“Well, you need a lawyer, and that takes money,” he says, removing his reading glasses as he looks me up and down. The contradiction between my designer purse and well-worn shoes must leave him baffled as to whether or not I have the money.
“Independent examiners are expensive and you’re running out of time. I heard the funeral is scheduled for Sunday.”
“You did?”
“Well, that’s what I show on the release form.”
“I didn’t release anything.”
“Hmm, well, let me get the file but then I have to go,” he huffs.
“Thank you.”
Who the hell woulddo that?Someone who thinks I can’t do anything for myself? What had the authority? I’m the only next of kin.
I’m fuming by the time he returns and hope that he’s made a mistake.
He opens the green manila file and licks his finger and flips one page at a time, licking his finger with each turn of the page. It’s slow and painful to watch.
“Here it is. Mr. Besnik, says he’s in charge of the estate.”
“What? Shouldn’t it be me? I’m the daughter of the deceased.”
“It’s a civil matter. Get yourself an attorney. I really have to go,” he says, closing the file and turning his back.
“Thank you for your time,” is all I can say as he walks away.
I’m stunned and need to vent so I call Mila. “What do you think of Besnik? It’s a weird question, I know, but I’m curious.”
“He seems okay. Did something happen?
“I just find it weird that he’s not including me in any of the decision making or preparations for my father’s funeral. It’s probably nothing,” I say, choosing not to overshare until I know more.
What I don’t tell her is that he’s not returning my phone calls. She encourages me to find him and tell him to stop treating me like a child. That’s a good idea. I’m sure he’s at his club, where they always hang out. I thank her for the advice and tell her I’ll call back with an update.
At the club, I open the huge wooden doors that were made back when we needed to defend our Roman city and push my way inside. It’s dark and takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.
I hear men’s voices and call out, “Hi, I’m looking for my Uncle Besnik.”
“Sure, in the back, kid,” a man says, and my eyes focus enough to see him take a drag of his cigarette and nod towards the back of the bar.
The stale smell of spilled beer, cigarette smoke and burned tobacco from cigars hits my virgin throat and I let out a few coughs as I make my way through the bar. If Papa smoked, he didn’t do it around me. There are curtains upstairs and I wonder what that’s about. This isn’t the type of place to house a theater.
Uncle Besnik appears in a doorway. “Prende, what are you doing here? You should be home resting. I have everything under control.”
I can see past him to a room full of tables, poker tables. Even I can recognize an illegal poker game.
He turns me around and hisses in my ear, “You can’t be here, pretend you’re lost and go home. I’ll drop by later.”
“I need you to tell me what’s going on with Papa. Why did you sign off on his body? I wanted it examined again.”
“There’s no need for all that, it’s over. He’s gone.”
“Why are you in charge of my estate?”
“Your father wanted it that way. He didn’t want to be a burden to you,” he tells me, all the while his grip on my arm hurts me as he steers me back the way I came.
“This is all going too fast. I should be in charge. He’s my father,” I growl.