Death by Chocolate

I stepped back to admire my work. The cake was huge, with the thick, chocolate icing carefully spread over its delicate surface. It looked absolutely perfect. My grandfather clock chimed as I placed the cake stand on the table. There was immediately a knock at the door. He has always been painfully punctual.

I was shocked when I opened the door. I hadn’t seen my brother in almost ten years, not since our mother’s funeral where we’d argued about the circumstances surrounding her death. I simply knew that my father had poisoned her. My brother had refused to hear of it. He’d grown since then, no longer a rowdy, naive college boy with too much time and not enough ambition. I barely recognized the man standing in front of me. But then he smiled, and I knew. I wrapped my arms around him. “Caleb!”

When we got inside, we fell easily back into our old selves. It was as if no time had passed at all. His face split into a massive smile when he saw the cake.

“Is that—”

“Grandmother’s recipe.”

It had always been his favorite. I was the only one that our grandmother had taught the recipe for her famous chocolate cake, so I knew that he hadn’t had it since before our argument. Of course, I would make it to celebrate our reunion.

“Have a piece,” I said, as I cut him a generous slice. I placed it in front of him and took my seat across the table.

“You aren’t having any?” he asked.

“I had to give up sweets years ago. Enjoy your thirties, it’s all downhill from there.”

He laughed and took a bite. “It’s just as good as I remember.”

The time passes quickly. We talk of work, friends, relationships new and old. We relive memories from our childhoods, both happy and sad. Before I know it, the grandfather clock chimes five times. Caleb’s smile fades and I can see the sadness in his eyes. It’s comforting to know that he’s missed me as well.

“I should go,” he says. “I need to be home for dinner.”

Caleb is married now. He and his wife have three children, all under the age of five. It sounds exhausting, but he seems happy enough.

“One more slice of cake,” I insist.

He starts to protest, but he doesn’t have it in him. He holds out his plate and I drop another thick wedge onto it. This is his third slice.

“We do still have some unpleasantness to deal with.” I can tell that he won’t do it, so I decide to get down to the nitty gritty of it.

“Yes,” he says uncomfortably. He coughs and clears this throat. “What have you heard?”

“I’ve seen the will. I know what you’re getting.”

This is it. This is what we’ve both been avoiding all afternoon. Our father, our last remaining family, had died. The will had said that Caleb would get everything. The house, the money, the jewels. Even though I was five years older, my father had diverted back to the antiquated ways of his ancestors. Boys are the heirs. Girls get nothing. This is the real reason that Caleb’s here after all of these years.

“Oh.” Caleb tenses. His forehead has become shiny with sweat. “Of course, if there’s anything that you want, any of mother’s rings or—”

“No,” I stop him, “I don’t care about the rings.”

“You don’t want anything?”

“I want the accounts.”

Caleb coughs again. My bluntness has surprised him.

“You… you can’t be serious.”

“I am. I’m the oldest. It’s my birthright.”

“It’s not what Father wanted.”

“Like I give a damn.”

Caleb stares at me, his eyes struggling to focus. I can tell that he’s starting to lose his balance. His plate, once again, is empty.

“Another piece?” I smile at him.

His face falls. He knows.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing at all. Just an old family recipe.”

Caleb barely manages to direct his gaze to the cake stand before his body goes limp. His head hits the table, landing directly in his favorite dessert.