Chapter 1

Olivia

As I rise with my alarm clock, I notice the beautiful sunshine beaming through my windows. I stretch my arms before climbing out of my comforter to prepare for the day.

After my stretch, I climb out of bed and walk over to my window, gazing at the city below me. People walk their dogs on the sidewalk, and children play in the park down the street. I love my view of the neighborhood.

I begin my usual morning tasks, starting the coffee pot and pouring myself some cereal. As the coffee pot goes to work, I jump in the shower. The longer I spend under the hot water, the harder it is to convince myself to get out.

As I finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, I shut off the water and step out onto the cold floor. I wrap myself in my towel and step forward to look in the mirror. The steam has completely taken over, so I use my hand to swirl it away, exposing the mascara running down my cheeks.

I laugh at the sight of myself as I reach into the drawer and pull out my makeup wipes. One by one, I take the raccoon look off of each eye. I brush through my tangled hair and apply my leave-in conditioner. I leave the towel wrapped around me as I blow dry it.

After I’m sporting a new face of makeup and my hair is all done, I go into my room and pick out the scrubs I want to wear. Finally, I enter the kitchen fully dressed and pour my brewed coffee into my favorite bright pink travel mug.

I slip on my shoes and head out the door. I listen to music the whole way to work to pump me up. I love the residents, but I must mentally prepare for each shift.

I’ve been at the nursing home for three years, and I’ve gotten extremely close to many patients there, but there is one man, in particular, I have gotten to know. His name is Franco. He reminds me of my late grandfather, so I always look forward to seeing him.

When I arrive in the building, I start with my daily tasks. Once the opening procedures are done, it’s time to see the residents. I walk down the hall into Franco’s room to start.

“Good morning, Doll!” he says. His eyes light up as soon as I walk into the room. He is always so happy to see me. He must love the company. He seldom has visitors, and if he does, they are distant relatives who don’t seem to treat him well, so our morning chats do him good.

“Good morning, Franco! How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“Like a log! Are you ready for our walk?” He stands up from the edge of his bed. “I’ve been waiting for you. You know it’s my favorite part of the day!”

“Of course I’m ready! I’m here to get you. Let’s go!” We head out on our voyage to the garden like we do every morning. He always tells me how much these walks mean to him, and today, just like every day, he does it again.

Along with telling me how much he appreciates the walks, he tells me his whole life story over again, too—always making sure to mention his daughter. He tells me he only has one and that she won’t speak to him. ‘She eloped, and we became estranged.’ He says it the same way every time he tells it.

 It saddens me to see his face fall every time he says he misses her but that she thinks it’s better if they don’t contact each other. I just don’t understand how someone can write him off, put him in a home like this, and never talk or visit.

On this particular day, I decide to offer my assistance. “I want to help you find her, Franco! I can see how much not hearing from her hurts you, which makes me sad,” I say as we enter the garden.

“I appreciate your kindness, dear. But I have to decline your offer politely. She might hopefully be happy in her family and her life. She doesn’t need a burden like me in her life.”

“Franco, you are not a burden! Don’t think like that. She would be lucky to have you in her life, and I’m sorry she doesn’t see that.” I grab his hand and squeeze it, trying to assure the poor older man that I’m serious. He squeezes mine back and shoots me a smile.

We continue walking through the garden, and I drop him off in the sunroom he likes. He spends most of his days gazing out the vast windows, basking in the sun. I wave at him and make my way down the hall to check on the other residents on my list.

I continue throughout the day as usual until the night shift arrives, and I’m free to go. I head home and make dinner. I fall asleep in bed with the tv light shining on my face.

The next morning the sun shines through my window, waking me again. I follow my usual morning routine and grab my coffee as I head out the door. I’m singing along to every song on the radio today and belting it louder than I should be. I didn’t sleep well last night, being too upset over Franco’s loneliness.

He is such a kind man, and watching him have so much guilt about his daughter is awful. I can’t help but think how glad I am that he loves our walks—giving him something to look forward to means a lot to me.

I arrive at the nursing home and head to my spot behind the counter to set my things down. When I finish my tasks, it’s time to head to Franco’s room for our walk. Today I’m a little bit more excited than usual. Now that I know he won’t try to contact her, I’ll do my best to make him feel special.

“Good morning, Franco!” I say as I walk into his room. I’m carrying my clipboard, so I don’t look up at him right away until I don’t get a response. As soon as I look up, I notice he’s still in bed. I walk over to where he’s lying and repeat it.

“Good morning, Franco!” Still, there’s no answer. I tap on his shoulder and notice his body is cold. I roll him onto his back, trying to wake him up, but it’s no use. I scream frantically for help, my shrieks echoing down the hallway.

A few minutes later, our medics run in and do all they can to try and help him, but it’s too late. He’s gone. They call it, and I walk out of the room feeling numb. I can’t see through the tears filling my eyes and pouring down my cheeks.

My whole body’s shaking. I stare at the floor as I walk to my station. As soon as I get to my chair, I sit on the floor beside it, hiding. No one can see me like this. I need to get it together.

I hear my colleague on the phone with Franco’s relatives.

“They’re on their way to get him,” she says on her way past me. I nod and sit there thinking of how upsetting it is that all he has for a family are distant relatives that rarely see him and aren’t the nicest people when they do.

Over the next several hours, I sit at my desk, trying to get through the day’s tasks, checking on the other residents when they need something. Doing the bare minimum to get through the rest of the day so I can go home and process this in private.

Suddenly, two people in suits walk in. A man and a woman, the woman steps forward to my desk.

“I’m the relative of Franco Norris, and this is Dan Vargas with the funeral home. We’re here to pick up his remains,” she says, never even looking me in the eyes.

“Oh yes. I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say quietly.

“Sure, where is he?”

“Of course, back this way.” I walk past them and head down the hallway carrying the clipboard paperwork she’ll need to sign. She’s filling out the paperwork as the funeral home employees do what they’re hired to do.

When she finishes the paperwork, she hands the clipboard back to me and starts to follow the men out of the room.

“Wait!” I say, stopping her. She angrily turns to look at me.

“What?” she grumbles.

“What about his daughter? Have you contacted her about this? Does she know what’s happened?”

“She’s never contacted me. I’ll take care of him.” She walks past me and out the doors. Watching him leave brought back the tears. I felt so sorry for him and guilty for not giving him more time with me.

I spend the rest of the day trying to hide my feelings. I smile at the other residents in the same circumstances Franco had been in. If anything, his death has taught me that I will start spending more time with those I know don’t have visitors. All these people need is someone to spend some time with, someone they can share their stories with.

The day finally ends, and I make my way home. As I open the door to my dark house and hang my keys on the hook by the door, I slide off my shoes. I don’t even bother putting them where they usually go.

I go into the bathroom and start the tub. All I can think about is soaking in some boiling hot water and trying to forget today’s events. As the tub fills, I enter the kitchen and open the fridge, grabbing the half bottle of wine from the door.

I spend the night sipping wine and relaxing until I crawl into bed and fall into a deep sleep.

Over the next week, I force myself to go through the motions. I follow the same boring routine and the same tasks at work until a few mornings later, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I feel I should answer it for some reason.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hello! Ms. Porter?” I hear a man’s voice ask.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“I’m Mr. Herrington, Franco Norris’s lawyer. Nice to finally chat with you!”

“Yeah, you too, I guess. But why would you be calling me? Is something wrong?”

“I need to meet with you. Are you free today?”

“Sure?”

“Perfect. 1:00 p.m., okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll email you the address! See you then.” He hangs up the phone, and I stare at the blank screen, trying to process what he said.

What can it be? Does Franco have last wishes?

Chapter 02

Clarke

         I pull my white Lamborghini into the driveway of the massive home I grew up in. Much time has passed but somehow this eight bedroom home that I’ve always called my palace still manages to look the same. As I’ve grown older I often wonder why we needed so much space for three people. Most of the bedrooms were just nicely decorated for the sole purpose of collecting dust.

         My long legs lethargically ascend the marble steps towards the front doors, making me realize just how exhausted I am from the day. Despite my own condition, I can’t refuse an invitation to have dinner with my mother. She has been lonely and miserable for as long as I can remember, and as her only child I still go out of my way to grant her any bit of joy when I can.

         I use my key to let myself in the front door then I am immediately greeted by Trevor when he hears the door close. He has devoted his whole life to the Freedstone estate, handling everything from the cooking and cleaning to the yard work for the past thirty years. He even looked after me many times when my parents were away so I considered him my uncle.

         His raspy voice echoes through the wide corridor. “Is that my troublemaking nephew?”

         “In the flesh.” I place my keys on an end table by the door then cover the distance between us, bending my tall body down to hug him. “Uncle Trevor, are you shrinking in your old age?” I tease as I stand tall after our embrace, observing how the top of his head comes to the center of my torso.

         “You’ve always been a giant.” He playfully raises his hand to pat my back several times. “I always tell you that you missed your calling. With your height, you should have been a basketball player.”

         We walk together with our arms around each other through the sunken living room towards the dining room on the main floor. “You know sports were never my thing.” I smirk arrogantly. “I couldn’t let these good looks go to waste.”

         My mother, Elena, rises from the end of the long dining room when she sees us, chiming in at the end of my comment. “That’s right, Clarke. I gave you those good looks to begin with.”

         Trevor releases his arm from my lower back, allowing me to go to her. “I’ll go grab dinner.”

         “Thanks, Trevor.” Elena smiles warmly as she wraps her arms around me, burying her face into my chest. “I’m so glad you came.”

         “Of course, Mom.” I hold her chair open for her then she lowers herself into it. As I walk around the table I notice her eyes studying me as I sit across from her.

         “Is this outfit from your latest collection?” The look of approval is evident on her face.

         “Yes.” I glance down at the red, leather motorcycle jacket covering the black and white checkered shirt underneath. “This is probably my favorite theme of the clothing brand to date.”

         “I can see why.” Elena picks up her glass of chardonnay and takes a long sip. “You look like a racecar driver. I remember how you used to be glued to the television screen whenever racing was on.”

         “I guess in a way I’m living out my childhood dream.” I reach for my wine glass that is already filled with white wine then bring it to my lips for a taste. “I’ve always had an affinity for speed.”

         “And you have the speeding tickets to show for it.” She raises an eyebrow which was always her way of scolding me. “It would be nice if you could slow down—in all aspects of your life.”

         I already know where this conversation is heading. My mother has a habit of giving me relationship advice when she has the worst track record of all. She is still married to my father despite his many years of abuse and neglect. Albeit I have my own relationship with them both, I have no memories of them being a happy couple in love. Many married couples stay together for the sake of their child but why they are still married when I’m thirty-two years old now is beyond me.

         “All I’m saying is a handsome, successful man like you should have a good woman by his side. You’re too old for the games now.” Her bold, gray eyes that I have carbon copies of stare into my soul. “When are you going to start dating someone seriously?”

         “I am. I’ll have her meet you when I’m ready to take that next step.” The right corner of my lips quirk afterwards, revealing my greatest tell that I was lying. She doesn’t seem to notice since Trevor returns with the food as if he’s on cue. He places the dishes of chicken and sides down in the center of the table, asks us if we need anything else then makes himself sparse.

         I start serving her plate first, knowing that it’s one of the things that makes her happy. “How have you been spending your time these days?”

         She smiles from ear to ear as she observes me loading her plate with chicken, potato salad and assorted vegetables. “I’ve recently gotten into pottery making.”

         “That’s great, Mom.” I place her full place in front of her then serve my own plate. “It’s important to give time to your hobbies.” Knowing that my mother battles with depression is a constant concern of mine. She’s a very delicate woman who will fake a smile pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Whenever I suggest that she gets help she always shoots it down.

         I can still feel my mother’s eyes boring a hole through my skull as I focus on my plate. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.” I pick up my fork and knife then slice the grilled chicken breast into smaller pieces.

         She daintily takes a few bites of her potato salad, clearly more interested in me eating my food than the plate that sits in front of her. I can’t help but notice how her face gets thinner every time I see her, causing a new fear that she could be self-inflicting pain onto herself by not eating.

         The sudden ringtone of her phone makes my thoughts come to a halt. Elena pulls the phone from her pocket, staring at the screen before pushing back in her chair then standing. “Excuse me while I take this.” I watch her leave in the direction of her room as she answers the call then her voice trails off to silence.

         I decide to go to her when she doesn’t return to the table after ten minutes. My right hand is about to knock on her door when I hear her crying on the other side of it. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

         She only responds with her sobbing that she doesn’t attempt to hide. I open the door to find her kneeled on the floor, crying into the expensive sheets of her bed. “Mom. What happened?” I take fast steps over to her, raising her body from the floor and gently seating her onto the bed.

         I sit next to her, still waiting eagerly for an explanation. She clenches both sides of my leather jacket with her hands, weeping onto the satin fabric of my shirt. “Your grandfather just died.”

         What? I always assumed he died long ago since he was never mentioned. I’ve had a living grandparent this entire time? I want to respond but I’m still in shock from the revelation.

         She moves out of my embrace, looking down at her hands in her lap as she gives me an explanation. “He was in a nursing home and it’s not like I didn’t want to contact him. Things got complicated ever since I married your father. Your grandfather was against the marriage so your father and I eloped which caused even more of a rift. Your dad gave me an ultimatum, making me cut ties with my family.”

         I reach for her hands, holding them in mine to comfort her while I still try to process all the information that she just dropped on me. “I’m sorry you were in that position.”

         She nods as the tears continue to roll down her face. “Years later when Clarence stopped caring about what I did or didn’t do, I went to see my family but I was so ashamed of choosing a man over them—a man who no longer cared if I was dead or alive.”

         Damn. My father was more of a villain than I’d realized. I’ve been completely oblivious to the extent of his cruelty and it makes me feel extremely guilty. But how could I have known? None of this was ever revealed to me before now. I knew that he beat my mother when I was young because it is still a huge part of the trauma that I deal with as an adult. By the time I had entered middle school my father totally neglected my mom and was seldom around.

         I realize at this moment that she needs me to be strong for her now more than ever. “Do you want to go to the wake? We can go there together.”

         “No.” She lowers her head with a sniffle. “What right do I have to show my face there?”

         Several days pass by and my life returns to normal. I had placed the passing of my grandfather in the back of my mind when I receive a random call from an unknown number. I collapse into my office chair, placing my phone to my ear casually. “This is Clarke Freedstone.”

         “Mr. Freedstone, my name is George Herrington. I’m your late grandfather’s lawyer. I’m calling on his behalf.”

         “Good afternoon, Mr. Herrington.” I feel utterly confused as to why I would be contacted in the first place. “How can I help you?”

         The man responds after being prompted. “I have something important to discuss with you. Do you have time tomorrow to come down to my firm?”

My eyes scan my calendar while my interest piques. “I can make time.”