The Incentive She Needed

A single teardrop rolled down Caroline's cheek as she looked at the envelope in her hand. She closed her eyes, wiped the tear away, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Jessie, a second cousin by marriage who was also Gran-momma’s lawyer, left a voicemail last week to tell Caroline that Gran-momma’s estate had been settled and her inheritance had been mailed. The small, padded manila envelope had been the only piece of mail that day, face down as she pulled it out of the box, so she didn’t see the sender until she was in the house.

Caroline didn’t know exactly what her inheritance was supposed to be. She’d been invited out to Aunt Belinda’s last month for the will reading but couldn’t muster the courage to face the family and remind herself that Gran-momma was gone, so she told them she had to work.

Gran-momma didn’t have much of anything anymore anyway. She’d sold the old house after Gran-poppa died, and it was second-mortgaged at the time because of Gran-poppa’s medical bills. She’d given the old furniture to the kids or the grandkids when she moved in with Uncle Clarence’s family. Her only income was social security, some veteran’s survivor benefits, and some pension money. Maybe she had some life insurance, but that would probably go to pay off her own medical bills.

Whatever the inheritance was, it fit into a small envelope that didn’t weigh much in her hand. Even still, just seeing the name of Cousin Jessie’s firm on the return address, suddenly the weight seemed too much to bear. Caroline felt her knees begin to buckle and she slowly slid to the living room floor, leaning her back against the coffee table.

Gran-momma had always been a driving force in Caroline’s life. The strongest critic when criticism was needed, but also the loudest cheerleader. Gran-momma was like true-North, ready to hold Caroline’s hand and keep her on the right path “as she walked in the dark”. Gran-momma used to say that to remind Caroline of when she was little.

Caroline tried to give back some of that strength in those last days in the hospital, as Gran-momma said she was about to walk into the dark. Helping her eat to keep her strength up; reading to her to keep her spirits up; reminding her that Gran-poppa had gone ahead and would be there to hold her hand. And then Caroline came in on that last morning, ready to start reading Gran-momma a new story, and saw Aunt Belinda, Uncle Clarence, and Reverend Tanner standing together in the hall, consoling one another.

Almost two months gone, Caroline thought to herself. Next Saturday it’ll be two months. Time kept moving, even as Caroline felt herself standing still. She woke up every day, went to class, went to her job, came home. She turned in her assignments; she gave the customers back their correct change; she went through all the motions. She felt the time passing, but she couldn’t see it, couldn’t remember it. Caroline felt like she’d stepped into the dark, all alone, no hands to hold and was just continuing to feel her way around until she found the light.

Her cheeks were wet again from a river of tears Caroline would never have believed she had left inside her. She tried to remember when she’d last had something to drink. Coffee with breakfast, or maybe something else since then. But something had refilled her reservoir and was now spilling down her face. It was like Gran-momma had just died all over again.

Caroline had cried non-stop in those first few days. Being with family made her cry; being alone made her cry; the only time she was able to stop crying, it seemed, was when she cried herself to sleep. Even seeing the photos of family on her walls hurt, so she’d taken them all down for a while. In the weeks that followed, as she tried to go back to her daily routine, she was able to keep the tears at bay for short periods, but they always came back. Sometimes in class, sometimes at work, always when she saw or smelled or heard something that reminded her of Gran-momma.

And then one day she woke up and didn’t cry. Not one single tear the whole day. The next day, she didn’t cry again. She wasn’t aware of it in the moments, but later she realized that she’d kept herself so busy that she hadn’t thought of Gran-momma on either of those days. But then she thought of Gran-momma and then the tears came back. And now, holding this envelope in her hand, as another reminder that Gran-momma was gone, the tears came back again.

When she felt strong enough, she wiped her cheeks as dry as she could, rubbed her hands dry on her dress, and then pulled at the sealed end of the envelope. The first thing she saw was a check, with her name printed instead of written, in a very official manner. Behind the check, there were a few folded pieces of Gran-momma’s personal stationary. The scent of her favorite perfume drifted out from the envelope. Caroline wondered if this was a personal note from Gran-momma, or if Cousin Jessie or Aunt Belinda just decided to use up Gran-momma’s paper.

As she slipped the check and the stationary out onto the carpeted floor beside her, she realized there was something else in the envelope. With another shake, a small black notebook dropped onto the carpet. It was no bigger than Caroline’s hand, maybe fifty pages of lined, yellowed paper. Well worn. Obviously old.

Caroline picked up the notebook and turned it over in her hands. It too smelled of Gran-momma’s perfume, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about it. Just a simple little black book. She flipped quickly through the pages and saw Gran-momma’s handwriting had filled every page.

Setting the notebook back down on the floor, Caroline picked up the pieces of Gran-momma’s stationary and unfolded them. This, too, was written by Gran-momma’s hand and started “My Dearest Caroline, I know it must hurt something awful for you right now, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to hold your hand like I did when you were little.”

This spurred the memory of the summer vacations when Caroline was young and went to visit Gran-momma and Gran-poppa. She and Gran-momma used to walk in the evenings, holding hands as the darkness fell. Caroline was afraid of the dark back then, but Gran-momma helped her overcome that fear.

Caroline wiped more tears from her eyes so that she could continue reading.

“But you are stronger than you let yourself believe, and I have faith that you will find the strength you need when you need it.”

Caroline bowed her head until it touched her knees, and let the tears flow for a minute. Gran-momma knew her so well; knew she'd feel scared and weak and tired, like she’d been awake for days. She didn’t even feel like she had the strength to lift her head up and continue reading Gran-momma’s note, so she turned her head, still resting on her legs, until she could see the pages again.

“You were such a bright, imaginative child when you were little. You would run around the yard pretending it was some distant land you were exploring, and you used to make up the best stories about the people you would meet and the places you would go in your adventures. I tried to take notes in a little notebook, thinking you might enjoy looking back on them someday. But as you got older, you started spending more time reading other people’s stories and stopped imaging your own.”

Caroline remembered making up stories when she was little. She remembered having all kinds of fun with Gran-momma and Gran-poppa when she stayed with them. She also remembered how Momma and Poppa used to yell at her when she would make believe at home. She was always too loud or made a mess with her toys or was about to break something that was worth a lot of money. They always told her to go find a book to read and sit down and be quiet.

She flipped over to the back of the first page of Gran-momma’s note.

“I tried to coax your stories back out, but it seemed like you doubted you would ever be as good as those other writers. I still have that notebook, and I’ve looked through it a dozen times or more over the years, and let me tell you Caroline, you are a good storyteller”

There were three exclamation points and two underlines highlighting these last five words.

“You could write a hundred books, and people would line up to buy them. The stories still inspire me, and I hope they can inspire you after I’m gone.”

Gran-momma must have stopped at that point and continued writing the rest later, because the blue ink from the first page was replaced by black ink on the second page.

“I know you work part-time to pay your bills while you’re in school, and I’m sure that doesn’t leave much time to fantasize like you used to. But I believe you could be successful if you just had a little push and a little help. This note is the push, and your parents have assisted me in providing the help. I am leaving you some money in my will, which I hope should keep your bills paid while you to take some time off to rediscover your old talents.”

“With all my love, Gran-momma.”

Caroline let the note fall from her hand. She straightened up, wiped her face with both hands, and tried to slow her breathing again. Gran-momma was always the smartest woman she had known, but this didn’t make any sense. Caroline loved to read poetry and novels from almost any genre, but she had never considered being a writer. She wrote papers for school when she had to, and most of her teachers had praised her abilities, but that wasn’t real writing.

Picking up the little black notebook, she flipped through the pages again, slowly this time. It was Gran-momma’s handwriting, but not her typical “chronicle of current events” style. This was a fantasy story, written in a very disjointed manner, which Caroline recognized as her own speaking style as a child. Gran-momma seemed to be transcribing Caroline word-for-word.

She remembered some names here and there, like King Banele and Princess Lesedi and Ambassador Wilkinson. Caroline remembered that Wilkinson was the name of the principal at her elementary school, whom she liked very much. She remembered some of the actions and some of the consequences. But most of what Gran-momma had written in the notebook was strange and unknown, completely forgotten as the years had passed.

Closing the notebook and picking up Gran-momma’s note again, Caroline re-read it. It still didn’t make sense, but it was like Gran-momma’s dying wish or something. She couldn’t just ignore it. Gran-momma always knew the right path, even in the dark, so maybe this was something she should think about.

Setting the note down again, Caroline picked up the check. At first, she thought her tired eyes had blurred the numbers, making her see more zeros than were there. Gran-momma didn’t have that kind of money. After closing her eyes, rubbing them in her palms, and looking again, the number didn’t change. $20,000.00. Twenty thousand dollars and 00/100 cents. And her name printed on the line.

That was more than six months wages. Gran-momma had saved this notebook, and had somehow saved all this money, and seemed to be reaching out her hand, ready to help Caroline walk down another dark road. Caroline was unsure of the path, but she wasn’t afraid of the dark. Gran-momma had helped her conquer that fear a long time ago.