“Come back to the apartment, read the letter, and we’ll go from there. How about that?”
55
Jada
I’m flabbergasted. And I feel guilty that Austin is doing all this stuff for me. He made things better for Shane. His jumping in might have even saved Shane’s life. In fact, I’m pretty sure it did. I sat there over beef wellington and spilled and spilled and then I left, and he started fixing things for me.
And there’s him being here for me with losing my dad. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it.
Back in the condo’s master bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, I lift up the file folder filled with Dad’s paperwork. Bank stuff. The deed to the house. He paid the mortgage off two years ago. There’s insurance stuff. Twenty grand in a savings account. Three grand in checking. The newspaper clippings about Mom. There were four stapled together from different newspapers. She had no ID on her when she was found and she died on impact, apparently an old lady hit her, losing control of her car during a rainstorm. Mom wasn’t dressed for the weather, had no umbrella.
Mom loved to walk in the rain.
She loved to walk in the rain and because of that, she died.
I open the envelope and I’m about to take the paper out when I see Austin move into the doorway.
“You want me here for this or you want to be alone?”
I’m always alone for everything. I always have been. Except for when I had Shane, but I never leaned on him, he always leaned on me. I lose everyone. Mom. Aunt Jade. Josh. Dad. How long before I lose Austin, too?
“Stay?” I request.
He sits down in front of me on the bed and puts his hand on my ankle, reassuringly moving his thumb back and forth.
Inside the envelope are five one-hundred-dollar bills and a note. I set the money on the bed and unfold the piece of paper.
Jada,
I know I’ve been hard on you and your brother but it’s not because I don’t care. I wasn’t raised to be an emotional man. My parents were already older and tired when I was born and maybe that’s why but it’s not in me.
I didn’t tell you about your mother because I didn’t want you to feel what I felt. I’d rather you had hope.
She didn’t love us enough. Only loved herself. And I couldn’t forgive her for it. Her ashes are in an urn in the back of my closet. I want to be cremated and want us to be scattered together at the lake we used to go to when you were small. You and your brother do it together when you can. Don’t rush.
I didn’t do many things right with you kids. Didn’t know how. It’s too late for apologies or to change anything so move on. Find some happiness if you can. Even if it’s just for a while. Life can be shit a lot of the time so find happy where you can. Even if it’s at a bar with your friends or in your driveway fixing an old car. Take it where you can get it.
Save the Mustang for Shane when he gets out. Give it to him only if he grows up enough not to wreck it wasted or sell it so he can blow the money on stupid shit. Sell the house and go back to college or do what you want with the money.
I want you to use this $500 to open a tab at the bar after my funeral for my friends to have a good night on me. Don’t spend a lot of money on the funeral. It’d be a waste. The rest of the money is yours. I saved your mother’s jewelry for you. She wouldn’t take it when she left us. Said it was for you. It’s in a hat box under my bed.
Love Dad.
I put the letter down and blow out a breath.
I don’t know how to feel.
That’s it.
It’s over.
And that’s the heartfelt letter I get from my father. Bitterness, bossiness, hopelessness?
This is why I was never allowed in that closet. Because her urn is there.
I get the impression the ink on this letter is only barely dry. It feels like he just wrote it. He must have, mentioning when Shane gets ‘out’. Did he give up on life? Maybe he gave up a long time ago.
“You okay?” Austin asks.
My eyes meet his blue ones.
And pain lances through me. I fall forward and he catches me.
I don’t cry. I think I’m done crying.
I close my eyes and sink into him.
Dad’s got some twisted beliefs and despite it all, he wants his ashes scattered with hers. I don’t even know what lake he’s talking about.
Dad is right about one thing - life can be shit a lot of the time. I’m going to just try to find some happiness where I can. Or comfort, if not happiness, because I can’t imagine pure happy when you feel like you’re on the verge of the end with somebody. And that’s how every moment with Austin feels. Like there’s happiness right in front of me but it’s right on the verge of ending.