Page 12 of Pretty Ruthless

“Thank you Abigail, I appreciate that but I think it’s time to go.” She nods understandingly. I’m not sure how she does this, day after day. Watching people claim their loved ones, hanging out with the dead. I could never.

I feel like I’m floating as I exit the morgue, memories play like a slide reel in my head and I have to close my eyes to stop the burn against my lids. Tears coat my cheeks as I start towards my car, I can’t believe he’s actually gone. Gone, gone. Forever.

The rumble of another vehicle approaching stops me from fully breaking down right here but when I look over to see who it is my heart breaks further. Dawson throws the old Chevy truck in park and jumps out of the truck, not even bothering to close the door behind him. His arms wrap around me and it feels like permission to fall apart.

“I’m so sorry Claire,” he says against my hair as he holds me tight. His body comforts me, giving me a moment to break.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I say against his chest as sobs wrack my body.

“I know babe, I’m in shock too, I saw him the day before yesterday.” He tells me, pulling me harder against his chest. I can feel his heart beating against his chest, sporadically.

“How was he?” I ask, curious if there were any signs that he was not well.

“Great, I think that’s the hardest part, he came downstairs to the garage and shot the shit with me for probably an hour and a half. He asked about you and school and I told him I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

I cringe at the fact that my grandpa had to ask Dawson about me because I hadn’t called him back. I also feel like a dick for not calling Dawson or texting him but my internship turned into a full time position this year and I’ve been working like crazy to get my foot in the door.

“I’m sorry, I know we said when I left for college that we wouldn’t be strangers but it kind of feels like we are.” I apologize.

“You’re busy, I’m busy, don’t worry about it. We get right now and if that’s all the time I get with you, that’s okay with me.” I can hear the smile in his voice and it makes me smile. This man has given more patience than anyone else in my life and I love him for that.

“Let’s head back to my mom’s and we can decide what to do from here.” I say, letting go of his mid section.

“Whatever you want to do.” He nods, walks me over to the truck and helps me in. I can do it myself, but right now, I’m not sure I could stand up without his aid.

***

“I leave the garage and all its contents to Dawson, the boy has worked himself to the bone on that concrete floor and has earned it. Rename it though, would ya? Somethin’ catchy.” The estate attorney reads from my grandpa’s handwritten will. I look over at Dawson and squeeze his hand in mine. He looks like he could cry and the image brings a tear to my eye. I wipe the moisture away quickly, trying to not break down yet again. I knew that grandpa would give that garage to him, there's no one better or more deserving of it.

“The house and all its contents go to my Claire-bear. Give her the other letter and let her decide what she’s going to do with it.” The attorney reads and slides a letter across the table to me. It’s been eight days since my grandpa passed away and four days since the funeral. I don’t know that I’m ready to read a letter he wrote to me so I stuff it in my purse to read later. I don’t want to be a sobbing mess right now, not right here.

“The stocks and all the other shit,” the attorney stops after the swear word and we all chuckle because that’s who my grandpa was, “money wise goes to my daughter, she always was better with that crap than I was.” My mom nods and dabs her eye with the Kleenex. Sometimes when you watch a TV show or a movie, and the grandpa passes, the entire family start foaming at the mouth to get their share, but here, everyone loved him. We know how he felt about us all, and he never missed an opportunity to remind us of who we truly were.

The lawyer reads on about my grandpa not wanting us to miss him and that he had a wonderful life and was ready to see grandma again.

I feel a little bit better as we exit the doors of the attorney’s office, my heart a little lighter knowing he had a wonderful life and had no regrets.

“Wanna go to the garage for a bit?” Dawson asks, he seems a little flustered as we leave.

“I’ll meet you guys there,” my mother says from behind us, “we should probably have a conversation about the garage.” Her tone leaving no margin for error, whatever she wants to talk about isn’t great.

“Okay,” I agree, the letter in my purse feels like it’s burning through the fabric to my skin. Is it too soon to read the letter? Maybe, but I need to know the words of wisdom my grandpa has passed on to me. He always had the right thing to say at the right time.

“So, what’s up?” Dawson asks as he grabs a stool for me and my mom.

“I’m going to cut to the chase, the finances for this place are in the tank. Your grandpa hadn’t been taking on much work in the years before Dawson started and since Dawson started it’s been better but those years really hurt him. He refinanced in 2008 and the interest rate wasn’t great. We’ve been chipping away at it but honestly, the fifteen year balloon payment that is due in December could bankrupt this place,” my mom says in what seems like one breath. She sighs loudly like she’s been holding that information in since she heard that Dawson was getting the garage.

Dawson and I sit in silence, the possibility of losing the garage hanging over our heads like a stinky cloud.

“I have some money in savings.” Dawson says finally.

“Oh me too.” I concur, nodding my head.

“Kids, this isn’t a new dishwasher or an overdue light bill. It’s over fifty thousand dollars,” my mom says sadly, she stands from her stool and gives my shoulder a light squeeze before doing the same to Dawson, “think about it, you’ve got a couple months.”

Hours later Dawson and I sit in the worn wooden chairs at my grandparents' kitchen table, staring at the grains of wood in the table. The rest of the day after my mom dropped the bomb that the garage was basically in the shitter was somber as hell. Both Dawson and I voiced different options ranging from selling the garage to taking out another loan to pay off this one, none of the options have stuck as a hard set plan.

The letter my grandpa wrote me still sits in my purse and I can’t bring myself to read it just yet.

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