Page 41 of Forever & Always You
Reluctantly, I pull out the chair opposite his desk and sink down into it, the same way I did two days ago when I naively believed he didn’t recognize me. I don’t get too comfortable, though. I sit on the very edge of the chair, irritatedly tapping my foot.
Austin finally moves from his frozen stance, but each tiny movement seems to take a lifetime. He walks around his desk, picks up the toy car from the shelves on the wall that I noticed the other day, and sets it down on his desk in front of me.
He asks, very solemnly, “Gabby, does this look familiar?”
I stare at the green Porsche 911, then look up at Austin in confusion as he towers over me, feeling like I’m under scrutiny and this is a test I’m required to pass. “It’s a toy model version of your car.”
“Yes, but why else does it look familiar?”
“My dad had a car like that, too.”
Austin presses his lips together. He sits on the edge of his desk by my side, his expression twisting with a peculiar emotion, and picks up the toy car again. He stares down as he quietly fiddles with it in his lap. Finally, he says, “Your dad is my biggest inspiration and my best influence.”
It’s just about the last thing I would have ever expected him to say. Austin never even knew my father. “What?”
“Every summer when you and Zach went off to camp, I was lost without you. And so was your dad.” Austin glances up and meets my eyes, and I realize that emotion I’m seeing is fear. “He was never like your mom. Always spoke to me in the street from the day we moved in, and those summers when you were gone, I think he was glad to have me around. Took my dad and me fishing. Slipped me what he thought was just spare change, but what felt like a million bucks to me. And that Porsche of his? Exactly like this one?” Austin rolls the toy car along the desk. “He took me for long drives along the coast and gave me exactly the kind of advice and guidance I needed when I was a kid with no hope.”
A very abrupt wave of grief crashes over me, catching me off guard. I’m beyond the stage of feeling winded every time my dad’s memory is brought to life, yet when Austin speaks of him, it rips me open at my core.
Because Austin’s words remind me of the one thing I always knew about my father: he was a good man with a pure heart and a lot of love to give, irrespective of how successful he was. He was humble and treated every person he met with the same amount of respect and dignity. He attended charity fundraisers, volunteered in our community, and despite his very successful career in finance, always treated his family as his biggest achievement in life.Of coursehe would have looked out for the kid across the street.
“I didn’t know that,” I say, my voice so dry it cracks.
“Your dad is the reason I chose to major in accounting. When he talked about his career and how he climbed the ladder, I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to have a house like yours. A Porsche of my own one day. So I keep this around,” Austin murmurs, tapping the toy car, “because those conversations outin his car inspired me the most.”
“He really was the best,” I say, managing a smile.
I can’t believe I didn’t know my dad and Austin spent time together like that, but I don’t even care that I’m only just finding it out. Austin knew my father as more than just some neighbor across the street, and that fills me with a sense of joy that one more person in this world has fond memories of him.
Austin interlocks his hands in his lap. “I was at his funeral.”
“You were?”
“I hid way in the back, because I couldn’t bear to see you,” he explains. “But I just want you to know I was there, because I will never forget all of the things he did for me. All of the things he said.” For the first time since I walked into this room, Austin’s frown reveals the hint of a smile, the fondness of his memories of my dad breaking through. “Who do you think taught me how the stock market worked when I was sixteen? I used to fall asleep thinking about the Global All Cap.”
“This is good, Austin. I love that you knew my dad,” I reassure him, scooting my chair closer to him and placing my hand over his in his lap. “Why are you so nervous telling me this? Did you think I’d be angry that you spent time with him? Because I’m not. It makes me really happy, actually.”
“Because this isn’t what I need to tell you,” Austin says, his eyes darkening. “This is only the prelude to the truth.”
The comfort that’s been building inside of me immediately vanishes, replaced instead by a knot in my stomach. I don’t like this anymore. “The .?.?. The truth?”
Austin pushes off the desk and turns his back on me again. He runs a hand through his hair in exasperation and I can tell he’s fighting a battle with himself. “Morally, I can’t tell you,” he admits, “but you’ve just walked back into my life after seven years and I don’t think we could ever be friends again, not really, unless I tell you this.”
My heart hammers. “Austin .?.?.”
He twists around and somehow his expression is even more tormented than before. “I’m breaking your dad’s wishes by saying this, but ?.?. .”
“Please just say it.”
Austin briefly squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath and says, “There was a secret trust left in his will. For me.”
I don’t respond. This information is so out of left field, I can’t even comprehend it at first. Dad left money for Austin? That just doesn’t compute with me, because Zach sent me his copy of Dad’s will, which I read through, and Austin Pierce’s name was absolutely not in there.
“But I’ve read it, and there wasn’t—”
“Secrettrust, Gabby,” Austin repeats. “It went via a trustee with instructions from your dad to be passed on to me. I don’t think he wanted you guys or your mom to know, so I was never supposed to say anything. Are you angry?”
I blink at him, still stunned. I feel numbed by these new facts, but definitely not angry. “Why would I be angry?”
