The Space Between Us(45)

"What?" I couldn't believe what he'd said. There was no way my father  had that much money. He was a single father, a widower. He worked hard  his whole life, never spent money on anything frivolous. He didn't have  money. "That can't be right," I added, completely astounded. "Six  million dollars?"                       
       
           



       

"There are about five million dollars in liquid assets; money in bank  accounts or invested in stocks that can be liquefied at any moment. Your  father met with our personal accountant before he passed and I can  assure you that the money invested is protected and smartly distributed.  You are welcome and encouraged to meet with him. In fact, your father  prepared for that too and any meetings you have with him have been  prepaid. We are hoping you avail yourself to that privilege your father  put in place for you." He paused, again looking down at his paper. "The  other one point five million dollars is in the house in Willow Falls,  the 2004 Ford Focus that is currently on the property, and other smaller  items that all add up to the figure I mentioned earlier."

I sat in that chair, silent and stunned, listening to this man talk.  Money wasn't important to me, it never was. I was taught that by my  father. So finding out that my father had five million dollars just  sitting around was baffling. "How is all of this possible?" I whispered,  more to myself than anyone else.

"Your father was a planner, Charlie. He wanted to make sure you were  taken care of. That you had everything you needed to be ok."

That part I understood. New tears sprung to my eyes imagining my father  putting everything in place before the cancer took him, preparing to  die, making sure I would be set for life. All the while, he never told  me he was sick. I would have done anything to be by his side during his  last moments, to tell him that I loved him, to comfort him as he passed.  As difficult as it would have been for me, I wished he hadn't denied me  that.

"Were you close with my father? Is that why you agreed to handle his affairs?"

Mr. Libman shifted in his chair and I saw his brain ticking away,  obviously searching for an answer. "I met your father on a number of  occasions. I have nothing but respect for him and know he was an  upstanding man. But no, I didn't handle his case myself." He paused for a  moment, then continued. "Your father made it clear that you were to do  whatever you wanted with the house in Willow Falls. Sell it or keep it,  the choice is yours as it now belongs to you. Everything in the house  now belongs to you as well. There is one last item." He reached into his  briefcase on the floor and pulled out an envelope. "This is a letter  your father wrote about a month ago. He was very insistent that you  receive it at the reading of the will and that you were not to open it  until later." He handed me the envelope over the table and my fingers  reached for it, trembling. "I think he wanted you to wait a bit to read  it," he said softly. "He didn't say when exactly. All he said was that  you would know."

That answer made me angry. This my father expected me to know. He  wouldn't tell me anything, kept me in the dark for months about his  illness, his terminal illness, but he expected me to be able to read his  posthumous mind and inherently know when to open a letter from him. I  looked at the letter, with my father's very clear penmanship across the  front that read "Charlie Bear", and tried to take deep breaths. I ran my  finger over the words, trying not to think too hard about the fact that  this was the last thing from my father I would ever receive; no more  birthday cards, no more Christmas presents, no more silly Saturday comic  strips cut out and mailed to me randomly. This would be it. The very  last part of himself he gave to me. How could I possibly know when to  open it? When would it feel right to use up this last little bit? I  didn't want to think about what the letter meant or how I would know  when to open it. I put it in my purse and tried my best to seem like I  was ok with everything. I'm sure the tear that ran down my face didn't  help my cause. I wiped it away and then coughed through a small cry. I  needed this to be over.

"Is there anything else?"

"I just want to make sure you understand that if you need anything,  anything at all, to come to us. We can help you with the sale of the  house, if you choose to sell it. We can help answer any questions you  have, legal or otherwise, please know that."

I nodded, unable and unwilling to answer.

"The only piece left is your signature. Feel free to read the document  and then just sign at the bottom of the last page." He slid a packet of  paper over to me, along with a pen. It looked huge and daunting. I would  be kidding myself if I thought I was going to read through it all. I  trusted my father and decided to just sign. I took the packet and my  eyes were drawn to the top letterhead.

Libman and Carmichael

Attorneys at Law

Carmichael? I dropped the pen and looked up at Mr. Libman. I'm sure I  looked panicked, because he looked like a deer in headlights. My gaze  drifted to Reeve and she looked nothing but guilty.                       
       
           



       

"Carmichael?" I asked her.

"Charlie, just sign the papers and we can go," she said softly. That was  all I needed to confirm what my gut had already told me was the truth.  My eyes went wide and wild, desperately looking around, trying to ground  myself in a room that now held a whole new meaning and feeling. I  grabbed the pen and frantically scrawled my name along the line that  begged for my signature.

I picked up my purse and nearly sprinted for the door to the conference  room. ‘Stay calm. He's not here. You won't see him. Everything's fine'.  Those were the things I was repeating to myself to try and not freak  out. I was tricked, tricked into coming here, tricked into thinking  about someone I had tried not to think about for so long. I swung the  door open and rushed towards the exit. I saw the receptionist stand as I  ran past her, frantically trying to get to someplace with more air,  someplace not closing up on me. I made it outside, anxious for a wide  open space. What I found, instead, was Asher.

My eyes found every tall, dark haired man in a crowd for thirteen years.  I searched him out, praying I'd find him but afraid of what would  happen when I did. My mind hated him, with good reason, but I'd never  fully convinced my heart. With every miniscule and tiny part of myself, I  was afraid of what would happen if I ever saw him again. And now, here I  was, looking right at him. I saw shock on his face. I saw remorse. I  saw panic.

"Shit," I heard Reeve mutter from behind me.

"Charlie," he said quietly. I hated that he used my real name. I hated  that I hated it. "You're not supposed to be here." He said it like it  hurt him. Like being near me hurt him.

"We had to reschedule," Reeve supplied. I turned to her, anger surging through my veins.

"You knew about this? About him?"

"We were just trying to make this as easy on you as possible, Charlie.  We didn't want to hurt you anymore than you're already hurting," she  answered. Instantly I felt alone, but I was used to it by now. I closed  my eyes, trying to control my feelings, trying not to feel, to block it  all out. Even with my eyes closed I could still see Asher standing  before me: his hair a little longer than I remember it being, his  freckles still dark and distinct, his shoulders and arms filling out the  three-piece suit I'd never seen him in. For just a fraction of a moment  I was proud of him for becoming what he'd always dreamt of, what he'd  always wanted. In spite of everything, he was able to achieve his  ultimate goal. I guess I was glad one of us achieved something. I opened  my eyes again, feigning resolve, masking my complete and utter  brokenness, and turned, walking towards the parking lot.

The headlights of my rental car blinked as I pressed the unlock button on the key fob.

"Charlie, wait." His voice cut through me. I hadn't heard his voice in  years and it still sliced right down into me, cutting me open. I didn't  stop walking. "Charlie, please, let's talk. I didn't mean for this to  happen. Please let me explain." He sounded desperate, but not as  desperate as I was to get away. Reeve ran up beside me and placed her  hand on my arm.

"Maybe you should talk to him," she said, a little out of breath.

"You need to find another way home." I got into the car and drove away,  fully aware of the fact that I was leaving everyone behind. Again.