The Gift

She found the book on his nightstand, after everyone had gone home.

The food had been wrapped up and put into containers in the refrigerator, the counters wiped, the cards arranged on the mantel, the last hug given, the front door closed. The clock ticking in the empty house had driven her upstairs. To check on the baby, she told herself, but really it was just to get away from the living room.

He was up here, too, though. His leather work shoes still peeked out from under the bed, his silver watch was reflected in the mirror on the dresser, his toothbrush was still standing in the mason jar in the bathroom, next to hers.

The baby was fine. She was sleeping in her crib under the blanket made by her grandmother, her back rising and falling almost imperceptibly, one hand curled near her cheek. The woman looked at her, seeing clearly for a moment the worn wooden crib, the flowered wallpaper over the bed, the water stains on the ceiling, the old steam heater which clanked and whistled and sometimes broke in the middle of winter.

It was the middle of winter now, but it wasn’t snowing, it was raining, a steady stream of grey water weaving pattens down the windowpane. She wandered over to his side of the bed. There were three things on the nightstand, in the dim light of the window: his horn rimmed reading glasses, a pen, and a little black book.

The woman stared at the book. She had never seen it before. It was bound in thin dark leather, and had water stains on one corner. The edges were worn and bent, as if it had been opened and closed many times. She reached out and picked it up.

There was an inscription on the inside of the cover, written in old, fountain-pen style black ink. The inscription said, ‘For you, whoever you may be. There is a gift inside this book. It is up to you to find it. You may use the gift however you wish. My only request is that before you do, you write down in these pages why you are choosing to use the gift, and why you truly have no other option.”

The woman frowned down at the words. They did not make themselves any clearer, so she turned to the first page of the book. The first entry was in blue ball point pen, and she recognized his handwriting.

She sat down slowly on the bed, and began reading.

January 17th, 1976

Ok so the guy in the wool coat went away. And now I guess I’m supposed to write something in here. I looked in the back, and sure enough, there was the ‘Gift,’ just like it says on the cover. Crazy. And that thing he said when he gave it to me, something about who I really am. Man, how am I supposed to answer that? I have no idea.

Well, here goes nothing. So why I want to use it today. I’m homeless right now. My aunt’s gone, and her house went to the bank, and I owe Billy like 500 bucks, and it’s damn cold outside. So I really don’t see what else I can do. Right?

Wait. What was the other thing I was supposed to write down? Right. Well…I guess I could die on the streets, like some of these people here at the center do, or I guess I could track down my dad, who would beat me up as soon as he saw me, or I guess I might just try to get a job for the hundredth time. What should I do?

The entry ended there. The woman lowered the book for a moment, staring at the date. It would have been about a year before they met. She shivered, and reached behind her for the old wool blanket on the bed.

She wrapped it around her shoulders and turned to the next entry.

February 12th, 1977.

Ok, so I met this girl. She’s really different. Her eyes…well ok. I don’t have time to describe her forever. But she’s an amazing person. And we’ve got a date. Valentine’s day. I really don’t want to screw this up. So that’s why I want to use the gift. To get a nice car, so she’ll take me seriously. But what if I need the Gift for something more important in the future? I don’t know.

The woman closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. He had shown up, that day, February 14th, riding a one-seater bike, which he’d turned into a two-seater by tying a plank onto the bar behind the seat. He’d tied a velvet pillow to the plank, and wired a candle to the handlebars, and the entire bike frame was covered in red roses. They'd had ham sandwiches by the river, sitting on his coat in the sand.

November 25th, 1977.

All right, so this time. I have the ring, and my good suit all packed, and we’re going to her parent’s house for Thanksgiving. But here’s what I’m thinking. What if, when I propose, I also have the deed to a new house in my pocket? Because even if she says yes, they might say no. You understand, right? This is it?

She remembered that night in the family room after dinner, how he’d come up to her in her chair and knelt on the floor and held up the ring in the box. How the room had erupted, her parents saying he had nothing to offer, they were too young, she was throwing her future away. She remembered the tiny, one-room apartment in the city they’d shared, both working two jobs. How she’d slept with his shirt when he wasn’t there.

January 1st, 1987

Well it’s been 10 years. And I haven’t used the Gift. All this time. All the bills, the two kids, the mortgage…we’ve made it, somehow. But this anniversary feels like a big deal to me. So I was thinking. Just one vacation…big hotel, spa treatments, heck, maybe even fly to another country first. What do you say? Should I? It’s not like I really need it for anything now. Or will in the future. Right?

They had loaded the old camper to the gills for that anniversary trip, she remembered, flip flops stuffed on top of bulging grocery bags of food. The boys swam in the ocean, they’d burnt marshmallows over the campfire and told each other stories, before climbing into their sleeping bags for the night. One of the boys had gotten a bee sting, and she’d put baking soda on it. The other one had learned to climb a tree.

April 22nd, 1989

She told me last night. Asked me what we should do. I honestly don’t know. The timing is terrible. I just got laid off. We haven’t been getting along that great. We already have two kids, and that school is expensive. We don’t need this right now. Thing is, when I lost my job we lost our insurance. So even if we decide not to go through with it, this is the only way. We can always have another kid, right? Please help me.

The woman closed the book for a moment, keeping her finger in the page to mark her place. She looked up at the small hand curled next to their daughter’s cheek, the rise and fall of her back, the tuft of black hair sticking out over the edge of the blanket.

It was hard to keep reading. But she did.

December 1st, 1990

This will be my last time writing in here. First, I want to say thank you, whoever you were, for giving me this book. I think I figured out the answer to your question. But today, I finally found something I can’t overcome. The chemo isn’t working. It’s ok though. Because I also found something worth using the Gift for.

Sweetheart, if you’re reading this, and I’m pretty sure you are… I’m sorry for not doing this earlier, because it sure would have made things easier. On the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t, now. I’m not going to make it till tomorrow. I can feel it. Please find the Gift in the back of this book, and use it however you see best. Thank you for everything. I love you.

She turned to the back of the book. There were many empty, lined pages after the last entry, and, pasted onto the back cover, there was an envelope.

She opened the envelope. There was a creased check inside, made out to “cash” for $20,000. It was uncashed.

She held the check in her hand, thinking about the bills sitting downstairs on the counter. The mortgage due next month. The car which would need replacing soon. The new clothes they all needed. All the times he could have used it, and didn’t.

She folded the check back up, and slid it back into the envelope. Then she uncapped the pen, dated the next page in the book, and wrote her own entry.

*

The girl at the homeless center stared at the back of the woman in the wool coat as she walked away.

“Wait,” said the girl, holding the book in her hands. “What are you giving this to me for? What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Look inside,” the woman said, “read the last entry.” Then she left.

December 2nd, 1990

Inside this book is a Gift. It was given to me by an amazing person. You can use it for anything you wish, but please follow the instructions inside the front cover. P.S. The best thing you can use it for is to find out who you really are.