“Thank you for your time.” I abruptly hang up.
It’s becoming clear to me that Papa and Uncle Besnik might not want the police combing through their life whether it’s illegal stuff or not. I’m in the dark and I need to tread lightly.
I remember seeing things about the mafia in Sicily and a few years ago some judges were blown up. At my parents’ dinner parties, I would hear the guests talk about local elected officials and all of them rumored to be corrupt.
I don’t live under a rock for God’s sake. I can figure this out.
I will figure this out, I owe my father that much.
I decide there are other avenues to get things done and call the concierge.
“It’s all a blur, Uncle Bressy.” I call him by a nickname only I get to use because I’m particularly fond of him.
“I know, dear, get in, I’ll take care of everything,” he says, taking my bag while the driver holds open the door for me.
The trip is cut short and we’re leaving in haste, is an understatement. Besnik seems to be driven by a ghost. There’s no time for me to beat on official doors for answers and secretly I wonder if this is why he wants to leave now.
I slide into the warm van and place my Louis Vuitton tote bag on the seat next to me. It was my Christmas gift from Papa last year and, even though it was sold out, he still managed to find one for me.
I have a small collection of expensive handbags, the vintage Chanel bags being my favorite because they were my mother’s. Window shopping was one of our favorite pastimes. She was much better at it because I can be impulsive. When I find something I love, I buy it. Mama was more responsible and preferred quality over quantity. When Papa landed a big construction contract, he’d say, “Nothing is too good for my girls,” and let us splurge.
Now that I’m an adult and run a business, I can’t imagine how he afforded it. I’ve never been good with numbers, so I give my books to Papa and he has an accountant to balance the books and make sure my taxes are paid.
Our condo is nice but by no means is it the nicest one in the neighborhood, far from it as we’ve always lived modestly. My business is taking off and I’ll be okay. Well. . . I tell myself this, but with the unfortunate turn of events, I can’t be sure of anything.
Now is the time to ask the questions that got me nowhere this morning. I need someone who is more worldly than me to gather information and I’m not so sure who to turn to. Sure, Besnik is the most logical answer, but will he tell me the truth or tell me what he thinks will shut me up?
His large frame fills the bench seat as he slides in beside me. We flew here commercial but now, he’s chartered a jet so we’re flying home in luxury. I had no idea he could afford this and if he has the money, he’s the sort of guy that would do this for his friends, particularly under these circumstances.
“Thank you so much. I can’t deal with the hassle of the airport and all the lines and stuff this time of year. I’m just reeling. There are so many details and stuff I don’t know. Papa took care of everything.”
Even though I’m young, I’m beginning to realize how sheltered I am and that I don’t know the basics, like how much we owe on our condo or how much money Papa has in our bank account.
Papa booked things online and today you don’t need to do anything to check out of our room. Papa had credit cards and used them as this is an expensive vacation. I’m sure we’ll need an attorney to settle his estate. That’s one thing that is still done by most residents in our country. There are laws and procedures that are antiquated but if you don’t know to follow them, you could land in hot water.
It’s ridiculous if you ask me. The government always wants their cut and if they don’t get it while you are alive, they take it after you are gone, but I’m misplacing my anger.
I’m angry at Papa, angry he didn’t take better care of himself and angry he’s gone and I’m alone. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s the harsh reality I’ll have to live from this day forward.
“Look, we’ll sort it all out. It might take some time,” Besnik assures me. Although I believe him, there is an undercurrent of concern in his voice. The only other time he sounded like this was when he heard that Mama’s cancer had spread and was untreatable.
I’m not one prone to panic, but I’m pretty sure the pressure in my chest is the same as what my girlfriend Mila feels. She suffers from acute anxiety, and this is how she describes a panic attack.
Besnik is telling the driver which roads to take, which seems weird. I’m used to drivers knowing where they’re going without all the micromanaging. But I’m too preoccupied with my grief and new-found anxiety to question anything.
Instead, I stare out the window at the bleak day that sums up my mood, “I don’t know what I’d do without you being here.”
He pats my leg, in a paternal way, “It will be fine, it will all work out.”
The grey skies, the chance of rain, not snow, now that we’re at a lower altitude, and the lack of cars on the main road indicates people are staying inside.
“What if I can’t afford my place anymore?” I take a tissue out of my purse and dab my tears. I must look a fright and don’t need a mirror to know I have dark bags under my bloodshot and puffy eyes.
My stomach muscles ache from sobbing all night and I take a deep breath to stave off more tears, but I’m not sure it will work.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to stay where you are. We’ll have to talk to the attorneys, and we’ll get it taken care of, don’t worry. I will help you,” he assures me. I should be able to keep my business going with his help and there’s no reason we can’t remain close.
“Thank you,” I say, brushing my unruly hair away from my face and tucking my long bangs behind my ear before looking up at him.