Dada: Chapter 12a

     "I apologize for Sam's behavior.  He was being a little rude."
     "Don't worry about it.  I have three brothers.  I know how teenage boys can be,"  Carol replies.  "Let's go on in."
      The door opens into a short hall.  It's not really a mud room type of thing, but a chair is next to the door, as well as a pile of shoes.   On the right, a door leads into the rather spacious laundry room.  It is almost as big as my bedroom growing up.  A washer and dryer, as well as two tables and a cabinet. There is also a door on the far wall.  The hall ends at another hall.  Sam had run on to the right; I'm guessing to a bathroom.  At least he didn't seem to have another accident running off.
     To the left was the door to a pantry, again very large.  Shelves lined the walls and filled up the center of the room.  However, most were empty, save some cookware.  Only a few had food on them. I guess a small family doesn't need so much food, even with a teenage boy.  The far wall had a large metal door, probably to a walk-in freezer.  I've seen restaurants with smaller ones than this!
     "This place is huge, and I've only seen two rooms," I said as we walked through the pantry into the equally large kitchen.  The entire side facing the back yard was covered with windows and a double glass door that opened onto the patio.  Cabinets lined the other walls, mixing with the usual appliances.  Strangely enough, everything was clean.  Not a single plate was left out, nor was there any food left out.  Not even a fruit bowl.
       "It really is.  Apparently, the original owners had a large family, and your great-grandfather thought he wanted one as well, " Carol read from her notes.  "Unfortunately, he only had only a son, but he was something.  He was groomed to take over the business.  When his father died, he took over his place on the board of directors.  He helped lead CFB Manufacturing into a new era, nearly tripling its profits in just ten years."
      "Wow.  Yet why did he keep such a big place.  It feels so empty."
      "My notes say he wanted a large family, but married a little late in life," Carol continued.  "Didn't marry until his late thirties.  They had three children, but only your father lived past childhood.  An older sister, Patricia, died when she was nine of leukemia.  A younger brother, Sean, died at two due to an allergic reaction.   It looks like they were thinking of adopting some more children, but your grandmother died when your father was twelve.  Not sure how, but the plans obviously didn't go through."
       "That's a lot of information you've got there," I mention as we sit down at the small table by the windows.  "Why do you have so much of it?"
      "Like I said, the family was thinking of selling the place.  I guess they realized it was just too big for them.  I've only been working on this for the last two weeks, so I've been trying to get everything ready for the realtors.  This place has a lot of history.  This is my first time here myself, so I didn't know what to expect.  I never even met your parents."  Carol just kept going on.
       "Father only.  My parents 'divorced' soon after I was born, and he remarried and had Sam.  I never even met him either."
      "Oh, I'm sorry.   I guess I should have realized.  I was only hired a few weeks ago.  As I said, I am still getting used to this assignment," Carol apologized.
      "There's no need.  I guess you have information about how my father died."
      "No.  Not here," Carol said as she looked through her notes.  "If it's here, I can't seem to find it.  Since it happened so recently, it might not be a part of this package."

Dada: Chapter Twelve

     I pull into the fairly long driveway, just to the right of a small red car already there.   I still can't believe how big this place is.  No wonder Sam didn't seem to care about my house.  It's only half the size of here.
     "Get your stuff out.  There should be more people here," I say to Sam as I get out of the car.  Just after I open the door, I hear it.  I smell it half a second later.
    "Dude, did you just cut one again?  Couldn't you have waited another second until you got out. Now it's going to smell."
     "Sorry.  I guess it was nerves," Sam tries to apologize, his voice squeaking a tad more than average.   "I couldn't do anything this morning, but I've been feeling weird since lunch."
      Serves you right for putting mozzarella sticks on a Whooper.  And marinara sauce.
     As we get our things, a woman steps out of the other car.  She is wearing a navy pantsuit, a tad too pressed for a weekend visit.  Her short red hair matches her car, as do the freckles lining her cheeks.  In her hand is a huge folder with a tablet on top.  A smile graces her face as if she is happy to be here.
    "Hello," she says a she extends her hand, "I'm Carol Mulhoney.  I work for the law firm that handles the Burton family matters, mostly financial.  You must be Sam and Chris."  Her eyes dart from me to my brother.
     "Uh, I'm Chris.  That's Sam," I reply as I take her hand.  "Shouldn't there be a social worker or someone else here.  We had a meeting all set up."
     "He left almost two hours ago.  Said he couldn't wait any longer on a weekend," Carol responds.
     "That was an hour or so before when we were to meet."
     "He left some paperwork for you.  I'm not just a paralegal, but I'm a notary as well.  I can make sure everything is on the up and up.  I am also handling the sale of the property.  Your father, I guess had been thinking about putting it up on the market for a while.  I have a key here and everything."  We are walking up to the front door as she talks.  "I'm sorry for these circumstances.  There really should be an assistant here, at the least, but everyone was out of town, and I was the closest one."
     "That shouldn't be a problem.  How much do you know about the case?"
     "I really only know about the house.  That's odd.  The key won't fit."
     "It's for the back door," Sam piped up.  "We'll have to go around the house to get in.  Follow me.  This way's quicker."  Sam practically ran as he turned left up the side of the house.  Maybe he's having more than just a little tummy trouble.
     "So, about the house."
     Carol takes a brief look at some of her notes before she responds.  "It's got quite a history.  It was built in the 1920's for the head of Spritzer and Sons construction.  Your great-grandfather Lionel Burton, was the manager.  First Spritzer died, then his sons in War World II.  Lionel was given permission to buy out the company from the widows on the cheap, including the house.  He was one of the few to survive the Great Depression in making a profit.  Things went even better after the war.  While others went for public work projects, he focused on smaller, private works.  Mostly homes.  He  turned Burton Manufactures into a regional powerhouse.  They quickly went into the pre-manufactured home business, and things took off.
       "After the war, Lionel merged with two other firms and they became Crittenden, Fitzhugh, and Burton Manufacturing, or CFB.  It now owns the patents on multiple small home manufacturing techniques, as well as a few architectural blueprints as well.  They are now international, with a focus on the home market.  They might not make the gigantic skyscrapers that make the news, but they make homes the workers stay in."
       My father's family was rich.  Huh.
      "What happened?  My father wasn't part of the company, I guess,"  I ask as we make the back yard.  Before me, there is a pool connected to a large patio on the right side of the yard.  We would have problems getting to the door if we had went that way.  Sam is already by the door, just off to the side of the patio.
        "Lionel wanted a large family, hence this place.  Unfortunately, he only had one son, but he was as smart as his father.  When the companies merged, Lionel made sure his son was on the board.  That was fortunate,  because Lionel died a year or so later.  Even now, your father controls about a 25% stake in the company, even if he has never been a part of it.  He takes in about a million dollars a year on those dividends alone."  Carol gushes.
      "I bet that is before taxes, though.
      "No, actually that's after," she responds as she turns the key in the door.  It opens easily.  Sam runs by her, with barely an "Excuse me" before bounding off to the right.
       A million a year, after taxes.  Just from his grandfather's company.  What have I gotten myself into?

Dada: Chapter 11b

     I take a quick look at the GPS notes, barely taking my eyes of the road.
     "No, I'm pretty sure we're going the right way.  I planned this route myself."
      "We usually cut through the city to get home.  It i's way faster," Sam mumbled, trying to keep his voice from cracking too much.
     "That my be true, but I think my way will be faster.  Besides, we will manage to skip most of the tolls.  I don't want to spend more money than I need to.  It's the weekend.  How bad could the traffic be?  We'll still make the noon appointment at your place."
      Sam audibly sighed and turned his head back to the window.
      From what I gathered, Sam and his family had a house on the north side of New York.  Maybe not really part of the city, just a really close suburb near the Connecticut border.  Or maybe not.  My map functions weren't really tracking their neighborhood too easily.  Anyway, I found a route that avoided the worst of the tolls and stay on major arteries.  Traffic on a holiday weekend couldn't be too bad.
     Two hours later, we had to have lunch, just outside of the neighborhood.  BK again.  How Sam could eat a burger with cheese sticks is beyond me.  I can tell he's laughing at me, or at least wants to.    Considering this is the first time I had ever been in the area, I think I am doing just fine.  So, we are a few minutes late.  What could be the problem.
      "It's after twelve-thirty.  We are going to be very late."  Sam snidely remarks as we leave the restaurant.  For some reason, he voice stays deep.  Lucky me.
      "Well, we wouldn't have been so late if you didn't have to eat."
      "I'm a growing boy.  I get hungry.  I have to eat."
       Yeah, he's probably grown three inches since we met Thursday.  Okay, maybe a quarter to a half inch.  But still, this kid is getting too big for his britches.  One minute he's moping, the next normal.  For a teenager at least.
       "We wouldn't have been even that late if you had just taken the direct route like I told you." Sam had to get in the last word.
        We drive the next few minutes, but I think I am lost.  This streets are getting busier, ad the houses are getting bigger.
        "Are you sure we are headed in the right direction?  I think we are getting lost."
        "Nope.  We just passed my old school.  Our house is just a few streets over."
        The Martha Schmitt-Lincoln Middle School was on the left.  Kind of small and narrow, with just a hint of a playground in front, maybe more in the back.  I'm glad I got to go to school where everything was big and wide, with lots of room to run around.  No kid could enjoy playing on a lot that small.
        I take a right onto another residential street.  Here were the big yards more common around Lexington and my old home.  Really big.  How could something like this be so close to the city?
        "There's Vinn's house.  He's a friend of mine.  My house is just down the street a few houses.  You can see soon," Sam pipes up, hints of happiness in his voice being so close to home.
        He must be sad, too.  First time he's been home since they died.  At least he will be around familiar places, for a while.  Maybe.
       "It's just the next house.  It's kind of big."
       "That one.  That can't be yours."  I couldn't believe my eyes.
       Big isn't the right word.  The place is a mansion!   Three stories, old Tudor.  A driveway over fifty feet long.  A yard you could put a tennis court on.  What was going on here?

Dada: Chapter 11a

   After a few minutes of silence, Sam quips, "So, is this your first trip to New York?  With your condition and all."
    "Yep.  Actually, I was supposed to go to New York on a school trip my junior year of high school, but things just turned out all wrong.  Messed up beyond anything."  And that was an understatement.
    "How bad could it have been?" Sam asked.
    "It all started with the candy bars.  Everyone had to sell a bunch of boxes to help pay for the trip.  Everyone got twelve boxes with thirty bars each, and two months to sell them.  Most sold theirs within a month.  Rick went down to the sheriff's department where his dad worked and sold all of his the first week.  Meanwhile, I had barely sold two boxes after a month.  I just couldn't sell anything.  Finally, my mom agreed to take a few boxes to sell at work.  The next day, six were missing.
    "About a two weeks later, I had finally sold my last box.  I was just about the only one who was still selling, and people still wanted to help out.  My mom was already home when I got back from school.  She had some bad news.  Someone robbed her at work.  She had taken he weekly pay from the bank, and someone had apparently got to it when she wasn't looking.  She had hidden it where she thought no one could take it, but it went missing.  She blamed a temp who had just left or maybe one of the clients, but she didn't have any proof.  She had taken the rest of the day off to recover, somewhat.  What was worse was that all of my candy money was taken as well.  So, we not only would not have as much money to last until her next paycheck, but I wouldn't have enough money to go on the trip."
     "That doesn't sound too bad.  Yeah, you missed out, but I don't see it as being as horrible as you said," Sam squeaked.   Seriously, his voice cracks so randomly, I can barely take it.
      "On the day after the rest of the group left to New York, including my best friends, me being the only one in the entire academic squad not going, I saw my grandma eating one of the school candy bars.  She had taken one of my boxes that I thought my mom had.  She had been eating them for weeks without paying for them!  When I confronted her, she just shrugged it off.  It was her last bar, and besides, it was now too late to do anything about it.  She actually said that to my face.  She stole from me, and the school, and she wasn't going to pay for the bars she took.  Sure, it was too late for me to go, but it was the principle of the thing, you know."
      "Still, that's not really that bad," Sam tries to come back, but I still have more to say.
      "The following summer, I got a temporary job working at my mom's office.  There I found out from one of her co-workers that she never reported a robbery.  There wasn't even any temps working at the time.  In fact, the worker told me that my mom actually bought a new computer system part to enhance the office's about the same time.  My own mother had taken the money I needed for my trip and used for herself!  I never confronted her about it, but I made sure it wouldn't happen again.  I saved up every cent I made that summer got make sure I would have more than enough money for next year's trip to DC, without having to worry about selling candy or relying on my mom, again.
        "On the first day of senior year, the principal made a huge announcement.  The school board was facing a major budget crunch, and certain cuts had to be made.  One was insurance for school functions.  Only sporting and academic events would be paid for, everything else would be on notice. That meant the cost for my non-school sanctioned group would have to pay twice as much to go on any trips.  There wasn't enough time to make up that much money before we were supposed to go, so the trip to DC was cancelled, until the next school year.  We still sold candy and stuff, but it wasn't going to benefit me in the slightest.  And it gets worse."
        "How could it get worse?"  Sam had to ask.
        "That February, I was asked to the principle's office.  It turned out that I had some outstanding fees and would not be allowed to graduate until they were paid off.  I still owed money for the boxes of candy bars I didn't sell.  I had just enough money in my own account to pay it off, without having to tell my mom.  So, because of her, I not only missed out on taking a major trip to a place I might never had got to see otherwise, but I almost didn't graduate, all because of my mom and grandmother's cheap ways.  To this day, I haven't told anyone, not even my friends, about what happened.  I not sure why I even told you."
         Sam just sat there, before quietly saying, "Moms can be mean," before turning back to the window.  Staring at the passing road.
        "By the way, I think you missed your exit a few miles back," Sam cracked up a few seconds later.

Dada: Chapter Eleven

   "I don't think that was much of a breakfast," Sam squeaked.
   "You sure ate enough of it," I respond.  When is his voice finally going to stop cracking?  I don't remember anyone I knew having this much of a problem, but then most of my friends got their spurts over the summer when I wasn't around.  Still.
    "All there was were donuts and cereal.  And not enough of them, either."
    "It's called a 'continental breakfast.' Supposedly, it is what people in Europe prefer to start the day.  Something light, maybe some eggs and dairy.  As compared to the 'full English' breakfast which has tons of meat.  More like what we have in America.  Oh, they also have things like tomatoes and beans at times.  Lots of fried food as well."
     "Beans?" he whined. "You've got to be kidding me."
     "Trust me.  It happens."
     We had been up since six, over an hour ago.  After a quick cleaning up, we ate the 'breakfast' the hotel provided.  Sam ate three donuts and some cereal with bananas and strawberries.  Fortunately, I was able to grab the blueberry jelly before Sam did.  It was more of a thick compote filling with real fruit, compared to the gooey blob you usually get.  Both have their perks, but I like the goo best.  It might not be a 'real,' but it eats better.  Softer.  I also had some scrambled eggs, orange juice, and coffee.  The hotel also had some bacon, but neither of us wanted it.  Apparently, neither of us wanted it, even the bottomless stomach who is my brother.
   The last few minutes had been quiet as we drove north to New York.  I knew what was 'coming' and I was dreading it.  Sam was too young to know the code.  He was definitely going to bring it up.  He probably talks to his friends about it, but it would be awkward if he brings it up with me.  But I was the one who spoke up about it last night, so he probably thinks we can talk about this.  We can't, but we're going to. I keep Hits 1 on to try and keep him still.
    "Why did you call me "Jack" last night?  Did you forget my name?"
     And there it is.  At least the cracking is appropriate.
    "Sam, I know your name.  It was kind of a joke.  Back in high school, guys would use that word for what you were doing last night.  It wasn't until college that I found out that it wasn't as common as another word that begins and ends with the same letters.  That's the word you would probably be more familiar with, the one you and your friends would use.  Say.  The word you would hear from older guys.  Of course, we shouldn't use either word, because no one does that.  Even if you do, even if most guys about your age do, you don't say you do.  It's just a 'guy code' thing.  I only did that last night to have some fun.  It's sort of a right of passage for a guy to get caught.  But don't ask me about what happened when I was your age about that.  Older guys, especially those who aren't your father, should not be talking too much about such things.  I don't know if it is right, or not.  There probably should be some talking, but I just don't know."
     I'm starting to sweat.  This was one of the things I was most nervous about.  I never got to have talk about this with an actual adult when I was his age.
     "Okay," Sam drawls out.  He turns his head back towards the window as he says it, making it last even longer.  "That was nice to know."