Page 25 of Look, Don't Touch

“Yes,” she answers, though it wasn’t a question. Confusion thickens her voice.

“This is going to sound rude, but for how much exactly?”

My aunt lives on the famous eighteenth floor of The Sherry Netherland. It’s a hotel with an exclusive number of apartments on the upper floors. Her place has a wraparound balcony overlooking Central Park and more square footage than she knows what to do with. I live in my aunt’s old apartment in the same building on the twenty-fifth floor with a nice view of the park that she signed over to me years ago. She has more designer clothes and shoes than Nordstrom. She has money but not a million to throw around. At least, I don’t think so.

“A thousand dollars, Hay.”

That’s in the vicinity of what I thought my aunt would so wrongly claim is a small donation. It’s nothing of the sort. It’s also nothing close to one million dollars.

“Do you have a receipt you can look at?”

“Hay Bale, what’s going on?”

“Please? It’s important.”

“Hold on a minute. I’m pretty sure I can pull it up on my phone.” There’s a bunch of rustling on the line.

“Thanks,” I offer, even though I doubt she heard it.

Astor gestures wildly, but I hold up my palm to her. My heart beats so fast that I might pass out. If Nat accidentally donated a million, I will for certain. There’s more rustling. Astor thieves my sweet biscuit, takes a hunk out of it, then offers me the other side. I contemplate it but don’t want to choke to death if I gasp.

“It says one thousand very clearly, Hailey. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to be annoying, but can you read each digit to me.”

“One. Comma. Zero. Zero. Zero. What’s going on?”

“I’ll call you back. Promise. Bye.” I hang up and search for Daniel’s number. It’s been a couple of weeks since I called him when I had Matt transferred from his facility into a suicide watch. He is the director of the residence and has been a huge help to Matt through the years. His pushback on the board is the only reason Matt was able to live there as a dishonorably discharged soldier.

I find it and dial.

It rings. And rings. And rings. Then call waiting picks up. It tells me how important my call is, but I don’t believe it.

Astor has chowed half of my sweet biscuit, and I can’t blame her. The suspense is killing me too.

“The Veterans Residence of Long Island. This is Daniel. How can I help you?” His usual gruffness is absent. He’s downright chipper. Something I’ve never heard from the harried veteran.

“Daniel, this is Hailey Fitzpatrick.”

“You’re on my list of people to call. High on it too, but things have been absolutely mental around here. I didn’t want to call today with the service and all. I’m sorry I couldn't be there.”

“You’re where you’ll do the most good,” I interject.

He blows past my compliment. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Thank me for what, exactly?”

“Your donation. It’s going to change so much around here. It’ll allow us to buy washers and dryers and do our laundry in-house. We’ll save a ton of money. It’ll give the residents a skill and a way to earn money. The board is talking about getting new computers. We have dinosaurs here. Two-thousand-era desktops. The kitchens could use new stoves.”

The more he gushes, the higher Astor’s eyebrows get. I know she can hear him rattling on and on about the benefits of my donation.

“Daniel?” I cut him off mid-celebration about possibly buying a small building next to the facility and adding on.

“Yes?”

I hate to burst his hot air balloon, but it has to be done.

“You said my donation, but I didn’t donate. My aunt gave one in Matt’s name for one thousand dollars.”

---