Moving Forward

The beeping of medical equipment and buzzing of cold white fluorescent lights were deafening for Max as he sat in the hospital waiting room. Staring off into space, he wondered what was so urgent that he needed to come in. The staff seemed to move chaotically, and nobody seemed interested in explaining it to him. He had come to terms with the current state of his father months before but figured this might’ve be a sudden turn for the worse. A younger doctor appeared through the swinging double doors looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He flipped open the chart and skimmed for relevant information.

“Mr. Sommers?” He asked, to a room devoid of anyone apart from Max.

Max looked up. The doctor carefully approached as if he was weighing up his options on how to deliver the news.

“Mr. Sommers, I’m so sorry. Your father… he passed away in the night.”

Without saying a word, Max stood up and walked to the window.

“Mr. Sommers? I know this must be a shock, but your father was not a well man. We did everything we could.” The doctor said sympathetically. Max slowly turned back towards the doctor and looked him in the eye.

“Did he say anything… before he passed?” Max asked, unsure of what to expect. The doctor paused for a moment and frantically poured through the chart.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t working this floor last night so… I’m not sure. Let me ask the nurses.” The doctor fled through the double doors. Before Max could sit back down, the doctor re-emerged with a young female nurse by his side.

“Janice, would you mind telling Mr. Sommers here what his father said last night?” The doctor said slightly hurried and panting.

“Mr. Sommers… your father, Archie- “She began, before being cut off by Max.

“Archie?” He asked out of pure confusion. The man they were referring to would never be caught dead going by Archie. He always insisted on “Archibald” by everyone who knew him. He felt it was distinguished.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sommers. Your father asked us to call him Archie. He did not say much last night. He was very tired. He only said that he hoped to see you soon.” Janice said, unwittingly hitting a nerve.

“He hoped to see me?” Max thought to himself, processing this information. This was Archibald Sommers, the man who made icebergs seem warm and comforting. Commanded a room with just his voice and ran his company like a well-oiled machine. This was all too bizarre for Max to comprehend.

“Uh… I’m gonna go…” Max said still in shock. “Is there anything I need to fill out or…?” He continued as he approached the door.

The doctor jumped in. “We were to notify you in the event of your father’s death and direct you to his lawyer. Here are the directions.”

Later that day, Max stepped out of Rubenstein, Weller & Young, a high-end downtown law firm, with an envelope, a cheque and a little black book. The lawyer explained to Max that most of the estate was going to him, albeit a sizeable percentage would be taken to pay for taxes, debts and lesser inheritances to extended family. The board of his father’s company was like a giant automaton, requiring little from Max and providing him with dividends for the foreseeable future. He would never have to work ever again if he wanted to. The initial cheque was for $20,000, a start-up fund for Max to do with what he wanted. He would receive a cheque every month totalling that amount from his inheritance, a safety net put in place to stop him from blowing his entire inheritance.

Max had a private car waiting for him, ready to drive him to his father’s old house in Mansion Row. He resented that place. It was a testament to the isolated and cold demeanour of his father. It felt alien to him. The trip was long, and it gave Max plenty of time to think. He remembered his life up to that point as he had done many times before. He remembered his mother. Max lived in a modest house with his mother after she divorced Archibald, right up until he left for college. Halfway through his undergraduate degree, he received a call from the hospital that his mother had been diagnosed with stage four metastatic breast cancer. It was terminal. Max did his best to make sure she was comfortable and happy in her final weeks but had to sit and watch as the life slowly leeched from her body. The trauma broke him. He didn’t even attend her funeral. He dropped out of college and became more and more hermitic. That’s when his father took notice.

Archibald Sommers was a stern old man. He believed in a stiff upper lip and powering through your issues. However, when it came to Max and the agony he was experiencing at the time, Archibald made an exception. He called Max one night and invited him to a private bar to talk. Max initially refused, but eventually relented as he had run out of alcohol. Max arrived at the unmarked door to the bar and knocked three times. The slide opened with a pair of vicious looking eyes staring at him.

“Password?” The voice boomed from behind the door. Max nervously recited the password. “Uh… Mockingbird.”

The door slid open and Max was invited in. The bar was very old. Polished wood adorned with brass accoutrements and vintage signs, Max vibed with the aesthetic. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father sitting at the booth against the back wall. It had been 10 years since he saw Archibald and noticed he had aged terribly. Max sat himself down across from Archibald.

“Max.” Archibald said in his signature disagreeable tone.

“Archibald.” Max replied in kind.

“What are you drinking?” Archibald asked as he signalled the barman. “I’m having scotch.”

“I’ll have one of those.” Max replied. Archibald changed his signal to two. They looked at each other for a few moments, slowly getting more and more awkward. Eventually, Archibald made the first move.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.” He said hesitantly. Max was taken aback by this sudden vulnerability.

“Oh?” Max replied. The barman walked over the two scotch glasses.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about your mother.” Archibald sighed. “It’s a damn shame.” He took a swig of his drink.

Max began to feel angry. “Is it? How would you know what level of shame it is? It seems anything that looks to be a future shame, you cut out of your life.”

Archibald was caught off guard. He didn’t expect his genuine attempt to sympathise with his son to end in an attack. “Max, I’m not sure where this is coming from, but believe me, you’re misunderstanding what I’m saying.” He said calmly.

“You weren’t there. You didn’t care. You didn’t see her die right in front of your eyes!” Max said with restrained fury. He downed his scotch without breaking eye contact. The dark rings around his eyes more pronounced as his face became more and more red.

“Now hang on a minute!” Archibald retaliated. “How on earth do you think your mother afforded all those treatments, Max? If you remember back, she didn’t even have a job! I supported both of you well longer than I had to. Don’t you think it’s weird how you never received an invoice for college? Or a medical bill?”

Max was shocked. He hadn’t considered any of it.

“Look, I’m sorry…” Archibald started, but Max’s anger got the better of him.

“I don’t know if you consider things beyond dollars and cents… but money is no substitute for someone’s love.” Max said with tears welling in his eyes. “I’m not sure why you brought me out here but if it was to piss me off, well then mission accomplished!” Max stood up and stormed out of the bar.

That night played on a loop in Max’s head for the rest of the car trip. It was the last time he saw his father. He looked down at the envelope enclosed with the deed to the mansion and the little black book. Beautiful leather binding, crisp, undamaged pages tightly packed in a pristine elastic closure. Max hadn’t paid it any attention but was now intrigued by it. What was it? A manifesto, a series of clues to buried treasure, or perhaps it was just the final scrawling of an Alzheimer’s patient? The car pulled into the long driveway of the mansion. The lawns were perfectly cut and trimmed, and the gardens were in bloom. Red, pink and yellow roses dotted every bush from the entrance of the property to the front door. The car pulled up. Max looked up at the giant building that loomed over him. Exiting the car, he collected his things off the back seat and grabbed his bags from the trunk.

Max entered the front door of the mansion and was in awe at size of the place. This was the first time he had stepped foot in this house and was utterly astounded. The mansion felt rich with history. He walked through to the house to the back pavilion, overlooking the hectares of land that he now ruled over. It was overwhelming. Max sat down at the outside pavilion table, trying to gather his thoughts. He dumped out his coat pockets onto the table and was greeted again by the little black book. He picked it up and inspected it again. It was unmarked, almost brand new. He slowly pulled off the elastic enclosure and opened the front cover.

To my dearest son Max,

I hope that in time you will accept and forgive my past indiscretions. My whole life has been based on the notion that making your feelings known was prohibited and as such, I never knew quite how to communicate with you. I have journaled everything I’ve wanted to say to you for years and left it with my lawyers in the event of my death, so it can rightfully be delivered to you.

Please know that despite my inability to connect with you on this earth, my thoughts and feelings in this journal may bring you solace in the darkest of times.

You are so much stronger than I was. Take what is yours and make the most out of this life. I wish you the best of luck and I love you.

Love,

Dad.

Teardrops began to dot the page. Max had not cried since hearing about his father’s passing and was now suddenly wiping away tear after tear. It was the closest he had ever felt to his father and was the first time he ever saw his father in this light. He looked out over the rolling hills and everything that he owned. For the first time in forever, Max felt unburdened.