“Right, then,” Harry said. “There are a few people mentioned specifically, all folks I’ve been able to track down easily enough. And then there’s just one name I haven’t been able to find. Has anyone heard of a Mr. Williams? There isn’t a first name here, which is why I’m having a hard time. She was supposed to get it to me but then... well, you know.”
“Williams doesn’t ring a bell,” Dad said.
“Well, hopefully he’ll come to me. Sometimes they do.”Harry opened a desk drawer and withdrew a pair of glasses, setting them on his nose and taking a deep breath. “All right. ‘I, Helen Louise Reaves, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath the following to my dear, dear brother and my sister-in-law: My remaining liquidated estate, after all previously mentioned articles have been properly distributed. To Sal especially I leave the Picasso and the Van Gogh, because I am sick of telling you not to touch them. Now you can touch them all you want, even though you know it will ruin the paint. And you can take whatever else you like, of course. It’s always been half yours anyway.
‘To Marisol: my 1953 Chevrolet Corvette, because I know you’ve always liked the red seats, and because out of everyone who ever drove it, you were the fastest. Although I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again now, for the last time, it’s kind of a shit car.
‘To my only nephew, Abe, I leave all my books and all my comic books and all my vintage science-fiction magazines, because he is the one who most loved them all. There are a lot of them, Abe, and I know you’ll treat them well.
‘And to my only niece, my wonderful Lottie, I leave my jewelry, my journals (don’t peek until I tell you!), and my laptop. And most important, I leave you these letters.’”
Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exactly like people do in movies when they’re trying to think of something to say.
My ears and cheeks were burning. I missed my aunt so much.
Harry reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick stack of letters. “She was especially particular about you getting these,” he said to me, and handed them over. I took them carefully, looking at the top one, which was addressed to me in my aunt’s familiar handwriting. They brought a stab of sadness to my chest. I held them hard in my lap, my fingers turning numb.
“Helen also made it clear that the four of you be allowed to take whatever you like from the Connecticut house, preliquidation. There are only a few exceptions, things she has bequeathed to other people, and I have taken care of them already,” Harry explained.
I’d been in Aunt Helen’s house a million times and no corner of it was off limits to me, but still the idea of rummaging through her things seemed like a massive invasion of privacy.
“The items she left to you specifically have already been removed. I have these for you—” He took four different-colored pads of sticky notes out of his desk drawer and handed them to my father. “Mark anything you want, and I’ll have movers deliver them to you. No rush, of course. You’ll let me know when you’re finished.” He smiled broadly, or as broadly as somebody can smile who is still clearly grieving the loss of an old friend. “Are there any questions?” he asked after a minute, when it became clearthat none of us were going to break the silence.
“I think we’ve got everything,” Mom said, sniffling. It seemed like we were all just taking turns. One of us would cry and then another would punch in to give them a little break. I wondered when the cycle would end.
“In that case, I just need a few signatures,” Harry said. We stood up and formed a crooked line to his desk, signing and initialing everywhere he pointed.
It was a lot of paperwork, dying.
“Thank you so much for this,” Dad said when it was his turn. He shook Harry’s hand and then hugged him. They patted each other on the back for a long time as the three of us tried to figure out some other place to look.
“Helen meant the world to me,” Harry said, pulling away finally, tearing up again. “The absolute world. And you all meant the world to her. So it’s nice to be able to help you along in this process. It’s the very least I can do.”
I watched Abe inching toward the door, probably anticipating more hugs. He held his cup of coffee in front of him, as if it could protect him.
In the parking lot we all stood around the car awkwardly, not wanting to get inside maybe, enjoying the spring air. It was April and dry so far, sunny and bright and clear.
I was still clutching the stack of letters. My family stood around, talking about where to get lunch, but their voices blended into the background, became unintelligible noise.In addition to my name, the top letter had a carefully printed number one. And underneath that,Open now!
“Lottie? Sandwiches?” Dad asked, the sound of my name snapping me out of my concentration.
“Can I have just a minute?” I asked.
“Take however long you need,” Mom said. The three of them got in the car, and I walked a few yards away, to a little metal bench.
I sat down and realized I was shaking. The letters were tied together with twine. Thick, creamy stationery. My aunt loved paper, pens, ink. My name was written on each envelope, with a number from one to twenty-four, in all shades of blues and greens and purples and golds. Fountain pens for every day of the month. She wrote the first drafts of her novels by hand.
Shaking still, I opened the first envelope.
My dearest Lottie,
I hope that wasn’t too bad. I told Harry to have coffee for you because I’ve never seen a family drink so much of it, and I wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. I hope you’re happy with everything I’ve left you. Fifty percent seems like a lot to donate to charity, but let’s be honest, I have a LOT a lot. So you’re still left with a lot.
This isn’t as easy as I’d hoped. I sat down over an hour ago to write this to you, and so far I’vewatered all the plants, hung my laundry out to dry, emptied the dishwasher, and rearranged one already perfectly organized bookshelf. And here I am. Two measly paragraphs written, and I haven’t said anything important at all.
All right. Here goes.
I think you’re the absolute ace, kid. I’ve watched you and your brother grow up from cute little babies to bright young adults before my eyes, and although I would stay and watch you continue to grow and learn forever, alas: that isn’t in the cards for me.
