Page 79 of The Cask

I pursed my lips and nodded. I knew it wasn’t the time to blow his spot about Olivia. But since he wanted to play games, we were going to play.

“Okay,” I relented. “Tell me about your family. Tell me what you weren’t trying to tell me before.”

He took a sip and then sat the glass on my desk. “My parents are from Richmond. My dad died when I was twelve. My mom raised me and my sister by herself. Uh…” He hesitated, rubbing his hands together before sitting back in his chair. “We had it kind of hard after he died. Mom never really recovered from it and… and sacrifices were made.”

I picked up his drink and handed it to him. “What do you mean?” I prodded gently.

He poured the rest of the contents of the glass into his mouth. “My older sister stuck around, postponed school for a couple of years after graduation to help my mom out. When I graduated high school, things seemed steady, so I left. I started making money, so I sent money.” He sat his empty glass down again. “That was my contribution.”

“How is your mom doing now?”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Nah, it’s my turn.”

Mom is a trigger. Noted.

“Okay,” I relented, not wanting to push too hard.

“What’s the story with your family crest?” He pointed to the small replica of the crest on my shelf. “What does it mean?”

“The blue of the background means truth and loyalty,” I informed him. “The serpent represents anyone who has ill intentions for our family. The serpent’s fangs are imbedded in the heel because the serpent struck. And the Black foot stepping on the serpent represents us crushing those who mean to do us harm.”

“And what do the words mean?”

I held his gaze. “No one provokes me with impunity. It’s our motto.”

“And why did your grandfather have this done?”

“Because he wanted us to know that our legacy was more than what society tells us it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are the descendants of royalty, of inventors, of creatives, of intellectuals and some of those people were enslaved. Our history doesn’t begin in chains and he said that he won’t let that be our narrative.” I waved my hand. “Long story short, he designed the coat of arms, the crest, the family motto when he was in his early twenties. We take it seriously—our crest, our motto, our family, our legacy, all of it.”

“I like that. I like that he wanted to make sure his family knew who they were.” He stared at the crest. “And he’s still alive?”

“Yeah.” I smiled proudly. “He’s ninety years old and still living in Greece, still full of stories. We try to visit him and the rest of that side of the family at least once a year.”

“And your mom’s side of the family?”

I finished my drink and poured us both another. “My mom’s side of the family is in Atlanta. I don’t have any siblings, but I have a bunch of cousins on both sides.” I grabbed a cracker. “So, since I answered a bunch of questions in a row, you now have to answer a bunch of mine.”

He grabbed his refill and brought it to his lips. “I’m ready.”

“What happened with your mom?”

He brought the glass down slowly. “Uh… she ended up having an emotional breakdown and… it was hard to watch.” His face was emotionless, but his eyes were pained.

I wanted to push, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that warned me to tread lightly.

I’ll pull on that thread after another round of Amontillado.

I reached over and grabbed his hand. Just as I was going to change the subject, he said, “She’s not doing well. Early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

I wasn’t expecting that. My eyebrows flew up. “What?”

He nodded. “She hasn’t been well for a while apparently, but this year”—he took a drink— “this year has been tough. Earlier this week she started to get violent because she’s confused.”

“Is-is she okay? In what ways?” There was a slight tremble in my voice that I’d hoped he didn’t notice.

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