***
The shock took us both a while to absorb. Over the past few weeks we discussed in detail why Mom would never have touched the money. All we could surmise was that she didn’t need it. We’d talk about our parents again and again and how lucky we were to have had them. We talked about Dad’s surf shop and our parents’ love for each other. We talked and helped each other through the rough spots. It took us months to be able to go back to the bank and transfer the money into three separate accounts—per my mother’s will. But we did it last week. And now, as we sit together at the kitchen table in the house we grew up in, we watch through the glass as fireworks shoot off into the dark sky and the country celebrates Independence Day.
Trent closes the pizza box in shock. “We’re fucking rich?” he asks.
Serena snaps her head toward him and my eyes dart to his.
“Trent!” we both say.
He shrugs. “We are,” he answers.
We hadn’t told him about the money when we first learned about it. We both needed to wrap our heads around it first. And also, truth be told, we were watching him, looking for signs of any possible relapse. But there were none—he was clean and as far as I can tell, he was going to stay that way.
Serena reaches across the table and pushes the hair from his eyes before putting both her hands on his face. “Honey, we are not anything. That money has been split between the three of us as Grandma wished, but yours will be put in trust until after you finish college.”
“But, Mom . . .”
“No buts, Trent. After college we’ll discuss your best investment opportunities.”
He stands up and tosses the paper plates in the trash. “For the record, you should know I think that sucks.”
“Trent . . .”
I leave my sister and nephew to argue about the fairness of having money and not being able to spend it. I pass through the family room and see that the TV is on. The news report catches my attention. Bass called me earlier and informed me about the news. But I still stop in my tracks to watch the reporter share the details.
“Two more members of the Mexican drug cartel have been arrested. Along with the bust—more than one hundred pounds of methamphetamine, ten pounds of cocaine, and half a pound of heroin was seized in the raid. Vice squad detective Jason Holt said he estimates to have removed nearly five million dollars of trash from the streets. The almost five-year long investigation culminated late last night when a long undercover operation targeting the remaining members of the Cortez Family was brought to a successful end. The Department of Justice said that they believe the trafficking organization run under this family is now shut down. In related news, Josh Hart, believed to be linked to the cartel, was found guilty of aggravated assault and battery in March and was sentenced to three years in prison today.”
It looks like Jason’s involvement is out there for the world to see now. He called me right after Bass this morning. I’m still not convinced there isn’t more to it. His being in the courtroom when Hart was sentenced placed doubts in my mind.
I push all that aside for now and walk out to the beach. I think about the last couple of months. Beck and I talk often. He and Ruby are still together. He took her out of town back when I was arrested because her ex-boyfriend was still harassing her. But once they returned the ex never showed his face again. I guess Jason did what he said he would.
***
Last month I opened a corporation, naming it Plan B. I’m going to buy small struggling magazines, and the first one on my list is Surfers End. I had written a number of freelance articles for them over the past few months and knew they were in trouble. I think I can actually help them put their mark on the world—or at least I hope I can. Either way, I’m excited to try.
Aerie has kept in touch with me since I met up with her and her boss that day a few months ago. Kimberly, or Kay, as Aerie calls her, quit sometime at the end of April to work at an LA radio station. The offer was one she couldn’t pass up, is all Aerie would say. Fuck me if Kimberly’s not going to be the next Ryan Seacrest.