Chapter XLIII: Naitawid Kuma (Supposed to be Inherited), Part 2
The early afternoon light filters softly through the window blinds as Meric finishes washing the dishes. The scent of garlic rice still lingers in the air, and Ben sits lazily on the bamboo chair, patting his full stomach.
"Ahh," he sighs, rubbing his belly. "That was one good meal. Your adobo keeps getting better, Meric."
Meric chuckles, drying her hands with a towel. "Maybe because I finally measured the soy sauce this time."
Ben raises a brow. "You mean... all those years, you were just guessing?"
She shrugs, laughing. "A little chaos makes the flavor."
Just then, her phone rings — a loud, vibrating buzz that breaks the calm of the afternoon. She wipes her hands quickly and glances at the screen. Flora.
"Oh, Flora's calling," she says, picking up the phone. "Hello? Hello, Flor?"
On the other end, Flora's voice trembles. "Ate Meric... it's Uncle Lucio."
Meric's smile fades. "What about him?"
Flora hesitates for a second before saying it, her voice cracking, "He... he was rushed to Metro Hermosa Cooperative Hospital... they said he's... gone. He's dead on arrival."
The towel drops from Meric's hand. The sound of plates clinking suddenly feels distant.
"A-anya? (W-what?)" she whispers, her knees trembling. "No, Flor... that can't be."
"I'm so sorry," Flora says. "We tried everything. He had a heart attack this morning."
Ben, hearing her tone, immediately stands up. "What's wrong?"
Meric's eyes are wide, blank. "Lucio... Uncle Lucio... he's gone."
Without another word, Ben grabs the motorcycle keys. "Come on. Let's go."
The wind roars past as the motorcycle speeds down the length of Quirino Bldv. Meric clings tightly to Ben, her mind a blur. The world feels quiet except for the hum of the engine and her pounding heart.
They soon reach the funeral home near the province's national high school — a modest white building with a small cross above the entrance. A few parked tricycles and cars line the street.
Meric steps off the motorcycle but freezes. She stares at the open doors of the funeral home, her breathing shallow. "Ben... I... I don't think I can look."
Ben turns to her gently. "It's alright, Ma. Stay here. I'll check."
He steps inside. The air is cold, heavy with formalin and silence. A few cousins stand near the coffin, heads bowed.
There, on the embalming table, lies Lucio — motionless, pale, but strangely peaceful.
Ben moves closer... and stops.
He blinks. The dim light casts a strange shadow on Lucio's face — and for a brief, eerie second, it looks like Junior's face. The resemblance is uncanny.
He rubs his eyes, thinking it's a trick of light, but the image lingers. He feels a shiver run down his spine.
"Ben?" a soft voice calls. It's Flora, standing nearby. Her eyes are red from crying.
Ben exhales. "He looks... peaceful," he manages to say. "Just... strange. Alla, karuprupa na met ni Uncle Junior? (Oh my, he looks exactly like Uncle Junior?)."
Flora frowns. "Yes... I noticed that too."
They both step out into the sunlight where Meric waits anxiously.
"How did it happen?" Meric asks as soon as they step out. "Tell me, Flor. Please."
Flora takes a deep breath. "It happened this morning. Around nine. Uncle Lucio was washing clothes at the old house in Banggai."
The sound of passing vehicles fades as Flora's voice carries the story — and the scene shifts in Meric's mind.
Lucio hums as he scrubs a pile of shirts in a big stainless basin which was one of the things used by their parents back then, especially Tory. The radio plays an old Ilocano song, and he sways his shoulders slightly to the rhythm.
"Ah, this song never gets old," he says to himself, grinning. "Nanang Tory and Tatang Melo used to love this one..."
He glances toward a faded photograph on the shelf — the Don and Doña's picture smiling back at him.
But as he reaches for the next shirt, his breath shortens. He clutches his chest. "Ahh... diay barukong ko, (my chest,)... it hurts..."
The basin tips over, water spilling across the cement floor.
"Uncle Lucio!" Flora's voice cries from the yard as she rushes in, seeing him collapse. "Uncle!"
Within minutes, cousins arrive — panic, shouting, rushing for a tricycle.
"Itaray yo suna diay munisipio'n! (Get him to the municipal clinic!)" someone yells.
They carry Lucio into the Guardino Municipal Health Center, but the nurses shake their heads. "He needs to be transferred."
Minutes later, they rush him to the Metro Hermosa Cooperative Hospital, still within Guardino's outskirts.
The doctors try, but... it's too late.
One of them steps out, solemn-faced. "I'm sorry. He was gone upon arrival."
Flora covers her mouth, crying. "No... please... check again..."
The doctor lowers his head. "He's with God now."
The flashback fades.
Flora's eyes glisten as she finishes her story. "He didn't even get to call for help. Just like that... he was gone."
Meric presses her hands to her face, tears streaming. "I still can't believe it... Uncle Lucio, of all people."
Ben wraps an arm around her shoulders. "He was strong... and kind. Maybe God just wanted to take him home."
By evening, the embalming is finished. The body is carefully dressed in a crisp white barong. When the coffin is finally sealed, it is transported back to Banggai, where the wake begins.
The cousins gather at the old ancestral house — the same one Lucio once dreamed of restoring. Candles flicker beside the coffin. The scent of flowers mixes with coffee and murmured prayers.
Jing sits beside Flora, wiping her tears. "He really wanted this house to live again," she says softly.
Meric nods. "He believed in it... more than anyone."
Throughout the night, relatives arrive — some from far provinces, some old and frail. Laughter occasionally breaks through the grief as they recall stories from childhood.
"Remember how Uncle Lucio used to hide the car keys so no one could borrow them?" one cousin says, chuckling.
"Oh, yes!" another adds. "And he'd say, 'Gas isn't free, you know!'"
The mood shifts between sorrow and nostalgia, like waves rising and falling.
The next day, Lucio's children arrive.
Mike and Macoy from Tarlac, and Gina from Cavite.
When Mike enters the house, he immediately kneels before the coffin, whispering, "Pa... I'm home."
Macoy places his hand on Mike's shoulder, tears welling up. "You always said you'd see Tarlac again after New Year... and now this."
Gina hugs them both tightly. "He's with Mom now. That's all that matters."
Outside, Darwin and other grandchildren of Al arrive to pay their respects, offering flowers and prayers.
The house feels alive again — filled with voices, footsteps, laughter, and sobs. It's almost like a reunion.
Even Elric arrives, carrying some prayer books and candles. He places it gently near the coffin and says aloud, "Uncle, thank you... for believing this house could be beautiful again."
His words echo softly in the dim room. Rogie and Junior, standing at the back, exchange glances — their faces unreadable.
That evening, conversations swirl like the wind.
"Do you remember the chaos during Lelong Melo's last night of his wake?" one cousin suddenly says, breaking the silence.
Everyone turns. Meric looks up, her eyes widening slightly.
"Oh, yes," Flora says, sighing. "That was... unforgettable."
Laughter and groans ripple around. "Unforgettable? It was a war!" another cousin says.
Meric smiles faintly, remembering how Mercy once told her the story.
"It was like a battlefield," Mercy said, sitting on her bamboo chair, shaking her head. "Maxi had a buneng (an Ilocano word for 'sword', typicaly made in Santa and Santiago, Ilocos Sur) waving it around like a warrior."
Meric's eyes widened. "He fought someone?"
"Dandani'n ah (Well, almost)" Mercy said, laughing softly. "He was angry about inheritance. Rogie was shouting, the others were holding him back. Then Maxi — poor thing — didn't even know how to use the sword and cut his own arm!"
Meric gasped. "Oh my goodness!"
Mercy smiled sadly. "I tried to calm everyone down, but it was chaos. That's why I didn't want you going there, Mayyang. Family greed... it makes monsters out of good people."
Back to the present, Meric sighs. The others continue laughing lightly about it, but beneath the laughter lies the same bitterness — the same wound that never healed.
Yet the cousins also share lighter memories — stories about the grand mirrors, the elegant stoves, the piano that once filled the house with music.
"Remember when Lelang Tory scolded us for touching her mirror?" Jing giggles. "She said, 'You're leaving fingerprints on my soul!'"
"Yeah, also that one time when we were all sneaking out at night and not to step on the 8th step?", one of the cousins.
"I remember that! Once you step on the 8th step, it will creak, and Lelang Tory will wake up since her room is just near the staircase.", another cousin replies.
Laughter fills the room, easing the grief, even if just for a while.
Three days pass. The candles burn low. Flowers are replaced every morning. Then, the day comes — Lucio's final journey.
The coffin is carefully lifted and placed in the van that will take him back to Tarlac, to be buried beside his wife.
Meric watches as the vehicle doors close, her hands trembling slightly.
Flora whispers beside her, "His wife... remember? She took her own life because of the debt she made out of Uncle's money."
Meric nods sadly. "Yes... maybe now they've finally found peace together."
The convoy slowly leaves Guardino, the sound of engines fading into the distance.
As the house grows quiet again, the cousins remain outside for a while — reflecting, talking, trying to understand.
Some whisper among themselves.
"Ammom niya (You know)," one cousin says cautiously, "I don't think Uncle Lucio died naturally."
"Anya kayat mo saw-en? (What do you mean?)" another asks.
"Well... he was healthy. And didn't he just argue with Junior and Rogie about the house?"
Flora frowns. "Haan mo ibaga ti kasta... hantay met ammo. (Don't say that... we don't know.)"
But others nod uneasily. "Still... strange, right? He dies alone. Suddenly. And they're the ones who wanted the house most."
The murmur spreads — quiet but sharp. Conspiracy lingers like smoke in the air.
Meric overhears them but says nothing. She simply looks at the old ancestral house — its cracked walls glowing faintly under the late afternoon sun.
"The restorer is gone," she whispers.
The wind stirs the curtains. A faint sound — like a hammer striking wood — echoes from inside, though no one is there.
And in that stillness, it almost feels as though Lucio is still within those walls — protecting the dream he never finished.