“An’ the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind
Yes, I’m one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind”

– Dylan

One of my favorite parts about telling this story is the opportunities to do continues research on Bob Dylan and his work. I am starting to understand why my father took such a liking to Mr. Dylan, and why their relationship was one rooted deeply in time and in emotion. This song, One Too Many Mornings, speaks perfectly to the emotions that I was experiencing with every sunrise. What was once what I thought to be a perfectly crafted future for myself was becoming more and more shattered with every morning sun that rose.  Enjoy.                  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGePitJxOyo

 

As I rode home in the passengers seat of my friends car my mind was spinning, or was that the actual world? The Gin had made it difficult to decipher the difference. I kept one eye closed in an effort to make the two striped lines in the middle of the road appear to be one as they should. I patted my purse gently, knowing all the nights recent discoveries were tucked away in the inside zipper pouch, safe to review in the morning. I worried that if I didn’t keep this receipt paper close I would be able to convince myself tomorrow that it was all a terrible dream. Hell, my whole damn life at the moment was a bad dream.

I was insistent on returning back to Mimi’s that night, although for the damn life of me I couldn’t tell you why. I already knew I was too shitfaced to make it past the front door, let alone the prying eyes of Papa who undoubtedly had some excuse to still be up watching TV. “I was catching the highlights of the hockey game,” or “this movie was just about over so I figured I would finish it.” I could hear him now. All sentences code for ” I was waiting up to make sure you were okay because I love you.”

My friend, bless her heart, knew better than to argue with me in my current condition, and because we had driven in Mimi’s car, she arranged for her boyfriend to pick her up. She was great.

I repeated what had become my usual song and dance with getting in the house half in bag and managed to get my contacts out and flop into bed, the brass groaned under my weight. As I drifted off to sleep (or started to pass out) I just kept thinking, what is my next move?

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my phone buzzing for what had sounded like an eternity. When I finally manged an eye open and a steady reach, I realized I had 27 missed calls. This got my attention and I braced myself to raise my head of the pillow. I was no rookie, I knew the day after effects of a good Gin buzz. As I willed my eyes to focus on the tiny screen, I clicked to see who was so urgently trying to reach me. Steve. All 27 calls were from my husband, the man I had just deemed to have played a key role in what was becoming more clear as a murder rather than a suicide. I had to talk myself down from the adrenaline that began pumping through my veins at the thought of having to talk to him. I could not let on that I suspected anything. I cleared my throat a few times and touched the screen to dial his number. He picked up after 2 rings. “Morning Baby,” his voice sounded cheerful. “It’s pretty late your time, are you okay?” I pulled the phone away from my ear to view the time, damn 10:00. “Yeah, I’m okay.” I managed to get out. “Just a long night talking with a friend and I think the recent events are catching up with me. You called so many times, are you okay?” I mustered every ounce of foe concern I could with my question. He continued on with his elated state as if he was eager and excited about something. A suspected fucking huge estate settlement I thought to myself. Not on your life buddy. I suddenly realized I hadn’t been listening as carefully as I should because I was lifted from my thoughts by his repetitive calling of my name, “Dana, are you still there?” I could sense a little irritation in his voice. “Oh yeah, I’m here, the reception can be tricky in Mimi’s house sometimes. Go Ahead, what were you saying?” “I was offered a new job,” he said excitedly. It is everything I have been waiting for. I am going to be a project manger for Orion construction. We are going to have a company car, great health insurance, opportunities for bonus’ and they are going to pay for top of the line moving expenses!” I had all but tuned out his bullshit until that last part. “Moving expenses?!?” I couldn’t hide the surprise and my own irritation with the conversation. “What are you talking about?”  Steve went on to explain that the job was in Southern California and that because they had a big project starting soon the move would have to be immediate. I don’t know if it was the booze from last night or the thought of traveling across the country to live alone with a proposed murderer, but I had to choke down the bile in my throat to respond. “Are you sure about this? I mean, Texas is a growing state and I am sure there are opportunities there. Can’t you use this offer to entice your current employer to make a similar offer?” My voice was shaky and I knew that I was internally battling tears of hatred and sadness for the whole ordeal. “I tried,” Steve responded flatly. “They didn’t go for it. This is the best thing for us, trust me. ” Those words speared my gut like a knife. Trust him? Was he fucking kidding? But I was able to calm my internal demons by reminding myself he knew not of my most recent discoveries and theories. He went on with his almost one sided conversation, “I know this is a difficult time for you and so I didn’t want to burden you with anything else. I have already hired movers and they will be here and have the house packed by the time you get back, all you will have to do is say your goodbyes.” His voice sounded as if he actually thought this was a comforting response, he really believed packing someone’s life up and moving them away from their entire family and every single person they knew was just fine, as long as I got to “say my goodbyes.” “By the way,” Steve continued, “When are you coming home?” I am already fucking home you piece of shit, I wanted to scream into the phone, but again controlling my demonic responses. “A few days I think. I am almost done here. I will look at flights and call you back tonight when I know for sure okay? I was now pushing hard to end this conversation for fear that I would not be able to hide my emotions much longer. He seemed agreeable to this solution and as I went to disconnect I could hear him him “Love you hun” from the other end of the receiver. I disconnected without response, I would blame it on the service in Mimi’s house later.

I sat there starring at the phone for a moment, Jesus this didn’t leave me much time. I had to get the proof I needed and quick because there was no way in hell I was moving to California with this man. The vibration of my phone startled me from my current state of shock. It was a text message from Kim, Hey can you call me please? We need to discuss the inventory of the estate and I want us all to be together. Not quite knowing what this meant exactly I typed a quick response. Sure, give me just a few minutes. This bought me some time to get myself together and finally brush my freaking teeth. The faint taste of Gin and thick saliva in my mouth told me this was not something I had accomplished last night and was long overdue.

It’s amazing what a little water splash to the face and some toothpaste in the mouth can do. I felt much more like a human after my quick trip to the restroom. I sat on the bed and started my call to Kim. She was cheery on the phone, she always was. I don’t actually know of a time outside the last few days when Kim was ever in a bad mood. Even if things weren’t perfect, she didn’t walk around letting everyone know it.  It seemed as if she had adorned this mantra for today as well. I told her that I didn’t exactly understand what she had meant by “inventory the estate,” and inquired for more information. After her explanation what I understood was this: Usually, when a person passes, the family has an opportunity to remove personal and sentimental items from the home that were not otherwise spoken for in the active will. Unfortunately this meant that all parties that were active beneficiaries had to agree to allow this to happen. Well when your life was normal and your father passed this would pose no problem, but when you are me then of course there is going to be a catch. In this case the “catch” was about 5’5″, brown curly hair, pale ass skin and the face of a witch to match her personality; McCrabben. Apparently she had decided that because she was a controlling member of the will she was going to make things as complicated as possible for everyone else. I am sure my private conversation with her at the funeral did not help my likeability status, now ask me if I give a shit? She was going to pull this garbage even if I had kissed her double wide ass. McCrabben’s decision remained that because she couldn’t have exactly what she wanted right away (cold hard cash), then she wasn’t going to allow myself or Kiera to take anything from our father’s house. The result of her witchery…. an auction.

I  guess was getting better at handling the news of McCrabben’s bullshit antics because this would have sent my flying through the roof with rage a few days earlier. Instead, I listened calmly as Kim explained further. We had to hire and pay a company to inventory the contents of the home in it’s entirety. If there were things I already knew I wanted to have, she advised it was best to write them down and check the inventory sheet once it was completed to ensure they were accounted for. Then, if the date of the auction was set after my scheduled return to Texas, friends and family could go and bid on these items for me. What a fucking joke. The things I knew I wanted to have of my father’s were nothing of monetary value. Off the top of my head, I knew that I wanted to have his guitar and his Ipod. My Dad was very musical and I wanted to have a compilation of all the songs he loved and used to sing. And the last image I have of my father is him playing a guitar in my wedding video singing you look wonderful tonight by Eric Clapton, the same song we danced to at my wedding….. the last time I saw him alive. I fought back the tears that were stabbing at the back of my eyeballs. Kim promised to send over the legal paperwork stating what this all “looked like’ from the legal prospective. “But basically,” she warned, “this is McCrabben’s attempt to withhold things from you and your sister while driving up the monetary value of the estate. Because the profits from the auction go into the estate and then get divided based on your percentage holdings; meaning as it stands now she will receive 50%.” I knew it pained Kim to speak these words, but I appreciated her honesty and always advocating for me. “Do you want to have a say in which company does the inventory?” She asked. “I trust you,” I replied. “I’ll let you know as soon as they give me an estimated date and we can pick a date for the auction from there.” This was the business side of Kim coming out, which we desperately needed because I was in no shape to function without emotion.

As I hung up the phone I started to realize that I needed to get my ass in gear. It seemed as if this auction was going to date far beyond the time I was planning to stay here. But then again, I am not sure what I was going back to? I knew I wasn’t going to move with Steve, even if he packed all my shit and headed to Cali. I would not be following. So I was left with the realization that I needed to: get evidence to prove my theories about the conspiracy involving Steve, Martin and McCrabben, find a way to delay this move as long as possible without raising suspicion, and then find a damn good divorce attorney. Well, I already had one on retainer for the estate, maybe he dabbled in both areas. Mental note to make that call. All of these items on my “to-do” list and I wasn’t quite sure where to begin. One thing was for sure, I needed coffee…. and my Mom. It was time to come clean to her, I couldn’t keep doing this on my own. If anyone would understand it would be my Mom….. right? I retrieved the paper drawn up last night from the safety of my purse. This was my only proof of sound thinking. I clutched in in my hand tightly as if holding it was going to make it more true in the eyes of another. As I started down the stairs I said a silent prayer that at the end of my lengthy explanation of conspiracy to murder, my mother wouldn’t have me committed and/or placed on a 72 hour hold.