Gain Through Loss

He sighed, settling further into the worn leather of the old couch. A quick glance down at his watch, then up to the clock ticking away on the wall confirmed that he was still five minutes early. Another sigh, another shift in position. Waiting was not one of his strong suits.

Finally, when the hands of the wall clock pointed out 2:01, the door creaked open and the imposing lawyer walked into the room. They had met a few times in the past, and he was always impressed by how well put together she was. Attractive, certainly, but a better word for it would be composed. Everything about her appearance had a purpose, from the shiny pointed black heels that clacked on the wood floor to the tight ponytail her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back in. She exuded confidence and intelligence. It was everything he felt that he lacked, and suddenly felt self conscious.

“Thank you again for making time in your schedule to meet with me.” He started as she made her way to her desk and instantly began browsing through the various files strewn about.

“Mmm.” She responded, not looking up from her task. “I am sorry about your loss. Your father was a great man.”

The lump was back in his throat. It was hard to swallow. He wasn’t particularly that close with his dad as the years had passed, so he couldn’t make sense of why this was affecting him so much. Death was funny like that. In this situation he knew it was just a matter of time. The sickness had raged on for so long, took all of his dad’s strength and semblance of the man he had been. He’d made his peace and gave his goodbyes. Looked in the eyes he no longer recognized and lied that his father had been a great dad. He thought he would be okay with it. Never expected the news to hit him with a wave of grief that refused to subside.

“Ah yes, here we go!” She exclaimed, holding the manilla folder up in the air. “Your father was actually in a few weeks ago to add a codicil to the will. Apparently it was something that he was too afraid to say in person, figured it would be best left until his passing.”

He opened his mouth to make a sound of acknowledgement but it ran wordlessly dry. He simply nodded instead.

She slid a pair of glasses on to the bridge of her nose and read aloud from the file. “To my son, I leave the last of my monetary fortune, which has dwindled over the years to a modest sum. I also leave him an explanation.”

He could feel his brow tighten in confusion, and it clearly showed on his face. “In summary, you’re getting about $20,000 from your father’s estate. It’s everything he has left. He also left you this box last time he came in, which apparently holds your explanation. He didn’t offer details and I didn’t ask. The money will be transferred to your account from his estate in the next few days.” She handed him the cardboard box that had been hastily taped shut and politely escorted him from her office.

He made the short journey to his car and slid into the driver’s seat. His nails made short work of the tape, but his fingers hesitated. What did his father feel the need to explain? What was so secretive that it couldn’t have been discussed while he was still living? Why was this something that he only decided was worth sharing a few weeks ago?

Multitudes of emotions accompanied his racing thoughts. Anger, resentment, worry, sadness, guilt, rage, loss.

A deep breath to steady his nerves, and he opened the flaps of the box. There lay a lone, small black notebook. There were signs of wear along the spine and signs where some pages had been ripped out and hastily returned to their place. The supposed answers to all the questions he didn’t know he should have asked. He picked it up, caught a whiff of his dad’s cheap cologne lingering on the paper, and opened the cover.