I’m uneasy when I walk the few blocks to the bus stop. Not only do I feel like there are eyes on me, but the five bands of hundred-dollar bills Mr. Haynsworth left on my table in the padded envelope feel like a lead weight. I was too paranoid to put them in my bag, so I shoved the envelope of fresh bank bills into my underwear at my hip.
I thought five grand would look like a lot more money, but I’ve never seen that many hundred-dollar bills, so what do I know? I didn’t expect him to leave the money. Hell, I half convinced myself it was a lie just to get me to agree to talk to him, but now that I have it, I’m even more nervous. What is he going to expect from me in return?
I breathe a sigh of relief when I step into the warm interior of the bus. It still smells like crap, but it doesn’t bother me as badly as it did earlier. I check behind the bus a few times to see if anyone is following, but it’s too bright inside for me to make out the types of cars traveling the road.
When the driver rolls to a smooth stop at my corner, I almost lose the nerve to get off the bus. What if Mr. Haynsworth just gave me the money to lull me into a false sense of security, and he’s really planning on taking it all back when he catches me walking home alone?
Knowing I can’t ride the bus forever, and every stop would make my walk home longer, I finally get my rump up off the seat and head to the exit.
“Careful walking,” the older man rumbles in a raspy voice that speaks of years of smoking.
“Thank you,” I mutter, wondering if his words are an omen I shouldn’t ignore. The doors snap closed behind me the moment my second foot hits the pavement, and I have to step away from the curb quickly when the driver pulls away, leaving me isolated on the street.
With my keys already palmed, I make the short walk to the entrance of my apartment building with my head straight forward, and I don’t exhale fully until I get into my building.
I was half convinced I would find the fancy lawyer waiting at my door for me, since he didn’t snatch me off the street, but my hall is blessedly empty. I can hear the other tenants watching TV and listening to music, but I don’t even slow down.
When I flip the deadbolt into place after dashing into my unit, I bang my forehead against the dented metal door to allow my heart rate to slow.
My phone and the money volley for my attention. I didn’t get a chance to count all the bills at work when I secreted away into the bathroom to look at it, but I did flip through each stack to make sure it wasn’t a bunch of singles or paper.
Now that I’m home, I pull all five bank wrapped stacks out of my pants and lay them on the kitchen counter. My heart starts beating fast again as I think about all the things I could do with this money. I could get a car, a better apartment, and move out of the area, but most likely, I’ll tuck it away for a rainy day. Just knowing I have it if anything happens would be such a relief.
With a little dread in my stomach, I pull my phone from my back pocket and reach for the card with his number. The soil is so dry, I have to blow off a few crumbs of dirt that stick to the heavy paper before dialing.
He picks up on the first ring. “I wasn’t sure you would call.” I can’t tell if his tone holds begrudging respect or a reprimand.
“I said I would,” I counter, feeling slightly defensive. “What do you need to talk to me about?” I lower myself onto my lumpy couch to get off my feet, but I keep my eyes on the money as if it might disappear now that I’m on the phone with him.
“Your grandparents would like you to come home,” he says slowly.
“I told you, my grandparents are dead. Maybe you have the wrong person.” Even as I say it, I doubt it’s the truth.
“Nova Devlin, born on March twelfth to Clara and Grant Devlin.”
I suck in a breath when he says my mother’s name, even though I was expecting there might be some truth to his words. “I don’t understand,” I mutter reflexively.
“I assumed as much. Your grandparents are very much alive, Nova, and they have been trying to contact you since they learned of your existence.”
“Why would my parents tell me they were dead?” I whisper, thinking out loud. They must be horrible people, right? Why else would my parents tell me they didn’t have any family? I rarely even asked them about it because I could tell it made my mom sad.
“Your mother left home when she was younger than you are now, Nova, when your grandparents forbid her from seeing Grant.”
“What? Why would they forbid her from seeing my dad?”
“I believe that question is for your family to answer. As I said, I’m here on their behest. They can’t leave their home right now, but they desperately want to know you.” I imagine a little old man and woman with white hair sitting in recliners, regretting whatever decision they made to alienate my mom.
“What about my dad’s parents? Are they dead?” It feels odd asking this question and hoping the answer is yes—not because I want them to be dead, but because I feel like everything was a lie and I need something to be true.
“You would have to speak to your grandparents about that, Nova,” he answers. I suppose that makes sense. Virgil is just a lawyer, so I can’t imagine he has all the details on the family drama.
“Why didn’t they call me themselves?”
“Astrid said she wanted the best chance to get you to listen and thought someone coming up here to personally speak with you would get the best results. I got the impression she felt like this was her final opportunity.”
“Astrid? That’s her name?”
“Yes, and your grandfather’s name is Rory.”
Astrid means star, and my mom named me Nova. She always told me I was her bright star. She wouldn’t have named me something so close to her mom’s name if she hated her, right? “This is…a lot. I…”
“I know, which is why I insisted on privacy, but there’s more you should know.”
“I’m listening,” I tell him when he doesn’t immediately continue.
“As I said before, your grandparents would like you to come home, to return to the estate, where you will have plenty of opportunities in life, such as attending Cadieux College, and get to know your family. I’m prepared to return you to them this very evening if you’re willing.”
“What? I’m not just picking up and leaving with you.” Is this guy crazy? And did he say estate?
“I understand your reservations, Miss Devlin, I do, but this is a time sensitive matter.” He doesn’t divulge why it’s time sensitive, but it’s not hard to jump to the conclusion that it may have something to do with my grandparents’ health. What else could it be?
That’s a strange thought. Up until today, I already thought they were dead, and it never really bothered me since I never met them, but it tugs at something in me now. Maybe it’s because the only family I ever had is gone, and this is like some weird, unasked dream to belong somewhere again come true.
“I can’t just trust you at your word, Mr. Haynsworth, pretty promises or not. You may think I’m being stubborn, but in my world, being smart keeps me alive.”
“I was worried you would feel that way, which is why I went ahead and booked you a flight on a commercial airline in two days.”
“Two days?” I look around my crummy apartment, thinking about all the things I would have to do before I could pick up and leave, and it dawns on me that it’s not much. I don’t have anyone who would miss me if I left, other than some of my coworkers, and even then, it’s not really me they would miss. They would miss how hard I work and be pissed if they had to take over my shifts on short notice.
My lease was only for six months, a perk of living near a college—cheap rent in crappy apartments with short-term leasing. With the money he gave me, I could pay off the two remaining months, and if South Carolina didn’t work out, I could come back, find a new job, and pick right back up where I left off. I wouldn’t even have to do much to clean out my fridge. Damn, now I’m a little sad because I’m examining how pitiful and lonely I am.
“They have been waiting for a long time to meet you,” he tells me solemnly.
“I have a lease.” I make a last-ditch effort, even though my resolve disappeared a few minutes ago.
“I’ll take care of it and any other bills you have.” Does he sound too eager?
“I need the option to come back if I want to, with a place to stay.”
“You won’t want to return to this, Miss Devlin, not after meeting your family.” He sounds very sure of himself. “But I will make sure your lease is paid in full for the next year, and I will get you an open-ended ticket if that makes you more comfortable with the arrangement.”
Dang, who knew I was so good at negotiating?
“I’ll give you the night to think it over, Miss Devlin, and deliver your itinerary along with your flight details tomorrow. I’m sure that will give you enough time to get matters in order for your trip.”
Calling it a trip seems easier. I’m not picking up and moving several states away, I’m just going on a trip, a vacation of sorts. “I’ll have to get luggage,” I say out loud, but I’m really speaking to myself.
“No need, everything you require will be provided.”
“You had me, but that made it creepy, Virgil. You expect me not to even pack my clothes and toiletries?”
“Pardon me, I just mean that once you’re home, you will have access to resources to acquire anything you might need or want.”
“Sounds sketchy, and I don’t like owing people. I’ll bring my own things,” I counter. There is no way I’m getting stranded in South Carolina without clothes, even with five grand in cash. If this doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll like the area. It doesn’t get nearly as cold down there as it does in Michigan.
“I’ll have some luggage delivered with your other things. Is there anything else you need, like a car to take you to the airport?”
“No, I’ll arrange that.” I refuse the offer, still too leery. I’m not special enough for someone to concoct this elaborate of a plan, but I still can’t accept his offer.
“I’ll speak with you soon, Miss Devlin. Call me if you need assistance making arrangements.” Virgil hangs up the phone, leaving me wondering what the heck I just agreed to and how crazy I am.
