Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Without even bothering to close my mailbox door, I eagerly open the small, white envelope. Not surprisingly, given my name is in Charlotte’s handwriting on its front, it’s a handwritten notecard from Charlotte:
My Dearest Auggie,
The condo is all yours. Sell it and use the proceeds to pay for the rest of your schooling and beyond. Make all your dreams come true. Open that clinic you’re dreaming about and become exactly the kind of vet you’ve always wanted to be. Don’t compromise your dreams, or who you are, for anybody. You’re a perfect, precious, beautiful soul, exactly as you are. The best human I’ve ever met. Lloyd got it right: there’s nobody more deserving than you.
With love,
Charlotte
I’m baffled. Stupefied. Flabbergasted. What does any of this mean? What condo is all mine? Charlotte’s? And what does she mean Lloyd got it right? Got what right? None of it makes a lick of sense to me, except for one thing. The best thing. The thing hijacking my brain and making my heart explode with hope and excitement: Charlotte closed her note “with love.” With love, Charlotte. The woman I love actively, consciously, purposefully wrote the word love with her own hand in a note to me.
When Charlotte wrote “with love” to me, was she referring to the generalized, societal concept of love—the platonic form that binds all human souls, including hers and mine, in a vague, spiritual sense? Or did Charlotte use that all-powerful word to let me know, to confess or at least hint, that she’s feeling a personal, intimate, romantic kind of love for me, specifically? At the very least, was this phrase Charlotte’s way of inviting me to say those three little words to her? It’s suddenly so clear to me. Without question, I should have told Charlotte I love her on that sidewalk in New Jersey. I fucked up.
Breathing hard, I open the large manila envelope and pull out its contents with shaking hands: two letter-sized documents. The first is a typed legal form with a title at the top that reads, “Transfer of Deed.” What? A quick scan reveals the shocking truth: Charlotte transferred full ownership of her condo to me. Why the fuck did she do that?
I swap the two papers in my hand and discover the second is a handwritten note, but this time the jagged script isn’t Charlotte’s:
To whom it may concern,
I, Lloyd Graham, leave my apartment to the younger grandson of Althea Martin. I don’t know his full name, but she always called him Auggie. August Martin? I’ve just called an ambulance and don’t know if I’ll be coming back here, so I’ll leave this note on my desk for whoever to find. Please find Auggie and carry out my wishes. He deserves it, more than anyone. I’ll make a quick video to explain further and also so that whoever finds this can verify it was me who wrote it. Thank you, Auggie.
Lloyd
My brain is melting. My heart thundering. My face and neck both feel like they’re engulfed in scorching flames. What’s going on?
I slam my mailbox door shut and jog-walk to the elevator with everything from the box, and then press the call button maniacally at least ten times.
By the time I get upstairs and into my place, I’m out of breath. Feeling sick. I plug in the video camera near my couch, insert the cassette, and sit down—and, suddenly, there’s my grandmother playing piano and singing in Lloyd Graham’s cluttered, chaotic apartment. I watch in abject confusion as my heart does jumping jacks inside my chest. Normally, I’d be thrilled to watch a brand-new clip of Grandma singing, one I’ve never seen before. But this time, the video only serves to baffle and irritate me. Why did Charlotte want me to see this?
All of a sudden, Lloyd’s ashen face appears on the camera’s tiny screen. He looks sickly and pained. “I’m Lloyd Graham,” the old man says. “I’m not feeling so good right now. I’ve got blood coming out of places it shouldn’t be. I’ve called an ambulance. It’ll be here any minute. If I don’t come back, I want to be sure Althea Martin’s grandson, Auggie, gets my apartment. You know, like an inheritance.” He holds up a handwritten paper—the same one that’s now sitting in front of me on my coffee table, right next to the Transfer of Deed form. “I just now wrote this out. It was me. I’ll leave it on my desk for someone to find, along with the camera, so whoever finds it will know to track down Auggie and make sure he gets my place.” He winces in pain. “I always thought I’d go before my best friend, Althea. She was so full of life—always being goofy and dancing around. I always told her I wanted her to have my place when I was gone.” He fights tears. “But Althea passed last week, and now I’m all alone, so I’m leaving my place to her favorite person, Auggie Martin, or whatever his last name is. I should have asked Althea about his full name, but it’s too late now. I can’t imagine anyone who’s more deserving than Auggie.” His eyes water. “Auggie, if you see this, thank you for taking such good care of my Althea, your grandmother. My best friend.” His tears flow. “She was the best friend I’ve ever had. My lifeline. An angel sent straight from heaven. And, boy, did Althea love you, son. She loved your mom and brother, too, with all her heart. But she had a special place in her heart for you. Also, it sounds like your mom and brother are good with money. But you’re the one who might need a helping hand, so I’m going to give my place to you, exactly like Althea would have wanted. Thank you for always taking such good care of her. Especially at the end, when you’d sit by her bedside and hold her hand. I watched you reading to her. Singing her all those silly songs she loved so much.” He winces in pain and makes a guttural sound. Wipes the tears from his eyes. “Auggie, you did everything for Althea I wish I could have done for her myself. I wanted to go to her, so many times, but something inside my noggin is broken now, and I just couldn’t do it. Not even for Althea. I’m ashamed of that. I’m sorry, Althea. I let you down. Oh, and Auggie, if you find a hole in my bedroom wall, and you peek through it and see your grandma’s bedroom, I want you to know, I swear to God, it was Althea’s crazy idea to drill that hole. She said so in one of the cassettes. Find it, please. I’d look for it now, but they’re knocking on my door. The ambulance is here, I think. I—” He winces sharply, and the video on the small screen suddenly spirals like the camera is falling. There’s a thudding sound. And that’s it. Everything turns to static, briefly, before turning a solid blue. Lloyd must have dropped the camera. I bet that’s why it was broken with this cassette lodged inside it.