NOW!

The sun would soon be peaking over the horizon as Charlie Henry walked laboriously down toward the beach. A paper cup of black coffee and a walking stick to steady his steps, were his only companions. Still, he was determined. He would watch the sunrise over the sparkling Atlantic before the two-hour drive home to the city. It wasn’t far, but it might as well have been half way around the world. It was the first time he had gone more than 20 miles in any direction since the death of his wife Maggie. She had always wanted to travel and he had promised her the world. A passing wave of guilt pressed down on Charlie like a knife. He pushed it aside and picked up the pace, ignoring the pain. Around the next corner he would be able to see the ocean, stretched out before him like an endless canvas of blue. Navigating past a high rise of luxury condos, he paused long enough to look up and wonder. “I bet the view from up there is grand. If I was staying here, I could just sip my coffee and watch the sunrise with Maggie. She would like that." But of course, that would be expensive. His hotel was several blocks away. Cheap room, cheap coffee, cheap view.

He trudged on more slowly now, as his feet hit loose sand. He had not worn sandals, so his work boots would have to do. Work. He would be back at the Law Offices of Killian and Foster tomorrow morning at 8:00 am sharp. Doing his job. One he had come to loath. He had never really thought about hating work before. It was just work. But now, with Maggie gone, everything seemed foggy, and he didn’t know what to do next. So, he had come to the beach. Strange. He was not an impulsive person.

Then he saw it. The first few rays of sunlight peaking over the edge of the churning water that appeared to never end. The sand was smooth and clean from the high tide during the night, with seashells scattered about. It was quiet. He stood perfectly still taking it in and thinking to himself, why am I here?

Charlie turned with slumped shoulders and head down, shuffled back, following almost the exact same path along the gray sand. He pretended to himself that the sand was as black as coal. He knew there were beaches somewhere with black sand. Maggie had talked of places in the world with such exotic views. He didn’t remember the names of any of them. Sadness gripped him and nearly brought him to his knees. And that’s when he saw it. A plastic bag half buried in the sand. His grief turned immediately to anger. This beach may not have coal black sand, but he would NOT allow trash to diminish the magnificent sunrise he had come all this way to see. He leaned down on his walking stick to grab the bag and pull it free. He would throw it in the trash on his way back and then be on his way. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to think anymore. As he tugged, he realized that here must be something else. With a tight grip, Charlie managed to pull the wet, sand covered bag from its burial spot. To his surprise, a small black notebook was tucked carefully inside. Charlie expectantly pulled out the notebook. “It’s like buried treasure!” he thought. Excited at this revelation, he quickly shook the edges of the book, thinking something interesting or valuable might fall out. Nothing happened. “Figures! Fits with the rest of my life!” snapped Charlie.

He walked more quickly now, anxious to depart the beach, forgetting the sunrise and everything else that was plaguing his mind. Just get back to work. That’s all! He saw a trash can at the edge of the sidewalk that would lead him back to his truck. He readily tossed the notebook toward the garbage as he passed. Just missing the top of the can, it fell back at his feet. He stomped on it with a vengeance even he did not understand. A page from the center of the book came loose and stuck to the bottom of his wet, sandy boot. Irritated, he pulled the soggy page from his sole ready to leave it there when he noticed one written word. NOW! “Now?” Charlie questioned. “Now, what? What does THAT mean?” He picked the notebook off the ground in a desperate search for more clues. Nothing. One word. One word written in the middle of a black notebook, buried in the sand. And that word was “NOW”. If Charlie had come here looking for answers, he certainly had not found any. Only more questions and confusion. The seeds of doubt and grief crowded around Charlie’s heart, as he forced himself to quickly walk the last few blocks. He did not notice that the beautiful sunny horizon he had relished only a short time ago, was suddenly turning dark and ominous, as storm clouds rolled in over the water. Darkness matched only by his despair.

Charlie collapsed, exhausted on the seat of his old truck. He tossed the now tattered notebook onto the floorboard. Out of sight, out of mind. Now. Now. Now! That’s what I want to know. “What do I do now?” he screamed at no one. Broken and shaking, Charlie cranked the engine and tore out of the parking lot of the cheapest hotel in town. He was not sad to see it shrink in his rearview mirror. He should have done something else with his life. He had spent his working days as a janitor at the Law Offices of Killian and Foster. For the whole of his life, he did not remember ever hating being a janitor. That would probably shock most people, but it was true. So why now? There was that word again! Maggie had deserved more. She never said it, but he knew it. He felt it in his bones. How much? How much would have been enough to take her to see the black beaches? He had no idea. $5,000? $10,000? Janitors did not go on exotic trips, but lawyers did. They hung pictures in their offices that Charlie saw when he was cleaning. He had heard the conversations among themselves when planning exclusive vacations. Charlie paused. He had heard other things too. Information. Information that would probably be worth way more than $10,000 to some. A janitor was invisible. No one noticed when he quietly slipped into a room to empty the trash. No one paid attention when they were on the phone and he came in to sweep or pick up dirty dishes. But he was there. Listening. He knew plenty. He had never once processed using this information to his own gain. He knew his place and it was in the cheap hotel, three blocks from the beach. But now? NOW? Maggie deserved better. I am sure that $20,000 would be enough. Surely that could take her anywhere her heart desired! “I'll do it! It must be what the message in the notebook is telling me!” Charlie yelled!

He was sweating profusely and driving faster than he should. The clouds had caught up with him and were beginning to douse the road with a driving, cold rain. Charlie turned the wipers up to full speed but his old truck was not in the best shape. He had neglected it, as he had neglected many things, including Maggie. It needed new tires, new wipers, a new owner. Charlie started to cry. Sobs wracked his body. It was too late and he knew it. Even if he could manage the courage to blackmail one of the lawyers, to what end? It would not make any difference now. NOW...that horrid word again. Maggie was gone and that was the end of it. He pulled himself up in the seat to be able to see through the front window. It was fogging badly and he could barely see the road. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. He almost didn’t recognize the person there. Raw, red eyes, sweat covered brow, bulging veins! This is not me. This is NOT who I am! Now...it is time to move on. Now!

Charlie didn’t hear it. The sound of screeching tires, breaking glass, and crushing metal. Charlie didn’t see it. The sight of vehicles colliding.

Braxton Foster looked at the paperwork laid out on his desk for a third time that morning with a puzzled brow. He still didn’t understand how an entire office of lawyers could overlook a detail of such importance. At this point, there was not much to be done. When their office janitor of more than 20 years died unexpectedly in a car accident, the job of finalizing his arrangements had been left to him. It was the least they could do, he was told. Braxton had quickly realized that he knew very little about Charlie Henry. Did he have children? A will? A favorite charity? Who knew? What was discovered is that Charlie had taken out a small life insurance policy when he had started work at Killian and Foster. At the time, he had named the beneficiary as Margaret Henry. Unfortunately, Maggie had passed away just a few months before Charlie and since that time, nothing had been changed on the documents. Now it fell to Braxton to find a place for any remaining funds.

The door to Braxton’s office opened abruptly, and the sight of Sylvan Killian, known to his coworkers as “Sly”, still made Braxton stop cold. Sly had gone up the ladder of success quickly, taking Braxton with him, but not without the occasional questionable deal. They had been careful. No one knew what had gone on behind closed doors, but still. Braxton looked down again at the paperwork of Charlie Henry. What would it have been like to live a quiet, stress-free life, like that of Charlie? He doubted he would ever know.

“Braxton!” Sly billowed. “You still fretting over the case of Charlie Henry? Give it up! He was just a janitor! No one cares! He had no will, no beneficiary, so the money goes to his estate. If you can’t find anyone to claim it, then it goes to the government. It can’t be much anyway. We barely paid him a living wage!” Braxton grimaced. It was true, though they could easily have paid him twice the salary without noticing a difference to their profits. “If it makes you feel better, you can doctor the paperwork to make me the one who inherits the estate. My wife has been bugging me to take her on a vacation. Has her heart set on some exotic place with a black beach. And you know, we can’t stay just anywhere! We need the penthouse, with a view of the ocean. That will set me back a bit. And of course Braxton, if it’s enough, I’ll even take you and Laura along!” Sly bragged. Braxton shuddered. He didn’t want to take another one of those trips, bought by money, ill gained. But he knew that Sly would have his way, as always. He was brought back from his thoughts with a start as Sly pressed him. “Come on Braxton! Don’t be like that! We deserve it. We work hard. How much can I expect to “inherit”? How much money did good ole’ Charlie get, that he can gladly pass on to me? How much? I need to make my reservations! Tell me, NOW!”

Braxton relented, shuffling the papers on his desk once again until he came to the desired information. He looked straight at Sly with the slightest of smiles. “The amount that Charlie received was $20,000.”