Asking For A Friend Read online

  An old soul, Denise didn’t have much use for technology and was the kind of person who still wrote checks at the supermarket. Between the influence of Denise and I as her primary caregivers, Annie was growing up as a kid who preferred the garden to the television and was bugging me for a new bike instead of a phone.

  As for her father, well, she didn’t have one. Okay, she did have one, of course, but he wasn’t in the picture. From the day she was born, Annie and I had been alone. I preferred it that way.

  Men complicated things. They hurt you and shirked their responsibilities. At least, in my limited experience. I wasn’t bitter or anything, I had long since moved on from my failed attempt at romance, I was simply careful. My heart was in a closely guarded vault and it would take a force of nature to pry the thing open again.

  I dated on and off, from time to time, but never anything serious. No one had ever even come close enough to our front door to be able to see Annie, never mind to meet her. For her sake, I had to watch who I let into my life.

  She was my first priority and my one true love. I didn’t need anyone else.

  Except for Denise, I needed her, too. More so if I was to carry on working, which I had to do. There was a potential disaster I didn’t even want to think about possibly looming if I lost my job on the back of the untimely demise of my boss. I had hardly any savings. Enough to get us by for maybe a couple of months, but that was it. I also had no one I could turn to for help, but doing that wasn’t in my nature anyway. Somehow, I would make a plan. Annie depended on me to make sure I figured things out and I would.

  It wouldn’t help to worry about it, though. Time would tell what would happen with that situation. I had a pretty good idea, but I would cross that bridge when I got to it.

  Shoving my worries over the possibility of becoming unemployed out of my mind, right along with my sadness over the death of my boss, I focused on Annie instead.

  “Mommy,” she said, her bright blue eyes wide. “Did you know Justin got a dragon for Christmas? He told me when Denise and I saw him at the store yesterday.”

  “A dragon, huh?” I raised my eyebrows, wondering where and what kind of stuffed dragon I was going to have to hunt down for her next birthday—assuming that was where she was going with this.

  She nodded, her wide eyes shining with excitement. “A kimono dragon. I want a kimono dragon too, Mommy.”

  “Komodo,” I corrected her gently, when I realized what she was talking about. “A komodo dragon.”

  Her little blonde eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah, that‘s what I said.”

  “No sweetie, a kimono is like that little robe thing you and I wore the morning before Aunt Mary’s wedding. Do you remember that?”

  I doubted she would. My cousin Mary got married a couple of months before Annie and I left Texas. We’d been in Boston for almost a year now, which meant she had to have been just over four and a half at the wedding.

  She had made the most beautiful flower girl with her blonde curls pulled back from her face in a ponytail that hung off to one side. I remembered my heart bursting with pride when she came walking down the aisle, the very picture of joy.

  Annie’s face scrunched up as she thought, then she surprised me by nodding. “We ate a big chocolate cake and there was a lady who played with my hair for hours.”

  “She was the hairdresser, honey. But yeah, that’s the day I’m talking about. Those little robes Aunt Mary got for us were kimonos. I’m willing to bet the dragon Justin got is a komodo dragon. It sounds similar, but it’s actually different.”

  “Okay,” she nodded without any further question. Annie seldom questioned things I explained to her. She mostly trusted I was right and was telling her the truth. I tried every day to earn her trust by never lying to her. It was just the kind of relationship we had.

  Annie opened her mouth, presumably to tell me more about the dragon, when she was interrupted by the front door slamming. There was only one person it could be

  “Hello my blonde beauties!” Denise’s voice rang out from the hall before she turned the corner into the kitchen.

  The fuzzy purple hat sitting on top of her fiery red hair was dotted with white snowflakes. She’d pulled off her coat already and was working on her gloves as she flicked on the kettle and plopped down in her seat for breakfast. “Man, is it coming down out there. I’m frozen.”

  “And apparently you’ve taken a dislike to knocking and doorbells,” I told her, unable to help the smile pulling at my lips. I loved that she felt so at home here she no longer knocked, but I had to give her at least a little grief about it.

  Rolling her olive green eyes, she piled some egg onto her fork and bypassed my comment. “Why are all men the same?”

  “They can’t help it. It’s because of their—” I trailed off, suddenly remembering Annie was in the room with us. “Anatomy. It’s because they’re so much bigger.”

  Denise winked at me, but then she sighed. “Bigger, yeah. Got you. Still, guys suck.”

  “Justin doesn’t suck,” Annie chimed in, adding, “He got a dragon. I think it probably bites. Maybe it’s still a baby and it still sucks.”

  “Okay, okay,” Denise conceded. “Not all guys, just guys my age. I’m giving up on dating.”

  “I’ve been telling you that since I met you,” I told her. The kettle started boiling and I got up to fix us some coffee. “What happened?”

  “Dating is gross,” Annie stated, as though it was a fact we should have been very well aware of.

  “Yeah, dating is gross,” I agreed, adding a dash of milk to our coffees before carrying them over to the table and handing over Denise’s mug.

  She shot a look in Annie’s direction and shrugged. “Let’s just leave it at me taking Annie’s advice. Dating is gross and I’m done with it. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “I’ve got the rest of the week off,” I volunteered. “Annie and I talked about doing something fun later. Maybe ice skating.”

  “You and I would look like giant blobs at the ice rink, but yeah, that could be fun.” Denise and I were both what people would caller bigger, beautiful women. We weren’t shy or embarrassed by our body types, though. We owned it and often joked about it.

  I had never been, and never wanted to be, stick thin, and Denise felt the same way. We’d bonded over it shortly after I met her. Real women had curves, and that was how we felt about it. We were not unhealthy, we exercised whenever we could fit it in, and enjoyed the occasional ice cream.

  It was society’s obsession with girls who had their ribs sticking out that was unhealthy. Not the girls, necessarily, but the obsession with it. The way I looked at it, your build was your build. You could either accept and embrace what ‘mother nature’ blessed you with, or spend the rest of your life being unhappy and feeling bad about yourself.

  Denise drew my attention back to reality. To the kitchen where I was enjoying breakfast with my family and not, in fact, busy delivering a motivational monologue to the crowd of women I was talking to in my mind.

  “When do you go back to work?” She asked, smiling. “Next week there’s a ballet starting I thought Annie might like to watch. Do you want to come with us?”

  “I love ballet,” Annie said, dropping her cutlery to clap her hands together excitedly. “Do you think we’ll get to dance?”

  Denise's eyes remained on mine and clearly she could see there was something wrong. “Sissy? When do you go back to work?”

  She had started calling me Sissy a few months ago, a play on my name, but also a sentiment about how close we’d grown. I’d never been a sister to anyone before, but I had always wanted one. I had found that in Denise, a kindred spirit I saw as my sister.

  I shrugged, not wanting Annie to get alarmed about my job or our conversation about it. She was so sensitive to my feelings. “I have no clue. Since my boss passed, no one really knows what’s going to happen. Human resources just told us to take the week off.”

  �
�I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Denise assured me. “In a company that size, the boss doesn’t really matter.”

  “In mine it does,” I told her, doing my best to keep my voice even. “People hired us for him, not the firm. There’s no one to take over work only he could do.”

  “They’ll figure something out,” Denise said. “Plus, who knows, maybe your boss left you some money.”

  “Yeah, I wish, but I know that’s not the case.” It would’ve been nice though, to receive an unexpected windfall.

  Denise, Annie and I would have been able to live out the rest of our lives without worry for a fraction of what he was bound to have had in his bank accounts. It would be nice not to have to worry, but hey, worrying was what moms did anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Layton

  Like most people, I wasn’t particularly fond of lawyers. My father’s lawyer, specifically, was a piece of work. There was a reason the two of them got along so well. They were both stubborn and stoic men who believed the world belonged at their feet.

  Going to the office of Clayton Reeve was not an errand I was looking forward to, but it had to be done. Dad’s estate had to be wound up and Clayton was the one entrusted with making it happen.

  But apparently he needed my signature on a couple of things before he could do his job. When his assistant called me to set up the appointment, she told me to get there at ten sharp.

  Glancing down at my watch, a bulky silver thing that was a gift to myself when I finished my first project, I saw I still had some time before I was expected at Clayton’s office. The financial district was the nerve center of business in downtown Boston, and naturally, it was where the lawyer’s office was located.

  Given that half the people who worked in the area suffered from caffeine addiction or felt it a necessity to jumpstart their workday, there were at least a half dozen coffee shops I could go to in order to satisfy my own cravings for the stuff. If I was going to be spending the morning going over my dad’s final wishes with Clayton, I needed an extra strong, super big cup of the best coffee I could find.

  Thankfully, I knew just the place. It was one of the smaller coffee houses with only about four tables inside and a counter with one barista named Paul. It was family owned, too. None of those commercial chains would do it for me this morning.

  Finding parking near Turner’s was always a nightmare, but since it was around the corner from Clayton’s office, at least I would only have to attempt the feat once this morning. Somehow managing to snag a spot only about a block up from the Turners’ coffee shop, I thanked the parking angel and hurried to the warmth of the shop.

  Paul grinned when I walked in, obviously remembering me from when I was a regular while Craig and I had a project going nearby. “Mr. Bridges. It’s good to see you. Can I get you a large filter just the way it is?”

  This is why I preferred Turner’s to the other places. It had been at least a month since the last time I was here, yet Paul remembered my usual order. Not half bad, given the amount of people he served every day.

  There was also the possibility that most people who frequented Turner’s took their coffee that way and as such, was a safe guess. But I preferred to think he remembered my order. Returning his grin, I nodded. “Please, Paul. Thanks.”

  A young man darted away from one of the tables just after I finished my order. He left his empty cup behind, along with a coffee stained napkin. Paul made a move to clear the table for me, but I shook my head. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

  Glaring after the guy, I picked up his trash and chucked it away in the marked bins near the door. Paul nodded his thanks, then handed me my coffee. As I sat down, I noticed the man left his newspaper on the seat beside the one that now belonged to me.

  The front page advertised an article on the sixth page with a familiar name right there in the title. “Jeff Bridges: We celebrate his life and times.”

  With my heart becoming suddenly heavy in my chest, I picked up the paper. Morbid curiosity took over and I turned to the article, even though I needed no more reminders that my father was no longer among the living.

  I was feeling strangely numb about it. My father and I hadn’t been the closest, but he was still my dad. It was terrible to have to keep staring that fact straight in the face without being able to blink for so much as a single damn minute.

  First there was the hospital, then the worst happened and I turned to dealing with arrangements then organizing the funeral that served as a constant reminder. I’d started hearing from insurance companies and the likes right away and realized that was the tip of the iceberg and I’d have to end up canceling his subscriptions, his phone and cable before I was through. I hadn’t been prepared for all the administrative details there would be to deal with and I really hoped the lawyer wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

  Work was already crazy, and with the amount of time I’d already had to be away from work with everything that happened, I was in danger of falling behind for the first time ever. There were sure to be a couple of late nights in my future.

  When I reached the page of the newspaper article, I realized they had used one of the photos I’d used at the funeral. It was a good picture, one where he was wearing a gray pinstripe suit with an emerald green tie that brought out the color of his eyes.

  Scanning through the article, I knew he would have approved of the contents. It showed him in the light of being one of the most intelligent, hardworking men of his generation. There were several quotes from friends and industry leaders, some of which had been said at the funeral and others I didn’t recognize. The reporter must have called around to get quotes for her article.

  They weren’t wrong. He had been intelligent and hardworking, dedicated to his job and loyal to his friends. Articles similar to this one were a dime a dozen in his life. He was frequently contacted by reporters, mostly by those in his field, but this would be the last. It was a good one to go out with, at least.

  For as many articles as there had been written about my father, I knew there would never be one published about me. Except perhaps to answer the last question posed in this one—what would happen to the billions my father left.

  My phone vibrated on the table, a reminder that it was time for me to go find out what would happen to said billions. I had an uneasy feeling about my meeting with Clayton Reeve, not because I was afraid I wasn’t in Dad’s will—because I was afraid I was.

  The lawyer was waiting for me when I strode into his office at ten o’clock on the dot. He stood, a somber expression on his face as he shook my hand. “Layton, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I replied automatically, the same reply I’d been giving for days now.

  Motioning me into one of the high back black leather chairs around the conference table in his office, he took his own seat at the head. There was a thick brown file lying on the table, with a smaller manila envelope on top.

  “Your father left you this letter,” Clayton started, sliding the envelope off the file and handing it to me. I took it, but didn’t open it. “Would you like a moment of privacy to read it?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t need to read it, especially not while sitting in this lawyer’s stuffy office. It was lined with books I would bet he hardly ever opened, and filled with oversize furniture. There were oil paintings on the walls. Not of dogs playing poker, but of birds in flight.

  If I was ever going to read Dad’s letter, it would be somewhere more comfortable. Perhaps at home, after at least half a bottle of scotch and possibly nearer to the time of my own demise than I hoped I was at now.

  No good could come from opening that letter. In all likelihood, it was only a letter left behind to talk about what I had—or should have—accomplished. I had no interest in opening it.

  Maybe one day when I was old and retired I would feel differently. My life would have been lived my way then, despite whatever it was the letter said. If I read it now, I was probably
going to end up living under the crushing weight of father’s disappointment for the rest of my life.

  A bit of a waste, since I wasn’t doing badly at the moment. I enjoyed what I had and I had what I enjoyed. A nice car, a comfortable apartment.

  My architecture firm was taking off big time. We’d been gearing up for the projects we had now for years. At thirty, I finally felt like it was my time to really fly. My dues had been paid and now I was ready to live my life.

  Preferably without Dad’s final words to haunt me for the rest it. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like us to continue. I need to get back to the office.”

  Clayton nodded, even if he did look mildly surprised. Undoubtedly, he had been expecting waterworks, me weeping over the last words my dad would ever give me. If that was what he wanted, he was going to have to look elsewhere, he wasn’t getting that from me.

  Sitting back in his chair, he pulled the brown file closer and opened its cover. The file had to contain more than Dad’s will, but I could see the lawyer had placed it on top. I could make out the first line on the top page. It read ‘Final Will and Testament of Jeffrey Arthur Bridges.’

  A chill ran down my spine. I had known, or assumed rather, that I would see those words one day. It was the nature of life after all, a child outliving his parents. I just didn’t know it would happen this soon.

  I was only thirty, and Dad had only been fifty-eight. Both of us assumed this day was further in the future than it ended up being. A tremble passed through my hands, but I clenched them into fists. There was never a time to show weakness, not even now. I had remained impassive during the funeral. I would bite back everything I felt and do the same now, as was the way of the Bridges men.

  If there was ever a time Dad would’ve been proud of me, it would have been now. Then again, probably not. He would simply say that this was how he raised me to be, and walk away.