Good Girl : An Enemies-to-Lovers, Roommate Romance (Alphahole Roommates Book 2), page 40
“You…I…”
She shakes her head, looking completely confounded.
“Rich people can get stuff done,” she finally says.
I shrug. “Sad, but true.”
“It’s so not fair. And you were dishonest.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I just wanted to help and I didn’t think you’d let me.”
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because I want to. Because…”
“I don’t like being indebted to people.”
I lean forward and kiss her hand. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t a favor. It’s not a loan. It’s me being here for you any way that I can be. You want some food or you wanna go home?”
“Home,” she whispers. And then she shakes her head. “What’s home? I guess I’m the owner of a rundown house. Is that my home though?”
“I mean Aiden’s apartment. Let’s go.”
“Austin…”
She wants to get into heavy stuff. She wants to push me away by letting me off the hook, I can tell.
“Not here. We’ll talk when we get back there.”
“I have to go through all those papers still. Open that envelope with my name on it.”
“I know. You wanna do that now?”
“I don’t, but I have to. I need to stop into the bar by my Dad’s. Tell his friends about him dying. Tell them about the funeral.”
“Come back to the apartment, read the letter, and we’ll go from there. How about that?”
55
Jada
I’m flabbergasted. And I feel guilty that Austin is doing all this stuff for me. He made things better for Shane. His jumping in might have even saved Shane’s life. In fact, I’m pretty sure it did. I sat there over beef wellington and spilled and spilled and then I left, and he started fixing things for me.
And there’s him being here for me with losing my dad. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it.
Back in the condo’s master bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, I lift up the file folder filled with Dad’s paperwork. Bank stuff. The deed to the house. He paid the mortgage off two years ago. There’s insurance stuff. Twenty grand in a savings account. Three grand in checking. The newspaper clippings about Mom. There were four stapled together from different newspapers. She had no ID on her when she was found and she died on impact, apparently an old lady hit her, losing control of her car during a rainstorm. Mom wasn’t dressed for the weather, had no umbrella.
Mom loved to walk in the rain.
She loved to walk in the rain and because of that, she died.
I open the envelope and I’m about to take the paper out when I see Austin move into the doorway.
“You want me here for this or you want to be alone?”
I’m always alone for everything. I always have been. Except for when I had Shane, but I never leaned on him, he always leaned on me. I lose everyone. Mom. Aunt Jade. Josh. Dad. How long before I lose Austin, too?
“Stay?” I request.
He sits down in front of me on the bed and puts his hand on my ankle, reassuringly moving his thumb back and forth.
Inside the envelope are five one-hundred-dollar bills and a note. I set the money on the bed and unfold the piece of paper.
Jada,
I know I’ve been hard on you and your brother but it’s not because I don’t care. I wasn’t raised to be an emotional man. My parents were already older and tired when I was born and maybe that’s why but it’s not in me.
I didn’t tell you about your mother because I didn’t want you to feel what I felt. I’d rather you had hope.
She didn’t love us enough. Only loved herself. And I couldn’t forgive her for it. Her ashes are in an urn in the back of my closet. I want to be cremated and want us to be scattered together at the lake we used to go to when you were small. You and your brother do it together when you can. Don’t rush.
I didn’t do many things right with you kids. Didn’t know how. It’s too late for apologies or to change anything so move on. Find some happiness if you can. Even if it’s just for a while. Life can be shit a lot of the time so find happy where you can. Even if it’s at a bar with your friends or in your driveway fixing an old car. Take it where you can get it.
Save the Mustang for Shane when he gets out. Give it to him only if he grows up enough not to wreck it wasted or sell it so he can blow the money on stupid shit. Sell the house and go back to college or do what you want with the money.
I want you to use this $500 to open a tab at the bar after my funeral for my friends to have a good night on me. Don’t spend a lot of money on the funeral. It’d be a waste. The rest of the money is yours. I saved your mother’s jewelry for you. She wouldn’t take it when she left us. Said it was for you. It’s in a hat box under my bed.
Love Dad.
I put the letter down and blow out a breath.
I don’t know how to feel.
That’s it.
It’s over.
And that’s the heartfelt letter I get from my father. Bitterness, bossiness, hopelessness?
This is why I was never allowed in that closet. Because her urn is there.
I get the impression the ink on this letter is only barely dry. It feels like he just wrote it. He must have, mentioning when Shane gets ‘out’. Did he give up on life? Maybe he gave up a long time ago.
“You okay?” Austin asks.
My eyes meet his blue ones.
And pain lances through me. I fall forward and he catches me.
I don’t cry. I think I’m done crying.
I close my eyes and sink into him.
Dad’s got some twisted beliefs and despite it all, he wants his ashes scattered with hers. I don’t even know what lake he’s talking about.
Dad is right about one thing - life can be shit a lot of the time. I’m going to just try to find some happiness where I can. Or comfort, if not happiness, because I can’t imagine pure happy when you feel like you’re on the verge of the end with somebody. And that’s how every moment with Austin feels. Like there’s happiness right in front of me but it’s right on the verge of ending.
I can’t bring myself to go back to Dad’s house and into that closet and look at her urn or grab that box of jewelry. Not today.
***
I’m sitting on the couch, watching TV. Austin hasn’t left my side at all. I got a text today from Raven, asking me how I’m holding up and to ask about the arrangements. I tell her about them and she asks for Andrew’s number to relay them. This is a relief; I really don’t want to call him myself after how weird things got. Because Austin rented a car, we’ve been coming in a different door that has meant we haven’t passed the security desk.
Tuesday I also heard from Aunt Fay, Darlene’s mom, who told me she’d only been in touch with my mom once or twice after Mom and Dad split.
Aunt Fay tried to be gentle when she told me my mother was very flighty, always had been, that she’d gotten pregnant with Shane by Dad on what should’ve been a one-night stand, but Dad did what he thought was the right thing and proposed when Mom went to him for money for an abortion.
She told me it took convincing on Dad’s part, because he believed it was the right thing to do, but that Mom finally married him when she was six months along with Shane. Their marriage was rocky from the beginning because Mom didn’t want to be a wife and mother and made life hard on my father. Aunt Fay said Mom told her when she got pregnant with me that they had me to try to strengthen their marriage.
Aunt Fay then hesitantly told me my mom had never been that maternal, though my father really was madly in love with her. That he got frustrated that she often left us with babysitters or neighbors so she could go out. Mom was having affairs and Dad tried to forgive her, but it made him bitter and Mom felt trapped. Aunt Fay talked about the fact that the more their marriage deteriorated the more bitter my father got. Aunt Fay said both Mom and Dad should’ve broken up years before they did.
She also said Mom told her she wanted to see us, but Dad told her she couldn’t until she proved she was a fit mother. The last Aunt Fay heard through a mutual friend, Mom was engaged to an artist and talked about moving to Belize. She thought on this and said it must’ve been a few months before Mom died.
I remarked that my dad must have just quietly dealt with her loss. And she told me she thought Dad had probably spent the rest of his life dealing with that loss. And I think she’s right.
I don’t have closure; I probably never will.
I guess sometimes things don’t end tied up with a tidy bow.
56
Jada
Two days before Dad’s planned funeral we walk into Dad’s bar, the cleverly named, He Ain’t Here, a few blocks from Dad’s house.
“I guess it’s a laugh every time the phone rings, huh?” Austin whispers, amused as we step inside.
It’s dark, the decor a little dreary, but there are smiling faces when I step in. Wait. They’re sympathetic faces, some of them. We approach the bartender.
“Hi Jada,” he greets.
“Hi. Sorry, I don’t remember if we’ve met.” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’ve seen your photo. Rich flashed it often. I’m sorry you lost your pop.”
I jolt in surprise and feel Austin’s arm go around me.
A man approaches, the Santa Claus lookalike from my dad’s house the night he was ‘liberated’ to go to the bar for a drink. His last time out drinking with his friends.
“Hey little lady. So sorry about your loss,” he says. He has kind eyes.
“Th-thank you.”
“We came by with some casseroles, me and the boys, but no one was home.”
“I haven’t been staying there. That was very thoughtful, thank you. I’m actually here to let everyone know about the funeral details, actually.”
I share those details and then I pull out the envelope with five hundred dollars.
“My father left instructions asking me to open a tab up for after the funeral, so that he can buy drinks for his friends.”
“Would you let us put on a luncheon for you as well, Jada?” the bartender asks. “Or do you have plans for somewhere else for a reception after the service?”
“I don’t have any other plans, no. And I think Dad would want it here.”
“Then please come here and let us help you honor Rich.”
I swallow down a lump. “That’s very kind, thank you. I can pay for food and-”
“Let us do that. He was one of us. He spent a lot of his life here, lotta his paychecks, and he will be missed. We’d be honored to host the reception.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that a lot. Um… can I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
I smile. That feels nice.
“I don’t know who all my dad hung out with so do you have any idea where I can find his classic car buddies?”
“I’ve already spoken to a few of them,” the Santa lookalike who’d been at my father’s house the other night says.
“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” I ask.
“Call me Doc.” He has kind eyes.
He holds his hand out and I shake it.
Austin then extends his. “Austin.”
“Nice to meet you, Austin.”
“Frank,” the bartender holds his hand out and we both shake.
“I’ll make sure to get all his friends to the service,” Doc says. “And Frank here will make sure there’s a spread for everyone to come back to. I’ll make my famous chili. Your father loved it.”
“Private party that day. In honor of Rich,” Frank says.
“Thank you so much,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Your pop had a lot of friends here. He’ll be missed,” Frank says. “You talk to his job?”
I nod. “Yes, they said they wanted to send flowers.”
“I’m sure we’ll have a fair few from there stop by, too. I’ll close that afternoon, make sure there’s plenty of room.”
“I’m not sure how many will come.”
“I’ll close down,” Frank says. “Can I get you both a drink? On the house.”
“Thank you, but we need to go. I appreciate this. I appreciate it more than I can express right now.”
“No need to worry about words, darlin’. We know. We know how sweet you are and how much you loved your father. He knew it, too. Me and a coupla the guys’ll wanna get up and say a few words about him if that’s okay with you,” Doc says.
“Eulogy? Oh. Of course. I’d appreciate that.” I try to mask my reaction to the words he’s just said because it feels like he’s talking about someone else.
He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sad smile.
This man looks like he really will miss my father.
“Here’s my number.” Austin hands over a business card to Frank and another to Doc. “Call if you need any information or to talk about the plan for after the service. Otherwise, we’ll see you at the service. And thank you both.”
***
I need a dress. And shoes.
I have a black dress that’ll suffice and most of my dressy shoes are in storage, so I ask Austin if we can stop by there.
We run in and grab two boxes of clothes. Luckily, I’d been organized in my packing, so I knew just where to find them.
“Shit,” I mutter, getting back into the car.
Austin’s eyes bounce to me with a question in his eyes.
“My brother needs a suit for the funeral. I have to get that over.”
“I’ve already sent him one.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Tamara called and asked about that. When all this is over, we can run his clothes over too. I saw a couple boxes marked Shane. I sent some clothes when he was first moved.”
“You did?”
He nods. “He told them his sizes, so I just ordered some basics.”
“Thank you for doing that,” I whisper.
“My pleasure.”
I blink.
“I’ll pay you back.”
I don’t know what I’d do without him right now.
Well, I’d muddle through, I’m sure, but it would suck even worse than it already sucks.
He glares at me and then looks straight ahead as he starts the car.
“I didn’t mean to upset you by saying that,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. But let’s let that be the first and last time you offer to give me money for something that I did for you. Okay?”
I swallow. And then I reach over and grab his thigh with my hand and squeeze.
This is the first time, other than the last few nights sleeping with him that I’ve made an affectionate move. He’s been the one dropping kisses on my forehead, touching me every time we pass one another in the apartment, the one pulling me close and he hasn’t tried to get sexual at all.
His warm hand comes down on mine and stays there while he drives us back to Manhattan.
57
Jada
Shane, his doctor, and their police escort (dressed in plain clothes) are already there when we arrive at the funeral home.
Shane and I get a moment alone in the chapel with the door closed, Austin, Dr. Lexington, and the officer standing outside of it before the service starts.
We sit down and hold hands in the front pew, looking at the 10 x 12 framed photo up front of Dad with his car. His simple black urn sits beside it with flower arrangements on either side. One from his work, one from the bar.
Shane looks good. He still looks thin and he looks tired, but he looks better and he’s lucid and talking to me, so I take it as a good sign. He’s shaved and has had a haircut and Austin sent him a very nice dark suit and dress shoes.
Shane asks if things are serious with me and Austin.
“I have no idea yet,” I say, “But if it weren’t for him… I don’t know where I’d be. Where you’d be. Austin hired you the new lawyer and got you moved to that program. I had no idea he did it. He’s even paying for it and I can’t imagine how much it all costs.”
He blows out a breath.
“Dad left me the house and his money, after his insurance and everything and told me to go back to college with it. I’m going to put half in the bank for when you’re out and ready to re-start your life.”
“Keep it. I don’t want it,” he says bitterly. “Really, it’s yours, Jada. Especially if your man is paying for this program, I’m not taking any cash from you.”
“He wants you to have his Mustang,” I add.
Shane’s expression perks up.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod.
“Now that, I’ll take.”
I chuckle.
Shane squeezes my hand.
“It’s sad. I think he gave up on life. He could’ve had so much more.”
I know,” Shane says softly.
We sit quietly for a minute together, lost in our thoughts.
“We should let everyone in. People will have started arriving,” I say.
“Thank you for everything,” Shane says and kisses my cheek. “I’m gonna get better.”
“I know you are,” I say brightly and hug him.
And I hope it’s true.
***
Not only do a dozen people from Dad’s factory come, around twenty people from the bar, Aunt Fay and Darlene, me, Austin, Shane (and his two escorts who sit in the back and stay out of the way), but Andrew, Raven, and three other people from my writing workshop show up. Also, Shane’s friend Sedgewick (who I texted to tell him about the funeral, in case he could show up for Shane), Phil, Kevin, and another friend named Rory that I’ve never met also come, and then after shaking his hand and giving hugs and macho back slaps, Shane says something to Sedgewick, which makes them move away, eyeballing the cop that’s here in plainclothes. That cop has a close eye on them until they move away from my brother.
People all greet us before the service starts, the ones I don’t know explaining who they are, saying nice things.
