Chapter 2 - The Midnight Scent of Oranges
The back door slammed shut with a heavy shudder, leaving Jacob and me in the suffocating stillness of the kitchen. Outside, the headlights of Nathan’s rental car flashed briefly against the barn wall as he backed down the gravel driveway, disappearing into the dark country roads toward town. He wasn't sleeping in the guest room after all; pride and fury had driven him away into the night.
Jacob let out a long, ragged exhale and slumped onto the chair where Dad used to sit, burying his face in both hands. His broad shoulders shook once, twice, before he pulled himself together. “I can't believe him, Em. I really thought when he stood by the casket today... I thought he was crying because he missed her. But he was just waiting for the reading.”
“Nathan has always believed the world owes him a safety net,” I said, walking over to the counter to pour two mugs of lukewarm black coffee. The kitchen was crowded with unopened sympathy cards, paper plates, and foil-wrapped dishes brought by neighbors who meant well, but none of it could fill the hollow ache inside my chest.
“What do you think Martin has?” Jacob asked, lifting his head. His eyes were bloodshot and circled by dark rings. “Mom never mentioned a new document to me. Did she ever say anything to you while you were taking her to chemotherapy?”
I set a mug down in front of him and sat in the chair beside his. The memory of that phone call kept looping in my mind: “The 2019 will isn't the complete file.” A strange, heavy sensation settled in my stomach, pulling me backward into the past.
“No,” I replied quietly. “Mom kept her business close to her chest. You know how she was. Even when Dad was dying, she never complained. But Nathan was terrified just now. You saw his face when Martin brought up that later document. He didn't look offended. He looked terrified.”
“Because if Dad's will gets overturned, Nathan doesn't get the whole six hundred thousand,” Jacob said bitterly. “He loses his golden parachute.”
“It’s more than the money, Jacob. It’s what happened before he left for Denver seven years ago.”
Jacob frowned, tilting his head. “What are you talking about? He left because his carpentry shop went under and his divorce got finalized.”
I looked out into the blackness of the kitchen window, where our faint reflections stared back. For nearly eight years, I had kept a secret locked away, carrying it like a splinter beneath my skin because Mom had begged me never to break the family apart while Dad was alive. But Dad was gone now, and Mom was buried in the churchyard beside him. The truth didn't belong to the shadows anymore.
“Do you remember the autumn before Nathan moved away?” I asked in a low voice. “The week Mom's bank account suddenly lost twelve thousand dollars from her personal rainy-day fund?”
Jacob’s eyes widened slightly. “Mom told us she invested that in a local government bond. She said it was locked away for ten years.”
“There was no bond, Jacob,” I said, feeling the old ache throb behind my ribs. “One Tuesday afternoon, I came by unannounced to drop off groceries. Nathan was standing right on that front porch. He was holding a brown paper grocery bag. He looked pale, sweaty, and frantic. When he saw my car pull up, he dropped the bag. Inside were three navel oranges he’d grabbed off the counter to make it look like a regular errand, but underneath those oranges were envelopes stuffed with cash—every single cent Mom had saved from her thirty years of working at the county library.”
Jacob stared at me, his mouth parting in disbelief. “He stole from her?”
“He begged her for it,” I corrected, my voice trembling with the memory. “Mom was standing in the doorway in her apron, weeping silently. Nathan was on his knees, telling her that loan sharks and private creditors were going to take everything he had, that he was going to end up in jail if she didn't bail him out one last time. Dad was out in the fields, completely unaware. Mom gave him the money to save his life, but as he ran to his car, she looked at me and said, ‘Never tell your father, Emily. If Thomas finds out his oldest boy is a thief, it will kill his heart before his cancer does.’”
The refrigerator motor hummed softly in the corner, breaking the dreadful silence. Jacob leaned back, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of Dad’s hand-built table.
“And Dad still left him everything in 2019,” Jacob whispered, disgusted. “Dad wrote that will thinking Nathan was just an unfortunate businessman who needed a break, while all along Nathan had bled Mom dry.”
“Dad believed what Nathan allowed him to believe,” I answered. “Nathan was Dad’s pride and joy. The eldest son who inherited Dad's woodworking hands. Dad died believing Nathan was an honorable man who just had bad luck. But Mom knew. Mom remembered every single dollar, and every single tear she cried on that porch.”
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Jacob looked toward the dark hallway that led to Mom’s bedroom. “Do you think that's what's in Martin’s office? Did Mom write down what he did?”
“I don't know,” I said, standing up and brushing a stray crumb from the tabletop. “All I know is that tomorrow morning, Nathan will be back. And this time, he won't just be looking for house keys. He’ll be looking for whatever evidence Mom left behind.”
