An Empty Life

Settling the estate was more complicated than Mike had expected. It was a full month after his father’s death before he was back in the lawyer’s office for the last time, waiting to hear the final amount his father had left him. The lawyer opened the sealed envelope with agonizing slowness, as Mike’s heartrate soared. It’s fine, he reminded himself, taking a breath. Everything had already been taken care of; the lawyer would hand him the cheque, and he would continue on with his life. He would forget about his father once again. There was nothing to be nervous about. Whatever else his father had been, he had worked every day of his life, and Mike knew he had at least been left a decent inheritance. Hopefully it would be enough to buy a new car and pay off the house, to start.

At least he would get that from his father.

“So, Mike,” the lawyer was saying, “as you know, there were a lot of other claims on your father’s estate. His business hadn’t been doing well in recent years, and he had a lot of other debts. Luckily for you, with the house and other assets, there was enough money to cover those debts and still leave something to you.” Other debts?

He held the cheque out to Mike across the desk. Mike took it with a shaking hand, his heart racing. He took a deep breath, then read the number typed on the cheque.

$20 000.00

A crush of disappointment washed over him, followed by a wave of anger.

“That’s it?” He asked, incredulously. “You’ve made a mistake. Where’s the rest?”

The lawyer looked at him sternly.

“Like I said Mike, your father had a lot of debts to cover. You’re lucky you’re getting a cheque; you almost got more debt.”

“How can this be right?” Mike yelled, anger taking over. He jumped to his feet. “My father worked – he worked every day! Every day! How can this be all he had?"

“I’m sorry Mike. That’s all there is.”

Mike tossed the crumpled cheque into the car, breathing heavily. He got in after it and slammed the door. How could this be right? He slammed his fists on the steering wheel. It wasn’t even enough to buy a new car, let alone pay off the house.

He wanted to scream. $20 000.

It wasn’t that his father had been a cruel man. The few memories they shared had been alright. But that was the thing; there were so few. Having finally given up on getting attention or love from his father, Mike had always believed that he would at least get a good inheritance from him.

He thought of the day he realized that was all he’d ever get from his father; it was his high school graduation, and his father had had to work at the last minute, as usual. Until that exact moment, he’d always hoped his father might change someday; if Mike worked hard enough, did well enough, his father would finally notice. But he never did, and four years later at his university graduation, Mike was unsurprised, yet strangely still hurt, to see his father hadn’t come. Since then, they had barely spoken, and rarely seen each other.

And now his father was dead, his estate settled, and all his work whittled down to $20 000.

Mike stopped outside his father’s house. It looked the same as he remembered, although more run-down since the last time. Of course, that had been almost 15 years ago. Inside was the house of a stranger. There were no pictures, no personal touches. At least that would make it easier to clean out.

Walking through the house only made him angrier. His mother’s things had been cleaned out years ago, mere days after her death; there wasn’t even a picture of her. He passed his old bedroom; it had been turned into an office the week Mike moved out, and everything he’d left behind was thrown out. All this time later, Mike was still angry about that. He moved to his father’s bedroom; the movers would be here soon.

By 7:30 that night, the house had been cleared of furniture and everything else, and Mike was alone again. The only thing left was the bedroom closet. He hauled out armfuls of outdated suits, throwing them onto the floor. Jackets, dress shirts, shoes. My inheritance, he thought with a grim chuckle, looking down at the pile he’d made. He shoved the clothes roughly into several garbage bags, then looked back at the empty closet. One small chest at the back was the only thing left. Mike sighed. He’d cleared out every nook and cranny of this house, and not found one hint of the person who used to live here. This was the last place; maybe here, there would be something.

He tore open the top drawer. Pens, loose papers, and oddly, a bible sat jumbled inside. He threw the papers aside and opened the bible – maybe there would be something here. After flipping through the pages for a moment, it was clear it had never been opened, and was just as empty as the rest of the house – and the man who’d lived here. He tossed the bible aside too.

He opened the last drawer, hardly daring to breathe. He was half-scared of what he would find. Surely, if there was any clue in this house about who his father had been, it had to be here.

The drawer was empty, except for a small black notebook. He lifted it with a shaking hand. Was this his father’s journal? He stared at it for a moment, unable to open it.

Slowly, he opened the notebook and flipped to the first page, his heart racing again.

It was an inventory list. Breathing hard, Mike flipped through a few more pages. Contact numbers, prices, new business ideas – it was all about work.

With an angry growl, he threw the book against the bedroom wall as hard as he could. He grabbed the small chest and heaved it out of the closet too, tossing it towards the door. It hit the wall with a satisfying crash, leaving a dent.

Mike found himself on his knees, his hands gripping his own hair. Anger and disgust pulsed through him; how could anyone be like this? Not one thing in this house showed that the owner had even had a son. He should have expected it; it was proof of what he’d always known. His father didn’t care about anyone or anything except his work. Not even his own son.

“Why do I even care?” he yelled to the empty house. He’d given up on his father 15 years ago. There was nothing to mourn; they had never had a relationship. So why did it hurt so much?

Finally, he calmed down enough to stand up and look around. He would have to fix that dent before the new owners got the house; they would definitely notice. He’d clean up the garbage first. He picked up the spare pens and papers he’d strewn around the floor, and reached for the damned black notebook.

He stopped. It had bounced off the wall and flipped open to a new page. A picture of a baby was taped to the page, with the date written neatly below. What was this? He dropped the armful of garbage, and carefully picked up the notebook again. He’d seen the picture before; it was his first birthday. He turned the page. The back of the page was a letter.

Dearest Michael,

Happy first birthday Son.

You are growing so fast. We’ve known you for one year today, and we have so many more to look forward to. Soon you will be old enough to come with me on my business trips, and you and your mother can explore the city while I work, and meet up with me when I’m done for the evening. Won’t that be fun?

I’m on one of those now, so I can’t see you on your birthday. I miss you so much. Don’t worry – when I get home, your mother and I will take you to the beach to celebrate.

You are only one year old, so I don’t think you understand the importance of a birthday yet, or that you will miss me on this one. I promise I’ll never miss another.

I’ll see you soon.

Mike finished reading the letter, then shook his head incredulously. Never miss another? He’d never been to a birthday party, that Mike could remember. He sat on the floor, reading through the rest of the book. There were six more letters, written to him within the journal. Why didn’t he ever show them to me? Most talked about the future, and all the things they would do together, when Mike was old enough.

Dearest Michael, I can’t wait to take you to Disneyworld when you’re older.

Your mother and I can’t wait to try camping with you this summer.

Soon you’ll be tall enough to go on the good rides at the fair, and then we’ll go.

Empty promises, every one. The last page of the book was another list.

-go camping with Michael and Sharon.

-go to Disneyworld

-take Michael to the movies

-take Michael to his grandparents for a weekend

The list went on and on. But they had never done any of these things. They’d never gone on one family vacation, or gone to his grandparents for a weekend. It was always “someday”. “Someday” when he wasn’t busy. “Later” when he was done work. Those days never came.

Sitting on the cold floor, surrounded by his father’s failed plans, Mike was forced to think about his own life. Sara had wanted to take the kids to Disneyworld for years. He always told her they’d go later. She’d wanted to go to Niagara Falls since before they were married; he’d told her someday then too. She’d been asking him to come home earlier at night for the past year; he was always too busy.

He sighed.

“My book will be filled with memories, not plans.” He said quietly to himself. He took the book with him when he left that night.

He got home late, but the kids were still awake, waiting for him. Squeals of ‘daddy!’ greeted him as soon as he walked in the door; then two creatures had themselves wrapped around his knees. His wife joined them at the door, giving him a long kiss.

“How did it go?” she asked gently.

“It – it was good, actually.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Okay, kids. Time for bed. No, I said you could stay up until your father got home. Dad has to work tomorrow.” She started to herd them to their room, but Mike stopped her.

“Actually, I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m going to take some time off - I think we should go on a family vacation.”

“What?” Sara’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around his neck. The kids jumped onto his legs again, and for a second he almost fell.

“It’ll be good for us to spend some time as a family together.” He whispered into her hair.