Page 20 of The Heir

The clock said eight-thirty.

“Thirty more minutes,” I pep talked myself.

So far, every minute had felt like an hour, and I’d been here for ten already.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it,” a woman clipped.

“Hey, too fuckin’ bad.” Easy’s bassy tone answered.

I looked in the rearview in time to see Oak hauling his massive ass across the parking lot. He shuffled his way between Easy and Crystal with his hand raised in a silent bid for patience from Easy.

“Honey, listen–” he all but begged, his words cutting short when his wife whirled on him and sliced her finger toward his face in warning.

“No, you fucking listen, Oakland. I’m done. Okay, my son has a criminal fucking record. Let that shit sink in for a minute.” Her jaw set hard, and she stared at him, all but daring him to break the silence. “Are we good now? You got me? You understand what the fuck I’m putting down? Our son– Has a Criminal fucking Record. A thing that cannot simply be erased.”

She gave a crisp snap of her fingers to emphasize that last word.

“Yeah, yes— Babe,” Oak pleaded.

“I’m fucking done. You take your ass in there, and you get our fucking son.” She fumed, her mouth drawing into a tense line as she struggled for some form of composure.

“I’m going to go inside. He’s going to be released on his own recognizance and our lawyer will appear on his behalf from there on out while we are home in Georgia.” He held his hands out in front of him and I could have sworn I saw a tremble go through them.

Easy’s gaze flicked between them before he finally noticed me in the car. Crystal stormed toward the courthouse, and Oak trotted after her. Easy remained. He stood watching them until they reached the doors and then he glanced back at me and gave an amused shake of his head.

I let myself out and gravitated toward him.

“You didn’t get charged?”

He shook his head, “No. I didn’t fight anyone, and I didn’t have any weapons.”

“Right.” I nodded, recalling that much.

“They tried to talk about underage drinking but May had already run. They clipped Donnie in the driveway, but he’s of age.”

“Yeah, he just turned twenty-six.”

Easy cocked his head, inviting me to walk inside with him.

“Izzy not coming?” he asked.

I shook my head, “She’s called every sister she has twice and gone through a three pack of Kleenex.”

He snorted on a laugh.

“She’s pretty, but she sure is extra.”

“Ain’t she?” I agreed. “I can’t handle the exaggerated bouts of tearfulness and flaunting around in her poofy, cuffed bathrobes anymore. I’m about to stay at Grandpa Winehopper’s farm for a few days.”

“You know it’s gonna be double digits, right?” Easy asked, staring down at me as he held the door for me to pass first.

I nodded. “July will be a year that Mackie’s been out. He did twelve for the same damn thing.”

“Ugh, I know. That kid. Sitting down at twenty for twelve fuckin’ years. Ain’t no way. I’d lose my damn mind,” Easy sympathized.

“There was at least five years between the time of my mother’s death, and that sentence being handed down. It was his third conviction, Easy. My father had five years and two warnings to get him therapy.” I sighed, understanding more of generational trauma than anyone my age ever should.

The way he stared at me unnerved me a little. It made me feel like he was sizing me up and judging my loyalty.

---