“I’d like that,” I said.
He stepped back to allow me entrance and I passed into a room that was about what you’d expect. The interior construction was crude and featured -wide, unfinished floorboards and windows that didn’t quite shut. Various pieces of old furniture had been moved into the space, probably cadged from the city dump . . . if there was one in this town. Every surface was piled high with soiled clothes and books and magazines and utensils, pots and pans and canned goods and tools. There were also what looked like farm implements whose functions were unclear. There was a tower of used tires in one corner of the room and a toilet that didn’t seem connected to much of anything. Guy caught my puzzlement. “I’m holding that for a fellow. I have a real bathroom in there,” he said, smiling shyly.
“Glad to hear that,” I said and smiled back at him.
“You want a cup of coffee? It’s instant, but it’s not bad.”
“No, thanks. Were you on your way out?”
“What? Oh, yeah, but don’t worry about that. I have to be someplace shortly. Have a seat.” He pulled out a handkerchief and paused to blow his nose. I could feel anxiety stir in my chest. There was something touching about his openness. He gestured toward a frayed, lumpy couch with a spring sticking through the cushion. I perched on the edge, hoping not to do serious damage to my private parts. My discomfort was related to the fact that Guy Malek apparently thought his family had hired me to conduct the search out of sentiment. I knew their real attitude, which was actually hostile if the truth be known. I did a quick debate with myself and decided I’d better level with him. Whatever the outcome of our conversation, it would be too humiliating for him if I let him harbor the wrong impression.
He pulled up a wooden chair and sat facing me directly, occasionally mopping at his eyes. He didn’t apologize for the tears that continued to spill down his cheeks. “You don’t know how hard I prayed for this,” he said, mouth trembling. He looked down at his hands and began to fold the handkerchief in on itself. “The pastor of my church . . . he swore up and down it would come to pass if it was meant to be. No point in praying, if it isn’t God’s will, he said. And I kept saying, ‘Man, it seems like they’d have found me by now if they cared enough, you know?’ ”
I was struck by the fact that his circumstances were oddly reminiscent of mine, both of us trying to assimilate fractured family connections. At least he welcomed his, though he’d misunderstood the purpose of my visit. I felt like a dog having to set him straight. “Guy, as a matter of fact, it’s more complicated. I have some bad news,” I said.
“My father died?”
“Two weeks ago. I’m not sure of the date. I gather he’d had a stroke and he was also struggling with cancer. He’d been through a lot and I guess his body just gave up on him.”
He was silent for a moment, staring off into space. “Well. I guess I’m not surprised,” he said. “Did he . . . do you know if he was the one who asked for me?”
“I have no idea. I wasn’t hired until yesterday. The probate attorney is getting the process underway. By law, you’re required to be notified since you’re one of the beneficiaries.”
He turned to me, suddenly getting it. “Ah. You’re here on official business and that’s all it is, right?”
“More or less.”
I watched as the color rose slowly in his cheeks. “Silly me,” he said. “And here I thought you were sent by someone who actually gave a shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he said. “What else?”
“What else?”
“I’m wondering if you have any other news to impart.”
“Not really.” If he’d picked up on the fact that he was due to inherit money, he gave no indication.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance my father asked for me.”
“I wish I could help, but I wasn’t given any details. It’s possible, I’m sure, but you may never know. You can ask the attorney when you talk to her. She knows a lot more than I do about the circumstances of his death.”
He smiled fleetingly. “Dad hired a woman? That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Donovan hired her. She went to school with his wife.”
“What about Bennet and Jack? Are they married?” He said the names as if the sounds hadn’t been uttered for years.
“No. Just Donovan. I don’t think he and Christie have any kids as yet. He runs the company, which I understand is now the third-largest construction firm in the state.”
“Good for him. Donnie was always obsessed with the business,” he said. “Did you talk to the other two?”
“Briefly.”
The character of his expression had completely changed as we spoke. What had started out as happiness had shifted to painful enlightenment. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression they’re not really interested in me. The attorney said they had to do this so they’re doing it. Is that it? I mean, the three of them aren’t burdened by a lot of warm, gooey feelings where I’m concerned.”
“That’s true, but it probably stems from the situation when you left. I was told you were in a lot of trouble, so their memories of you aren’t that flattering.”
“I suppose not. Nor mine of them if it comes right down to it.”
“Besides, nobody really believed I’d find you. It’s been what, eighteen years?”
“About that. Not long enough, apparently, from their perspective.”
“Where’d you go when you left? Do you mind if I ask?”
“Why would I mind? It doesn’t amount to much. I went out to the highway to hitch a ride. I was heading for San Francisco, zonked out of my head on acid. The fellow who picked me up was a preacher, who’d been hired by a church about a mile from here. He took me in. I was tripped out so bad I didn’t even know where I was at.”
“And you’ve been here all this time?”
“Not quite,” he said. “It wasn’t like I cleaned up and got straight, just like that. I screwed up more than once. I’d backslide . . . you know, get drunk and take off . . . but Pete and his wife always found me and brought me back. Finally, I realized I wasn’t going to shake ’em off. Didn’t matter what I did. They were sticking to me like glue. That’s when I took a stand and found Jesus in my heart. It really turned my life around.”
“And you never got in touch with your family?” I said.
He shook his head, his smile bitter. “They haven’t exactly been clamoring for me, either.”
“Maybe that will change when I talk to them. What else can I tell them? Do you work?”
“Sure, I work. I do maintenance at the church and, you know, general handyman jobs around town. Painting and repairs, plumbing, electrical. About anything you need. Mostly minimum wage, but I’m the only one does it, so I stay busy.”
“Sounds like you’ve done all right for yourself.”
He looked around him. “Well, I don’t have much, but I don’t need much either. Place isn’t mine,” he said. “The church provides my housing, but I make enough to take care of the basics. Food and utilities, that sort of thing. I don’t drive, but I have a bike and that gets me most places in a town this size.”
“You’ve changed quite a lot.”
“I’d be dead otherwise.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I don’t mean to rush you, but I probably ought to get myself on over to the church.”
“I won’t keep you then. I appreciate your time. Can I give you a lift?”
“Sure. We can talk on the way.”
Once in the car, he directed me back to the highway. We turned right onto 166, heading east again. We drove for a while in companionable silence. He slid a look in my direction. “So what’s your assignment? Find me and report back?”
“That’s about it,” I said. “Now that we have a current address, Tasha Howard, the attorney, will be sending you notice of the probate.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I’m a beneficiary, you said.” His tone had turned light and nearly mocking.
“That doesn’t interest you?”
“Not particularly. I thought I needed something from those people, but as it turns out, I don’t.” He pointed at an upcoming junction and I took a right-hand turn onto a small side road. The roadbed had been downgraded from blacktop to loose gravel, and I could see the plumes of white dust swirling up in my rear window as we drove. The church was situated at the edge of a pasture about a half mile down. The sign said: JUBILEE EVANGELICAL CHURCH.