Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“So what’s up?” I ask.
“Well…” Jake clears his throat. “I’ve been working on the life insurance claim for Connor.”
“Oh.” The blood drains from my face. I can feel it, my whole body chilling at his words. I haven’t wanted to deal with it, to even think about receiving anything after what he did. So I told Jake he could handle it. I signed a form giving him power of attorney, and I’d forgotten about it.
“It’s been a battle. The life insurance company doesn’t want to pay out. Neither does the team pension plan. They’re saying he died while committing a crime, which is an exclusion from policy benefits.”
While committing a crime.
Which crime? Stealing prescription pads? Killing yourself? Killing them? Driving under the influence? It could be so many things. You fucked up so badly. I fucked up so badly.
“Of course, it was never determined that Connor actually committed a crime. There were no criminal charges or trial. We never got to put on a defense.”
I think of the detective, of my admission to him. It was my fault. But he waved me off as if to say go home, live your life. As if I could.
“But the good news is we negotiated a seventy-five-percent payout. It’s a lot of money, Meredith. This could change things for you.”
“Change things?” The words come out like they taste—bitter. “It doesn’t change anything, Jake.” I’m still alone. My husband is still dead. Gabriel Wright’s family is forever lost to him. I rack my brain for what to do. The last thing I should get is a lot of money—I’ve done nothing to earn it. If anyone committed a crime, it was me. I don’t deserve it. And I sure as hell don’t want it.
“I don’t care about the money.”
“Well, it’s arriving tomorrow.” There’s a lapse of silence, Jake probably waiting for me to give in. To say well, okay, fine. But the idea of any money being deposited into my account, almost as a reward for my inability to take action, to stop you from doing what you did, to stop three people from dying—it’s too much to even consider.
“No. I don’t want it.”
“Meredith, what do you want me to do? I can’t just stop payment. I spent months negotiating this, making sure you got what you’re due—”
“You’re not listening.” I pick up the nearest pillow and squeeze it to my chest. Squeeze anger and frustration into it. “I don’t want it. You know what? Send it to the family Connor destroyed.”
“What?”
“Send it to them. They lost a mother, a daughter. If anyone deserves it, it’s them. They should have sued the estate and taken it all anyway. I wish they would have.”
“This is money your husband worked for. It’s his retirement savings, the insurance plan he paid into. It’s almost three and a half million dollars—” Jake’s words come faster, like I’m a client he can convince.
“No. I’m serious. Send it to the family. Keep my name off it. Put Connor’s name on it—only his—say it’s from his estate. Okay?”
“Meredith, I know you feel this way now, but what if—”
“Please just do it, Jake. I’m not going to budge. Not ever. And I need to go. Thank you for handling everything for me.” I disconnect the call, essentially hanging up on my brother. My head sinks into my hands, and I sit there for I don’t know how long—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. My phone buzzes, probably Jake texting because he knows me well enough to realize I won’t answer a call. At some point, I’ll have to apologize to him. I know he’s gone above and beyond, but I need him to respect my wishes on this.
Eventually, I raise my head. The light has changed, late morning shifting to early afternoon. I rise and go to the bedroom, change my clothes, pull on a jacket, grab my notebook, and go outside.
It’s time for a walk. A long, meandering walk to clear my head. The sort I used to take, before Dr. Alexander told me to walk on the treadmill. It’s better outside now than then. The soft spring breeze rustles through the budding trees. The sidewalk, uneven in places, requires my brain to focus and pulls it away from deeper, darker thoughts. I wander past shop windows, stealing glimpses at all varieties of people.
At some point, I buy a coffee. Later, a croissant. I briefly stumble across my old path, the one I used to follow Gabriel on. But today when I reach the university, I don’t stop. I take a turn and keep going. The sun is no longer overhead but on the horizon. Not quite golden hour. But soon. I keep walking. I’ll get a cab home. I’m somewhere new now, where buildings become unfamiliar.
Orange streaks across the sky as I come down a hill and find a vast lawn surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. It’s a cemetery, one I’ve never seen or explored.