Page 6 of Learning at 40

“He explained to me the four points needed to be recalibrated every year.” Four Points is the name of our collaboration. We originally had the concept when we were young, full of hope and shit, and probably drunk. As an architect, Logan would design homes while Mason would build them. Ben would decorate the outside with his landscaping genius, and I would keep us out of legal trouble. Last summer, Mason reminded us of that college-aged conversation, and after some apprehension, we signed on together to fulfill our lost dream. We’re a little shaky in our first year, but we have promise. I like the direction we’re going in.

“So, he left an envelope for north.” Autumn stands and holds up an envelope.

“Ben was our North,” Mason hisses, glaring at Autumn.

“What?” Anna asks, staring up at her sister-in-law expectantly.

“The house is True North, leading everyone home. That’s how Ben saw this place.” Autumn pauses to hold the envelope higher. “This one will go to Archer.”

Archer?

“My brother?” Anna snaps. He wasn’t a part of our group. A few years older than us, he had his own circle of friends, which included my brother for a long time until Archer slipped off the radar. Anna’s face crumples in both hurt and disgust. “I don’t even know where he is.”

“Ben did, and I’ll take care of it,” Autumn states and the surprise on Anna’s face is like someone just smacked her.

“How?” she asks of her husband’s sister.

“Ben had an email address for him.”

Anna closes her eyes, anger heating her cheeks, hinting at the fact she didn’t have access to that address. I hate this for my friend but assume Ben had his reasons for why Anna couldn’t have her brother’s contact information. Autumn sadly smiles before turning to Mason.

“Technically, you lived north in Ben’s compass, but he’s calling you West.” Autumn hands Mason another envelope. Her smile slowly widens as she adds, “The place where the sun sets.”

Leaning toward me, she hands me an envelope. “East.” I live outside Detroit, and this makes sense. “The place where the sun rises.” Autumn winks at me.

“And South.” She gives the final envelope to Logan. “Ben had this complicated explanation about the sun culminating in the south, explaining how it reaches a climax—”

“Climax?” Mason snorts.

“It reaches a high point or pinnacle,” Autumn corrects, scowling at Mason before looking back at Logan. “He believed you’d reached it.” She blushes before softly adding, “With me.”

Logan gives her a long, accepting look before taking the envelope offered to him. His voice is a whisper as he says, “Definitely, sweetheart.”

Autumn continues, “Ben suggested you open them on your own time but during these two weeks. In fact, he hoped that whatever you find on the page inside will begin during these two weeks. You have a year to fulfill his suggestion, which gives you until next summer when you meet back here. You can share your letters with each other, but he thought it best to make it a personal challenge.”

Mason huffs and rolls his eyes. “A personal challenge.”

“There isn’t one for me,” Anna remarks, staring at the envelope remaining in Autumn’s hand while the rest of us avoid looking at the parchment Autumn holds. “Archer isn’t here,” Anna reiterates, her tone curt, her eyes searching her sister-in-law for some explanation.

“I think Ben hoped he might be.”

A heavy silence fills the room.

Abruptly, Anna stands, visibly upset that there isn’t a letter for her. “I’m going to bed.”

Perhaps it’s better that there isn’t one for her. Anna has a long road ahead of her. She doesn’t need Ben sending her haunting messages from the grave.

“Well, what the fuck,” Mason announces, hastily opening his and pulling out a notecard roughly the size of the envelope itself. He reads what’s written, then flips it over and flips it back. With the quick flick, I notice only a line of words and not an in-depth letter. Mason quickly stands, muttering under his breath. “Bastard.”

A barroom just off the kitchen doubles as an exit from the back of the house. Mason grabs a bottle from the counter and forces the back door open. It slams when it retracts. He makes his way across the patio and toward the steps leading to the beach.

“Now I’m worried.” Logan chuckles. His eyes meet mine as we sit perpendicular to one another on the couches arranged at a ninety-degree angle.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Logan teases.

“I don’t know that I’m ready,” I admit, staring at my own white envelope.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Logan says, although concern fills his voice.