Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
"I’m here to see Mr. Devlyn,” I say. “I have an appointment with him at one o’clock."
Her eyes go from smiling to sad as she gets up from her desk and walks around with her arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather,” she says, taking me in her arms.
"Thank you,” I say softly as I let her hug me.
I spent the early part of the day cleaning the downstairs between the tears when I would find my grandfather’s things. The blanket in the chair in the living room next to the bed he would cover me with when I was younger. I sat in the same chair as he did and hugged the blanket to my chest. When my phone rang at nine o’clock this morning, I was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom. It was his lawyer calling to ask me to come in. I dreaded it, but I knew I had to do it. I also knew I had no choice. Not one fucking choice.
"I’ll tell Mr. Devlyn you are here." She releases me and turns to walk down the little hallway.
"Momma." I feel my hand being pulled down and look at Sofia. “Are you sad again?"
"Just a little, baby girl." I pull her to me, and my hand rubs her head.
"He’s ready for you," the lady says. “If you’d like, I can keep the little one busy." She looks at Sofia. “Would you like to come and make photocopies with me?" Sofia looks up at me for permission, and I just smile and nod. “It’s the first door," she tells me, taking Sofia’s hand and leading her to the other side.
Walking into the office, I see the big brown desk in the middle of the room with files piled high on each side. Mr. Devlyn looks up from where he sits at his desk, getting up and taking off his glasses. He walks around the desk, with a smile, in his slacks and button-down shirt with his cuffs rolled up. He smells like tobacco and spice, something that I haven’t smelled in over six years. I hold out my hand. “Mr. Devlyn."
He holds out his hand to shake, adding his other hand over mine. “You are just as beautiful as your grandfather said you were." I don’t say anything because a lump starts to form. I know that if I open my mouth, it’ll just be a sob coming out. "Please sit." He points at one of the two empty chairs that face his desk.
"Thank you,” I say, sitting in a chair. My stomach feels like a boat in a tropical storm.
"Before we begin," he starts, “I just want you to know how sorry I am for your loss." He grabs the manila folder and opens it. "Your grandfather had everything set up." He picks his glasses up to read the paper in front of him. “According to this, his last wish was to be cremated as soon as he passed.” I grab my purse and search for a tissue. “I want you to know that I tried to talk him out of it.” He shakes his head. “But he was a stubborn man.”
I give up searching for the tissue, and instead, I just use the back of my hand. “I’m sorry to do this,” I say. I put my trembling hand in my lap. “But I just have a couple of questions."
"Of course." He folds his hands in front of him. “Anything I can do to help."
"How long was he sick?" My voice trembles.
"Two years,” he says, and I gasp in shock. “I’m taking it that you didn’t have a clue."
"No." I shake my head. “Not one. We saw him six months ago. I noticed he looked weak and had lost weight, but he blamed it on getting the flu." Mr. Devlyn turns now and grabs a box of Kleenex behind him and offers me one. I grab two out of the box. “Was he alone when he passed away?" I ask the question that has haunted me since this nightmare happened.
"He wanted to do everything at home, but he got too bad to even care for him at home. He was in hospital care for the last couple of weeks,” he says, and again, I’m blown away.
"We talked on FaceTime every couple of days,” I say. “I mean, the last time was a week ago. But I didn’t …" I shake my head, the guilt running through me. How could I not have known? How did I not notice?
"He had a strict routine. No one would be allowed in his room when you would call,” he says. "I wish I had more answers for you as to why he did this, but at the end of the day, he always said that you didn’t need another thing on your plate." I close my eyes, and I don’t even try to stop the tears. The man who stood by my side when I found out I was pregnant. The man who didn’t judge me or look at me different when I told him who the father was. The man who didn’t force me to change my mind when I left his name off the birth certificate. The man who loved me so fucking unconditionally and didn’t want me to be burdened. “He said you had your life out there and didn’t need to come back here."