Chapter 2

“Not like there are that many,” he pointed out. “Give Mary the background checks and…”

“She’ll kill me,” John grumbled.

“Naw. She’ll do them because she loves you and wants to keep you happy.”

“You sticking around is what would make me happy,” John retorted, although it was obvious by then that he knew that wasn’t happening.

Over the weekend, Wylie packed his clothes, books, and all other items he couldn’t do without. He debated on which pieces of furniture he wanted to keep, ending up with what was in the bedroom—because he had no intention of sleeping in the bed where his grandfather had died—as well as his desk, the roll-around office chair, and one bookshelf from the living room which he planned on putting in what would be his home office. He would also take his sofa and the matching armchair. From what he remembered, his grandfather’s sofa had been an overstuffed monstrosity that, in Wylie’s opinion, he should have replaced as soon as his wife had passed away, or even before then. At least that’s how I felt about it the last time I visited him, which was, damn, two years before his death.

He might have felt guiltier than he did about how long it had been if his grandfather hadn’t been a crusty old man who sometimes drank too much. When he was sober, he and Wylie got along fairly well during Wylie’s rare visits. When he was in his cups, which was more often than not, he made it quite clear he didn’t approve of Wylie’s choice of career, or his ‘profligate ways’, to quote him. It was his definition of the fact that Wylie was gay and open about it—except when he was around his grandfather’s acquaintances because he didn’t want to make ‘waves’, as he thought of it.

Wylie didn’t understand why his grandfather had left him the house until he’d asked his father. Alan Lewis had replied, “It was his father’s before him. He knew I didn’t want it and you’re the only family left other than me. He refused to let it go to some stranger who wouldn’t appreciate its history.” That made some sort of convoluted sense Wylie decided—at least to his grandfather. He’s lucky I didn’t decide to sell it as soon as Dad had him buried in his and Mom’s family plot. Hell, I’m lucky I didn’t or I wouldn’t have a place to live now that I’ve decided it’s time to move on with my life.

Monday morning at the lawyer’s office, Wylie signed the necessary documents pertaining to his selling his half of the agency to John. Then they went on to the bank where John set up the monthly payment plan to transfer money from his account to Wylie’s.

Before John returned to the agency, he took Wylie out for a farewell lunch. They kept the conversation light, recalling amusing cases from the past few years and speculating about how Wylie would adapt to life in a small town.

“It will be a hell of a lot different from the big city,” John pointed out with a laugh.

“No kidding,” Wylie agreed. “Still, it’ll be nice not to have to deal with traffic jams and long lines at check-out counters and getting around people who think they own the sidewalks, etcetera, etcetera.”

John snorted. “It’s not that bad. Well, usually.”

“Sure feels like it sometimes. I think I’m going to like the slower lifestyle.”

“You’re going to have to get a job, you know. The money your granddad left you won’t last forever.”

Wylie agreed. Along with the house, he’d inherited a third of his grandfather’s surprisingly large savings, the rest going to his father. With selling John his half of the business, there would be enough left to tide him over for at least the next year before he had to worry about finding work. What kind, he had no clue. He’d figure that out when the time came.

“If nothing else,” he said in response to John’s statement, “I can get a job at a restaurant or in one of the shops, I suppose, since it’s a tourist town. I’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

“That should be…interesting, and not in a good way. You’d do better in a bar, if there are any.”

“Trust me, there are, and Gramps knew every one of them.”

“There you go, you’ll have an in,” John replied with a laugh.

Wylie twirled a finger, and then, since they’d finished eating, John paid the check and they left. “I’ll call when I get there,” Wylie promised him when they got to the lot where they’d parked their cars.