Time and Fortune

This was a moment in time that I never wanted to face. That phone call from the nursing home where my grandmother had been fighting her battle with breast cancer was happening. Not wanting to answer and hear bad news, I let it ring at least five times before answering. Looking at the caller I.D. one last time, I pressed the button.

“Hello?” I said quietly. I peered out the window at the foggy landscape which was typical for winter in southern Oregon.

“This is Nurse Jane from Royal Care Nursing Home. Is this Barbara?” The voice on the phone was pleasant, but not overly. There was an uncomfortable feeling of dread which caused me to pause and hold my breath before confirming.

“Um, yes, this is Barbara. Is everything okay?” Stupid me. Why did I blurt that out? Of course, it probably wasn’t good news. I should have expected the next part of the conversation, but everything inside of me didn’t want to believe it would happen.

“Barbara, I’m sorry to say that your grandmother passed away about ten minutes ago. She went peacefully in her sleep. We’d given her medication to make her final moments easier since she’d been in a lot of pain. We’ve also notified your parents.” I felt that sinking feeling – you know, the one where your stomach drops to the bottom of your toes and you think you might throw up. Every emotion, every question came all at once into my head.

“Oh no! I didn’t think it would happen yet, at least not until I could get there to visit next week.” I stumbled for anything to say that would even remotely give a hint that I would have been there if I could.

“That’s okay Dear,” said the nurse, “your grandma knew how much you cared about her, and she told me that you were her favorite granddaughter. You can’t really predict these things. She just lost her will to fight anymore, and she was so weak and in constant pain.”

I choked back my tears to wrap up the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I’ll need to book a flight right away. I will ask my boss for an earlier leave since I’m the executor of her will.”

“It will be most helpful if you can come sooner than next week. There’s a friend from your grandma’s church who has volunteered to help with things the past two weeks. The woman has been feeding her cat at the old house, and she also wanted to keep an eye on that rose garden by the lake. Your grandma loved her prize-winning roses you know.”

“Yes, I do. I will see if I can be there by this weekend. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Not immediately. You can come collect her things after you arrive. I’ll also email you the address and phone number of the mortuary. You take care of yourself and we’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you for everything Jane. Bye.”

“Good-bye.” The phone call was over. That was that. How do you wrap your head around the death of your last living grandparent? Stupid cancer! It was too advanced, and she was too old for treatment. I decided to take a few minutes and gather my thoughts. As I called my parents, my throat tightened up and I felt my face flushing even before my dad answered. I gushed out a blubbering, “D- d -a -a -d …”.

I was able to book a flight for the next morning, and my boss was more than understanding. My firm handled real estate foreclosures and there were other receptionists that could step in upon my absence. Since my parents were too elderly to make the flight, my grandmother’s death would be handled in person, by me. They would assist me by phone with anything else that was needed. My grandmother was ninety-two years old at her passing, and my parents were in their early seventies with health issues of their own. I was pushing fifty years myself, and catching the red-eye flight was not exactly how I wanted to begin my day.

I arrived at Sea Tac airport in Seattle, Washington a little after eleven o’clock in the morning. Renting a mid-size passenger car from the closest lot, I drove out to Renton to my grandmother’s home on Lake Washington. It was a cute old place that I had loved visiting each summer as a kid growing up. My family would usually stay for a few nights. Grandpa would take us fishing in his boat, or we would feed the ducks bread out on the private dock at the shoreline. Grandpa passed away from a heart attack when he was only 60, so Grandma had lived in that old house for many years as a widow. She just couldn’t see why anyone would want to move away from such a beautiful spot on the lake.

Getting out of the car, I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and pulled it to the front porch. I knocked politely before squeezing the doorknob so that Grandma’s church-friend would not be alarmed. She was expecting me.

“Barbara! Come on in Honey and make yourself at home. I’m Mary.” She gave me a warm smile and a quick hug. She looked to be about my parent’s age, gray haired, and slightly plump. Her lipstick was bright pink, and she had on a plum pantsuit with matching earrings. I wheeled my luggage inside. She showed me to the guestroom and emphasized that she had freshly laundered the bedding and towels for my stay. Somewhere in the house, a clock rang 12 chimes. It was noon.

“Thank you, Mary,” I said, “it is so nice of you to look after Grandma’s things while she’s been ill. Where’s Misty?”

“She’s probably out cattin’ around like she does every day. She will meow at the door when she wants in.” Misty was a long-haired Persian cat that Grandma adopted as a kitten over ten years ago. “Your grandma said the cat was a life-saver because she was too lonely and she also needed a good mouser around the place.” Mary clapped her hands together like a mousetrap snapping shut.

“I’m sure the cat will miss her, but I’ll take her home with me to Oregon.” I smiled at Mary as she gathered her things to leave.

“Take care Barbara,” Mary said. “If you need anything from me, you have my number. I’m sorry about your grandma, God bless her soul. Ruth was so kind to me when my husband died a few years ago, and we’ve been very close friends after that. I will really miss her.” Mary pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. I gave her a hug and thanked her again.

Closing the door, I stopped to assess where to begin. The file cabinet and roll top desk were in her den, so I meandered down the hallway to the door. Opening it slowly, I paused before proceeding. The desk was covered in dust so I grabbed a rag, sprayed it with polish, and made a quick swipe over the top. When I rolled up the cover of the desk, there were exactly three things inside. A set of house keys, a banking checkbook, and a small black notebook.

I took hold of the notebook first because I thought maybe it held some pertinent information or maybe a journal of things she wanted done upon her death. When I opened it, I thumbed through its pages. Mostly it contained computer passwords, insurance information, and account numbers of her banks and retirement. There was also a glued-in picture of an antique clock that I had seen in her house that chimed every hour. Probably the one I’d heard when arriving today. No explanation though, just the photo.

I continued to work on balancing her checkbook, comparing the notes in the black book to the various paperwork in her file cabinet. I decided to take a break and make some lunch. Walking into the kitchen, I heard that antique clock chime once from downstairs where Grandmother’s bedroom had been. Slowly descending the staircase, I entered the door directly to the right after the last stair.

The sun shone brightly into the room through the opened blinds. Normally, that basement seemed dull and dark, but it gave a warm glow to the room which I was glad for. It was harder than I thought to walk into Grandma’s bedroom and see her handmade quilt on the bed and her clothes hanging in the closet. I walked to the dresser where the clock ticked and presented 1:05pm on the face. It was made of myrtle wood, painted black with gold embellishments. It had a white face featuring black numbers and clock hands. There was a glass cover protecting the face. My grandmother must have really treasured that old clock. Maybe it was a rare antique, and that is why she had put a picture of it in her black notebook.

I searched for it online. There was not anything extraordinary about the clock that I could find. I retrieved the dust rag from upstairs then carefully glazed the cloth over the top, around the front, and to the back of the clock. Next to it was a glass dish containing a silver key. I inserted it into the back of the clock and a small door unlatched. I swung the little door open to look inside. There was a paper inside that was neatly folded in eighths.

Unfolding the paper, I put my reading glasses on to see better. It was a shareholder’s certificate for stock that she and Grandpa had probably purchased years ago. The amount of the policy was for $20,000.00. I had always heard about elderly people hiding away important papers in mattresses, or behind pictures on the wall, so now I needed to find out why Grandma had shoved this paper away and only left a picture clue in the little black book. I decided to call the phone number listed on the document. After I followed automated instructions to press this button or that, I pushed “0” to speak with an agent.

“This is Michael Cummings. Please identify the last four digits of the social security number on this policy.” I quickly uttered the numbers. “And am I speaking with the owner of the policy, Ruth Anderson?”

“No, Ruth just passed away two days ago. This is her granddaughter, Barbara Morris, and I am the executor of her will.” My heart was racing because I wasn’t sure what the agent’s response would be.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that Ms. Morris. May I have your date of birth and last four numbers of your social then?” I carefully answered his questions which seemed to satisfy him.

“How can I help you today ma’am?”

“I just need to know about this stock,” I said.

“It’s simple, you are named beneficiary of her policy, so you will inherit the $20,000.00, plus any funds that have accumulated since her last dividend payout. Send me a copy of the death certificate, then we’ll mail you a check.” And that was that. Grandma had left me a small fortune!

I’ll never forget that day. Finding the picture of the old clock in the little black notebook, opening the lock to a hidden treasure, and the love shown by my grandmother in leaving me a wonderful inheritance. I will use this gift wisely for something I’ve been wanting for a long time, and maybe I’ll leave clues behind for my family to find it someday in a little black notebook.