live. So my job was to keep them from getting lonely.
"Mrs. Derek," I said easily. "You need to take your pills."
"They make me so tired," she huffed, patting a stray hair back into its curler.
"Do you remember what happened the last time you didn't take your medicine?"
"Well… no," she glanced away shiftily.
"Exactly." I held out the little cup of pills and a glass of water.
She took them reluctantly. "You're a good girl, Mera," she said, patting my cheek. "Even if you are too tight with the rules."
I laughed. "I know, I'm so strict," I teased, sitting in one of the chairs. "So, what's the newest news on the mill?"
"Not much recently," she said, pursing her lips. "Mr. Daniels is still so handsome. Not that old Liam Farth isn't a close second. Oh! Have you heard about him recently?"
"Not since our last visit," I replied. Mr. Farth was one of my favorite patients, even though I only got to see him three or four times a month.
"He's getting worse," Mrs. Derek said quietly, her tone saddening. "The doctors aren't giving him long."
"His lungs?" I asked.
She nodded. "They're deteriorating, filling up with fluid," she said. "You may want to say your goodbyes today, just in case." There it was, plain and simple. She wasn't being pessimistic or cynical, just warning me about what she knew would be a blow.
I thanked her and, having been with her for an hour, went on to Mrs. Curry's room.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening worrying about Mr. Farth; I would have gone to his room early, but Mrs. Curry's Alzheimer's was getting worse, and I had to calm her down several times. Finally I managed to get away, and rushed to Mr. Farth's suite.
I knocked several times, receiving no answer, before just walking in. "Mr. Farth?"
"I'm here, Mera, I'm here," he said; his voice was soft and harsh, raspy-sounding. "I would have called for you, but my volume isn't what it used to be."
I smiled, forcing it to be bright instead of sad, walking in and sitting in a chair beside his bed. I carefully kept myself from staring; in the two years I had known Mr. Farth, I had never seen him hooked up to so many machines. I could hear his breath wheezing and rattling in and out of his chest. "Hey, Liam," I said. I almost asked how he was doing, but I stopped myself. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
He smiled at me, his dark blue eyes somehow dull today. "No, dear. I'm just glad you're here. I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold out." He gave a wheezing little cough.
I blinked, mortified. "Come on, Liam," I said, determinedly light, holding a cup of water for him to sip from. "You don't mean that."
He made a little shrugging gesture. "Think whatever makes you feel better, my dear." He paused. "The doctors aren't optimistic."
"What do they know?" I asked, smoothing his blanket with trembling hands.
"More than I do," Liam replied, letting out a soft, rattling laugh. It turned into a coughing fit, and he held a mask over his mouth and nose for several minutes before he could speak again. "You know I love you, Mera. You're like the granddaughter I never got."
I laughed a little, sniffing. "I love you, too, gramps."
He smiled. "How's Matty?"
"He's good," I responded. "The medicine's really helping."
"Good," Liam nodded. "I'm not here much longer, Mera. I want to make sure you're taken care of."
I frowned, blinking back tears. "Liam, what-"
He coughed some more, and I was horrified to see blood on his thin hand. "Joanne!" I yelled.
The monitors attached to him were going berserk, so I couldn't hear what he said next. "What?" I asked, returning to his bedside.
"Love them for me," he breathed.
"I don't get it," I said frantically. "Joanne!"
"You…" His head fell back, a long, ominous note droning on.
Finally Joanne came running, a doctor by her side. The gently pushed me out of the way. I sat hard in one of the chairs, watching them without seeing; how could this be happening? I loved Mr. Farth. He was like a grandfather- even a father- to me. He couldn't be dying.
Loving someone isn't always enough to keep them alive. I'd learned that often enough in my life. That didn't make it any easier to accept.
Finally the doctor and Joanne stepped away from the bed, pulling the blanket up over Liam's face. "What are you doing?" I demanded, snapping out of my stupor. "Why aren't you helping him?"
"Mera, there's nothing to do," Joanne told me softly. "He's gone."
I sat there and sobbed for several minutes before calming down. My breathing steadied, my heart beat slowed down to normal, my hands stopped shaking. I had to get home, and make dinner, and get my little brother to bed. I didn't have time for a breakdown.
I said goodbye to Joanne before I left, convincing her that I wasn't in shock, and was fine to drive. It wasn't as if my home was more than ten minutes away.
When I walked through the door Matty rushed to greet me. "You're home early," he said brightly, his seven-year-old grin impish. The missing teeth didn't help. His smile faltered, though, when he saw my face. Why was I so emotive? "Why are you sad?" He asked me. "What happened?"
I knelt in front of him. "You remember Mr. Farth?" I asked him.
"Liam?" He asked, his face darkening. He knew what was coming.
"Yes," I said. "He died today, Matty."
"Oh." Matty allowed himself to be solemn and sad for a good five seconds, then sighed. "Well, we should be happy he's in Heaven, right?"
I smiled, blinking tears back. "Right. So how about we have something special for dinner? Pizza sound good?"
"Pizza!" He exclaimed, running the three feet to the couch. "Did you hear that, Mom? We're having pizza!"
"I heard," my mother said, her voice gruff today. She was in one of her bad moods. I went over to the chair and gently rubbed her shoulders. "How're you feeling, Mama?"
"Not too good today," she said. "The cat ran away."
I sighed; we didn't have a cat. We hadn't had a cat for years. "That's so sad," I told her. "I'll start a search party tomorrow, alright?"
She patted my hand. "Good girl, Mera."
I went into the kitchen, pulling a frozen pizza out and putting it in the oven. "You want it extra crispy tonight, Matty?" I asked.
"Crispy!" He replied enthusiastically. I smiled.
My family history is an unusual one, I guess. My mother was hurt in a robbery when I was thirteen; a man came into the store where she worked, and shot her in the back. She's been wheelchair-bound since. It's sad, because she can barely use her hands, and she used to be such a wonderful writer.
She's always been a little off. She's had bipolar-like mood swings and similar problems, but they'd always been manageable. But then, when I was fifteen, my father died of multiple sclerosis. That was when she "went off the deep end", so to speak. She has selective memory problems, behavioral swings. And it didn't help that, the year before my father's death, my brother had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, just like my father. That made my mother freak out more than a little.
So I went to work; I had no other choice. My mother was disabled in several fashions, and my brother's medical care had to be paid for. Luckily I found the job at Spring Tree- while it didn't pay all that well, it provided full medical coverage for me and my dependants. That money, plus the money I made in the department store, was enough to feed and house the three of us, even if Matty's pants were getting a little short on him.
My brother was diagnosed with "relapsing-remitting MS", which was the most common kind. His nerves couldn't read signals properly, so he had problems with muscle control, dizziness, occasionally a seizure. He hadn't had a flare-up in a while, though; the doctors were treating the symptoms, trying to alter the disease course. He had been doing really well for several months, so we were hopeful; with luck, it could be years before his next flare.
We lived in a small, two-bedroom house, if it could be called that. It was always more like a shack, but I really couldn't complain. I shared a room with Matty, because my mother got night terrors; I had to go in and calm Matty down and cover his ears every night, so it was just easier to stay in there.
I pulled the pizza out of the oven and was waving an oven mitt over it- as if I thought that would actually cool it down- when someone knocked on the door. "Don't answer that, Matthias!" I called to my little brother; he had a nasty habit of just opening the door to anyone.
"I wasn't going to!" He said defensively.
I rushed to the door, looking out the small peephole, and frowned. It was a man in a business suit. What on earth was he doing at my house?
I opened the door a little. "Can I help you?" I asked curiously. He looked like he could be some kind of hit man or something; not that I thought any of us warranted a hit. Maybe he just needed directions.
"Hi, my name is Charlie Davidson, with the Davidson and Depp law firm," he said. "I have some paperwork for you, concerning Liam Farth."
My frown deepened. "Why do I have paperwork?" I inquired. "I wasn't even related to him."
"He didn't seem to care," Mr. Davidson replied. "I have news about his will."
My eyes widened; surely Liam hadn't left me anything! Although it would have been like him. "Come in, please." I unhooked the chain, opening the door further and gesturing Mr. Davidson inside. "Matty, Mom, this is Mr. Davidson. He's come to talk to me about Liam."
"I'll miss him," Matty said solemnly, peering at the lawyer. "You look like a secret agent."
Mr. Davidson laughed. "I'm not," he said. "Just a lawyer. Is there anywhere we could sit?"
"Oh, of course!" I said. I quickly cleared space on the cluttered dining room table, gesturing for him to sit down. "If you would just give me a second… would you like some pizza?"
"No, thank you," he said, smiling. "I ate earlier."
I nodded, going into the kitchen and giving Matty a piece of pizza before returning to the dining room table. Mr. Davidson had set up his laptop. "Did you have any inclination that Mr. Farth might leave you something?" He asked me.
I shook my head. "None at all."
He sighed. "Then this will come as quite a surprise; it's a very… unorthodox will." He pushed a button, then turned the laptop around so I could watch the screen.
Liam's face appeared on the screen. "Hello, Mera," he said, in his deep, soft voice. I swallowed to keep myself from crying. "If you're watching this, I died today. I'm sorry if you were there to see it. I hope you won't cry for me too long.
"In any event, this is about my will. I'm sure you're shocked that I would remember you when considering my assets, although I don't know why. You visited me more than my own grandsons, though they did try, when they could. You were like a granddaughter to me, and as such, I have a proposition for you.
"My grandsons are good boys, but slightly spoiled. Only one of them came to visit me on a regular basis, and that was once a month. Other than that it was Christmas, Easter, and occasionally my birthday. So I am leaving you everything."
I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. Was this serious? He was leaving me everything?
"Yes, everything," Liam continued with a small smile. "It will be yours to do with what you will- but there is a condition. I have three grandsons, who I raised when their parents died; the youngest still lives in my house, and the other two have apartments of their own in other states. They will be coming in and living in my house for the next six months or so, to make sure my assets are taken care of, and to see what to do about my staff."
He had a staff? I thought, awed.
"I would like you to go and help oversee everything," he told me. "After all, it will be yours- if you marry one of my grandsons."
Hold on… he did say marry, right?
"I know it sounds barbaric," he said apologetically. "But I've always told you that they would love you; I need you to love them, now that I'm gone. All you have to do is live with them for the six months, then choose whichever one you want to marry; after the wedding, all of the inheritance will be signed on to you. If this idea is just too appalling to consider, you can stop this recording now, and know that I love you."
I hesitated. This was barbaric- arranged marriage? Although I would be getting something out of it. And if he was as wealthy as he sounded… I glanced at my brother, sitting on the couch in the living room, and my mother, who was muttering to herself in her wheelchair. It was worth looking into, right?
After a minute, Liam began speaking again. "If you should, at the end of the six months, choose not to marry any of my grandsons, the inheritance will be split among whichever of you participated. And by participated, I mean whichever of you lived in the house for the full six months. And if none of you participated, the money will go to a charity, supporting study into the pediatric side of diseases like multiple sclerosis.
"I will give you a briefing on the boys now. The oldest is Cullen; he is a wonderful writer and psychologist, even though he's only twenty-five years old. He's shy and withdrawn, but I have a feeling that you could help him with that; he would certainly match you intellectually.
"The second is Braiden; he's the wild-card of the group. He's friendly and outgoing, very popular, a great mechanic. He's twenty years old; I believe you will find him very enjoyable company. He would entertain you, I think.
"And the third is Graycen. He will be difficult, I think. He tends to be unfriendly and sharp; he has a sweet spirit, but it doesn't come out very often. He is nineteen, and the most magnificent artist I have ever seen; he would challenge you, if nothing else.
"The rest I will leave up to you. Investigate them, prod them, harass them; that is the only way to truly know a person. I hope that you will be happy. Mr. Davidson here will give you directions to my home, which is about an hour outside of town; he will also give you a key to the house, should you choose to accept my offer. Again, Mera, I loved you like my own. I will miss you, but we are sure to meet again. Goodbye, dear."
The video flickered out, and I continued staring at the screen for a few minutes. "It's a lot to take in, I know," Mr. Davidson said awkwardly. "Just let me know when you've decided…"
"I've decided," I said abruptly, tearing my eyes from the screen. It had to be done, for Matty, if no one else. This could determine his future. "Where do I need to sign?"