Don't Cage the Foxe

Chapter 3

My dad wrote a will when I was eleven. He was three years into it, the Monster, killing away his soul and his being, making him seem like a paper construct of himself. He thought he would die. We all did, within the next year, so he quickly drew a map of financial stuff and things I hadn't understood. He sat there, in his desk with trembling fingers, painstakingly drawing out his plans on paper.

   But he hadn't died, not really.

So wills were just a strange notion in the back of my mind, a foreboding of things that should have, would have happened if that person remained alive. The things they would be doing now, left onto the shoulders of the living. It was either a blessing or a curse, and in my case...it seemed like it was a curse.

The will was simple.

it included a picture of me, which I held tightly and may forever keep, with my father. And clipped to that, written words in clean, clear penmanship, that the house belonged to me.

And half of the finances.

But the other half was her grandson's Wesley Avalos' fortune.

It was like a warfield, two opposing sides at odds with each other over a flimsy piece of paper of a dead woman's antics.
But the man--Wesley--was furious. He seemed to shake with the anger. When we had walked--not drove, I noticed--through the paths, retracing Mrs. Avalos' steps carefully, he had been quiet. When we reached the house, the grandeur surprised me--it was more a mansion, with a large gate that swung open with a keycard Wesley had swept over the sensor. The gardens were plush green, roses dotting the front of the balcony that wrapped around the house. The three storied house was wide as well as tall, well kept and clean. And like Mrs. Avalos, with the flair of spontaneity, the mansion was a bright sky blue with white trimmings, off kilter with the beautiful architecture and scenery. The white pillars in the front lead to white steps, to double doors trimmed in white.

Of course Mrs. Avalos would choose such a color, such a scheme of the abnormal. Despite myself, I could hardly contain a smile.

We had walked up the steps, and he opened the double doors with a key. We were immediatley greeted out by a dark curly furball, and I found it odd to see Mrs. Avalos' dog, Fritz, without a sweater. The dog barked excitedly, pushing past Wesley and licking my outstretched hand. The inside of the house smelled like old ladies and cinnamon rolls, and something else, something distinctly male.

"Did you stay in the house last night?" I asked, patting the dog as it leaned against my leg.

Wesley ignored me, walking to the counter and tossing the keys on top the swirled marble. I took off my shoes, making sure to neatly tuck in the laces under the tongue of the shoe. The carpet was plush under my feet, almost bouncy. The inside was larger than I expected, with high arching ceilings. Fritz followed behind us.

I trailed Wesley past the living room that furnished Victoria era couches, with a little dainty tea cut placed on the table, as if Mrs. Avalos herself would shimmy downstairs and make herself some tea. His back was turned in the large kitchen, and I heard a clink of glasses as he turned to me, brandishing mismatched, colorful cups. One had a poodle on it, looking suspiciously similar to Fritz.

"Tea?" He asked grudgingly.

"No," I said. I had some in the morning, as usual. While he was in the kitchen, I stood, not knowing what to do with myself across the island.

He looked taken aback, but recomposed himself with a careless shrug as he placed the other cup back into the cabinet He kept the poodle cup and poured himself his drink.