The Last Will on the Kitchen Table

As they reached the porch, Mrs. Barlow produced a silver key from her coat pocket and unlocked the door. The front room was in complete disarray, crammed with a writing desk, five overflowing bookshelves, a couch, and stacks of other books covering the floor. A faint but distinct smell of fish hung in the air.

"Your Uncle Jonas wasn't a very tidy man," Uncle Trenton observed from the doorway.

"Trenton!" Mrs. Barlow snapped. She turned to her son. "I'm going to find some proper clothes for Jonas to be buried in. Feel free to have a look around, Wells." She then steered Uncle Trenton through a door beside the desk, and they vanished.

Wells immediately regretted coming. Having finished his newspaper on the drive, he was now monumentally bored. Hoping to find a snack to pass the time, he wandered into the kitchen, where the fishy odor was strongest. He opened the refrigerator, only to recoil from a blast of foul air. His gaze drifted from the fridge to a grimy window above the sink.

Perched rigidly on the ledge was a sleek, reddish-gold cat. It regarded Wells with mild curiosity, then bent low and shook its head with purpose. To Wells's astonishment, the creature used its head to pry the window sash open and then leapt gracefully outside. After a final glance back, the cat bolted into the woods.

Wells sat at the small kitchen table, shaking his own head in disbelief. He hadn't known his uncle even owned a cat. His eyes then fell upon a small square of paper on the table. It was a short message, penned in his uncle's familiar, boxy handwriting.

To My Family,

I am writing this before the ambulance comes for me. I know I will likely pass within a few days, so I must set my affairs in order.

I never bothered with a will, having no direct descendants and little property. However, there is one item I wish to see passed on:

My ring is to go to Wells, and to Wells alone. The rest of my meager possessions you may divide amongst yourselves.

Love to you all—

Jonas

Wells read the note several times. Why the ring? As a memento? He could find no other logical explanation. He shot to his feet. "Mom!" he yelled. "Come look at this!"

His mother emerged from the bedroom holding a suit coat, dress slacks, and a loud tie, which she placed carefully on the couch. "What is it?"

Wells handed her the note.

Mrs. Barlow’s eyebrows rose as she read it. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. After reading it again, she finally found her voice. "How thoughtful of him. I'll have the mortician remove that old thing before the funeral and get it to you."

Just then, Uncle Trenton burst from the room, demanding to know if it was time to leave. They all shuffled back to the truck for the journey home. Wells clutched the note, reading it over and over, trying to grasp its meaning. He left me his ring. But why? He remained silent for the entire drive.

"Look, honey, Aidan is home," Mrs. Barlow said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Wells craned his neck and saw his friend raking leaves in his front yard.

"Yeah, I think I'll go talk to him," Wells said. He carefully folded the paper into his pocket, climbed out of the truck, and crossed the street. "Hey," he managed, trying to sound casual.

"Hi," Aidan replied, his eyes averted. He hadn't changed much since the night of their uncle's story. While Wells had shot up, the epitome of lankiness, Aidan remained shorter, his face still round and boyish. They were still best friends. "I—I heard about your Uncle Jonas," Aidan added, his voice low.

"Yeah," Wells said, looking down at his sneakers. "It's not exactly a party at my place."

"I can imagine," Aidan murmured, leaning his rake against his chest. "Want to come in for a bit?"

"I can't stay. I just needed to get out of the house." An awkward pause settled between them, which Wells finally broke by pulling the note from his pocket. "Look at this."

Aidan read it over. "That's weird," he remarked. "He didn't leave anything for anyone else?"

"Apparently not," Wells said, taking the note back. "But what did I do to deserve a crummy ring?"

Aidan shrugged. "Sentimentality?"

"Maybe." Another silence fell, heavy with unspoken things. Still, Wells was glad just to be in the company of someone whose atmosphere wasn't saturated with death.

Finally, Wells glanced back at his house. His father's blue car was in the driveway. "I should probably head back. Looks like Dad and Aunt Elara are home, so I can find out when the funeral is."

"See you later," Aidan said. "And Wells... I'm really sorry about your uncle." He turned back to his raking.

"Thanks," Wells muttered, his mouth suddenly dry at the fresh reminder of his loss. "See you tomorrow." He walked slowly home, a fresh lump forming in his gut. As he opened the front door, the sound of his family's heated argument spilled into the foyer.

"—not right, letting him have it!" Uncle Trenton's voice boomed. "We all know Jonas was perfectly fine until the day he started wearing that ring, and then he became—"

"Became what, Trenton?" his father challenged. "Jonas was normal his entire life!"

A short, humorless laugh from his mother startled Wells. "Arden, don't be naive. You saw the people he brought around. Strange individuals—they never wore normal clothes, never understood our customs! And we can't ignore all the times he would just vanish for months."

Wells pressed himself against the wall between the living room and kitchen to see without being seen. His father and Uncle Trenton were on their feet, facing off. Aunt Elara stood between them, watching her husband warily. His mother sat at the table, looking exasperated.

"I just don't think it's safe for Wells to have it," Uncle Trenton stated flatly. "This world doesn't need another Jonas Barlow. One was more than enough."

"Trenton!" Aunt Elara warned. "That's enough!"

"Elara—"

"Don't you 'Elara' me, Trenton Michael Hackford!" she suddenly roared, her voice thundering with unexpected rage. "Jonas was my uncle, not yours! You don't hear me complaining about your alcoholic brother, or your nieces who were all mothers before they finished high school, or your drug-addict nephew! Do you?"

Deciding this was the absolute worst time to make an entrance, Wells quietly retreated up the stairs to his room. He closed the door gently and sagged onto his bed.

He had no idea his family held such feelings about his great-uncle. His parents rarely argued in front of him, and to hear his mother speak so harshly was a shock. She had always seemed to enjoy Jonas's company. What was there to dislike? Sure, he was unconventional, but Wells would rather be unconventional than be Uncle Trenton. And how could a ring change someone? It was just a piece of jewelry. It wouldn't alter who he was.

Lying back, Wells closed his eyes to ponder these perplexing thoughts and soon drifted off. The next thing he knew, his mother was gently shaking him awake. "Come on, Wells. Dinner's ready."

A truce had evidently been called. As they served the turkey, the conversation turned to the funeral. While Wells spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate, his father discussed the burial.

"I've bought him a plot next to ours, Anna," he said, buttering a dinner roll. "But I haven't ordered a headstone yet. I'll have to get to that before Christmas."

"What?" Wells asked, startled. "Why not get it now?"

"Your Uncle Jonas wanted something specific for his epitaph," his father explained. "I have it written down somewhere, but I can't find it. Don't worry, he'll get a proper headstone."

Wells hadn't realized how hungry he was. He ignored the rest of the conversation, which veered into financial matters that didn't concern him.

"We'll have to take you out of school for part of the day on Tuesday," his mother said as he carried his plate to the sink. "But I'll get you back for your last two classes."

"Gee, thanks," Wells said sarcastically, scraping his plate into the garbage disposal.

Back in his room, he booted up his computer and relayed the day's events to Aidan and Vance in a long instant message chat. Nikolai signed on partway through, finding it strange that his family was so secretive about the ring yet so openly upset by it.

At last, a crushing wave of exhaustion hit Wells. He numbly climbed into bed, not even bothering to shut down his computer, and was asleep in an instant.