Chapter 20 Φ

Eric attended Mr. Steve's funeral two days later. It was a simple ceremony, as Mr. Steve had always preferred things to be that way. There were no eulogies, because the one who had passed away wanted his deeds to remain in secret. It had been a gathering of people whose lives he had touched as they said farewell to this kind-hearted philanthropist.

The following day, Eric had a meeting with Chuck Murray, Mr. Steve's lawyer. He arrived in his office at exactly ten in the morning. Mr. Murray turned out to be younger than what he had expected. He was only in his late thirties, married two years ago and had a daughter who would turn one next week. Chuck had readily shared the story with him when he noticed that he was staring at the picture frame on his desk.

Eric had also found out that Mr. Murray was an orphan, who Mr. Steve had supported until he graduated from law school. After passing the bar and working in a private firm for several years, he had ended up replacing Mr. Steve's previous lawyer who had retired.

His stories were endless. Eric figured that this must his way of reconnecting with Mr. Steve's memories. Mr. Murray seemed to be close to him as well, and thus he had found a common friend in Eric.

Before realizing it, Eric also went on about his encounters with Mr. Steve, where he had met him, and how they'd become friends after. It had only been more than a year since Eric and Mr. Steve met in a café, even if it felt like Eric had known him all his life. Mr. Steve had an empty seat in front of him as he was reading the morning paper while enjoying a cup of coffee. Eric had a test the following day, and he had nowhere to study, since Jared created a commotion in their house and had been sent to share the room with him as his punishment.

He took a chance and asked Mr. Steve if he could take the seat in front of him, promising that he'd be quiet. Mr. Steve had agreed, since it was basically an empty spot. Nobody thought that it would be the start of their morning routine. For the next few days, as the café kept on getting filled with customers during his study hour, Eric would find Mr. Steve in one corner. He was still reading the morning paper, with that empty seat that looked as if it was waiting for him.

It was hard to think that Mr. Steve's memories would slowly fade away now that he was gone. His worth was so much more than that, and his good deeds needed a place to be told. So Eric enjoyed it, those stories that he and Mr. Murray were able to share with each other.

It had been a long introduction until Mr. Murray got into the details of Mr. Steve's will. "He has a granddaughter, and he wants you to find her."

"Me?" Eric asked. It seemed to be an odd request, since this was the first time he had heard about this. Mr. Steve had always been reserved when it came to his family, and Eric had never asked more what seemed to be appropriate.

"I don't really know why he specifically wanted you. Did he tell you about his son?"

"I've heard that story before," Eric replied. "But I don't remember him mentioning anything about a granddaughter."

"The name's Chelsea Anne Lovette. She's his only granddaughter. His son had cut off ties with him after he had eloped with the mother of his child. In his will, it is stated that he wanted his granddaughter to inherit all his fortune," Mr. Murray went on, reading over what was written in Mr. Steve's will.

"Chelsea," he repeated her name.

"Yes," Mr. Murray confirmed, turning over the third page of Mr. Steve's will. "Unfortunately, Mr. Steve's son died a few years after the elopement. Chelsea lives with her mother now in Averns Creek. I've heard that you're familiar with that place, so maybe that's why Mr. Steve picked you for the job."

"Yeah, he knows about my mother. So I just need to find his son's wife and his granddaughter to inform them about the inheritance," Eric said.

"But there's a slight problem," Mr. Murray pointed out.

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid Chelsea's mother won't accept anything that will come from him. They didn't get to resolve their previous argument, and it got worse when her husband got cancer," he said, pausing for a while. After a moment, he continued, "Well, the thing was, Chelsea's mother asked for help while her husband was confined in the hospital, but Mr. Steve didn't get the message. It was a misunderstanding that got worse as the years went by."

"When did this all happen?" Eric asked him.

"Over a decade ago," Mr. Murray replied, reading over the last page of his will before placing it on the table. "So now, Mr. Steve's trusting you with all his assets, until you find a way to give it to them."

"So essentially, the task is to find a way to give it to them and make them accept it?"

"Yes, you're the only one whom he had given authority over his wealth. Don't worry, I'm going to give you all the assistance that you'll be needing," Mr. Murray said, standing up. He went over to his filing cabinet.

"How am I supposed to give it to them if they won't accept it?" Eric asked him, not having a clue on why—of all people—Mr. Steve entrusted this to him.

"Maybe you could start by getting to know them first," Mr. Murray suggested, grabbing an envelope from the cabinet and handing it over to Eric.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Open it," Mr. Murray instructed.

Eric unfastened the lock and looked at the contents. He took out the photo and stared at it. His eyes widened in shock, unable to believe that he was seeing this face.

It was a photo of a teenage girl with the long, blonde hair and a comely face. Only here, she was smiling wildly; she looked happy. Eric shook his head a little, doubting if he was seeing it right. When he looked at it again, it was the same girl from the hospital—the victim's daughter.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Mr. Murray, a bit worried with his reaction.

"This girl..."

"Yes?" Mr. Murray asked for him to continue.

Despite his father's warning, Eric knew that there was no way he could hide the matter from him. Eric faltered, "Her mother got killed... a few days ago."

"What?" Mr. Murray was astonished. "How did you know?"

"Mr. Murray," Eric said, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if Mr. Steve told you anything about my father."

"No, he didn't. Go on," Mr. Murray replied.

Eric hesitated for a while, "They took care of it—the accident that got her killed. I'm Zachary Davis' son."

"Oh, I didn't know," Mr. Murray said in recognition.

"It was a hit and run accident caused by my older brother, Jared. We were in Averns Creek that night when it happened."

"I haven't seen that in the news," Mr. Murray replied.

Eric shook his head. "It wasn't there. It won't be there, actually. My father took care of it. They made up a story that would exclude Jared's name. Or to be precise, our family's name."

Before he left their house this morning, Eric had heard about the alibi that they had created. Mr. Fletcher gave a testimony that he and Chelsea's mother had an affair, and they had seen each other that night. They made it seem like Mr. Fletcher and Chelsea's mother had an argument before they'd parted ways. Another person was paid to verify this, taking note that Chelsea's mother seemed to be drunk when they had been seen arguing. The rest, they left it in a blur, since there were no other witnesses that had appeared and the accident happened in a dim and empty street. Simply, it was a hit and run.

"And I believe your father had threatened you so as not to say a word about it?" Mr. Murray watchfully asked.

Eric slowly nodded. "Yes, he did."

"If I would have it my way, I would tell the authorities about what you knew. However, it seemed like it was something that you didn't have a choice over. So what do you want me to do, Eric?"

"I don't know," Eric replied, shaking his head. "Or maybe I do know, but then..."

"But then, what?"

"I will make this right," Eric told him, firmly. "When the time comes that I don't have to depend on my father for my mother's medical bill, I'll find a way to make this right. I just need a few more years, Mr. Murray. I'm determined to correct this matter by then."

"All right. I respect your decision, even if I'm not in full agreement with it," he said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze in comfort before taking a seat.

"I'm sorry," Eric apologized.

Mr. Murray suddenly remembered something, snapping his fingers. "I almost forgot. Mr. Steve left something for you. However, you're not supposed to hear any information about it until you turn twenty-five. In fact, I'm not supposed to say anything about it until then, but I already did earlier. My apologies. I just want to assure you that there's something he left for you."

Eric kidded, "His black labrador?"

"You want him? He's in my backyard," said Mr. Murray.

"Nah, I can't keep him," Eric turned it down, despite wanting it for a moment. "But I'll visit him every now and then."

"That's good to hear. Let me give you my address so you'll know where to go. My wife and I would love to have you for dinner, too," he said to me, writing down his address on a piece of paper.

Eric answered, "Thanks."

"I'll hold on to your word that you'll set things right when the time comes," Mr. Murray added.

"I will," Eric promised.

"You should think about how to give Mr. Steve's granddaughter her inheritance. She's an orphan now, and that's quite a sad news. But I believe her aunt will take her in. They're very close," said Mr. Murray.

"I'll find a way, sir."

"Okay, let me know about it," Mr. Murray agreed. Opening one of the drawers of his desk, he took out a familiar white envelope. He gave it to him, saying, "This might help. Since you've been close to him, I believe you know exactly what this is about."

"Like the old times." Eric turned over the envelope and saw his name on it.

"That's his trademark," said Mr. Murray.

Mr. Steve had been fond of writing letters and sending them to people he knew. Most of the time, when they'd meet at their favorite café, he would see him writing them.

Eric had asked him before why he still used those pens and papers, especially now that they were living in an age where one could readily send an email. Mr. Steve said that he had always been old-fashioned. For him, putting some effort in creating each letter showed a little bit more sincerity and conveyed more feelings.

"I'll give you some privacy while you read it," said Mr. Murray, getting up from his seat before he left the room.

Eric carefully opened the envelope and took out the neatly folded white pages of paper inside it. With a deep breath, he unfolded it. It was dated four months ago, written in a familiar calligraphy of a person he'd miss every passing day.

***

Dear Eric,

Since you are now reading this letter, I believe that I am not of this world anymore. I asked Chuck to give this to you when the time comes. And by this time, I wish to tell you more about me and what I wanted to ask of you.

I have a son, and I believe you have heard about him. Although my stories about him had been scarce, I truly cared for him. When he left our house, I told him that he would never hear from me again. I had been aloof to him since then, because I wanted him to learn how to stand up on his own and be firm with his life choices and decisions. I wanted him to be a man who could sustain for the family that he was planning to create.

Through the years, he treated it as me being a cold father. I had taken on the image, thinking that it would make him stronger. And even though I had been right about this decision since he turned out to be a fine man, I soon regretted it when I heard about his sudden death and the disease that he never told me about.

You see, son, life could end in the blink of an eye. One moment, I still believed that he would eventually come back to me. And the next, I was disguised when I went to his funeral.

His wife was not that happy to see me when I appeared at their door a few months after his death. She asked me where I'd been when my son was in the hospital. She accused me of not replying to her letters or answering her calls when they desperately needed help.

I had never received those letters and calls, which I later found out was due to my own son's decision to give her the wrong address and information. But maybe because I didn't want to alter her last memories of him, I apologized for dismissing her letters and calls.

She didn't welcome me since then, telling me to stop bothering her and her daughter. I kept on offering my help since I wanted to make up for the years of my absence, but she didn't accept it. Seeing that it was exhausting for her to keep the two of them alive while rejecting me every time I appeared at their front door, I had stopped.

But still, I waited. I patiently waited for the moment to pass on, for the emotions to subside. Regardless, years later, her answer was still the same. And these days, she was not the only one; her twelve year old daughter also said the same thing. They didn't want anything to do with me.

This is indeed a sad story. I've been to the hospital today, and I heard that my heart is getting more unstable by the minute. That's why, before anything happens, I want to ask you for a favor. With the time that was forsaken from me, I wanted you to use it and think of some way to make the two of them take my wealth and let them live a well-off life.

You are clever and full of ideas. I believe that you'll eventually come up with something later on. And after all, you are the only one I could entrust with this matter. That is why I'm asking this of you. I'm hoping that I'm not being much of a bother. I ask you for this one last favor, son.

And don't worry about me anymore. I'm in a better place now and will be with my son from this day on. For the longest time, I've wanted for this to happen.

Think of good thoughts, Eric. Life is not supposed to be dull and lifeless. I know you're having a hard time right now, but let the sadness in your heart be drifted away as you search for the happiness that is just waiting for you out there.

I want you to have a life where you'll be happy. If you don't have that at this moment, I want you to keep on searching for it. Be strong. When the time comes that you become a man, which I highly believe you will be one day, I will give you my present.

For now, live your life. Do not anticipate the future that much, because it may never come. What I wanted you to do is to live right now and enjoy each moment of it. Every second that will pass is important because it's the same thing that will create an hour, a day, and then a year. How much time you let slide, it will be your loss and not anyone else's.

And even though everything may seem to be unfair at this moment, remember that life has its own means of making things even. When I lost my son, later on, I've found you. It's not the same thing and it didn't make my regrets less. But you've brought me joy, too. So you get what I mean. Don't uselessly fret over the small matters, because it will all make sense someday.

This is gonna be hard, but I will not say goodbye. I'm just going to say that I'll see you later on, maybe when you also have white hairs and freckled skin like mine. But my boy, one thing is for sure. I will surely miss you.

Yours truly,

Harold Steve Lovette