The Trust

Afterwards

There's a country music song that I like. Just one, I don't much care for country, except the really old stuff my father used to listen to — Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson. But there's a modern one that goes something like, 'I've got my toes in the water, ass in the sand, not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand. Life is good today.'

I'm resting back on my elbows as the waves wash over my toes and soak my brand new dress. They are indeed in the water and my ass is in the sand, but there's no cold beer to be found. Jake is beside me not saying a word; his handsome profile scans the horizon as if he's expecting someone to emerge from the waves.

My face is red and swollen and my throat hurts from crying. Everyone else has left, it's just the two of us now and my mother, her ashes floating on the waves, just like my father's so many years ago. She asked to be with him in the end; said they'd meet up somewhere in the Carribean and reminisce about old times over a mocktail or two.

"She never stopped loving him," Jake says, reading my thoughts as he always does. "Even after everything he put her through."

"My father wasn't a bad man. He just had an illness he couldn't overcome," I say, tracing circles in the wet sand with my painted toes. "When he wasn't drinking or using, he was a sensitive, loving man."

"I think that's the first time you've said something good about your father," he observes, rolling up his pant legs. 

"The past year gave me some perspective," I say, wincing at the memory. My family and the town were still suffering from the fallout from my uncle's 'trust.' The latest casualty was my mother, my champion and best friend. When she found out how much debt she was in and that Rob was responsible for Jack's death, she was never the same. The stroke that came soon after robbed her of her vitality, mobility and her speech. Then she just faded away.

I cupped my hands in the salt water and splashed it on my face, hoping the shock of the ice-cold water would stop the fresh wave of tears. All it did was make my eyes sting.

"Here," Jake says, handing me a handkerchief. Gratefully, I swab at my eyes until I feel relief. 

"I never thanked you for doing what you did," I say, handing it back. "I know it wasn't the only reason you left the priesthood, but I'll always be grateful for the timing."

"I did it for you," he says simply.

"Really?"

"Sure, I was getting disillusioned and wondered what it would be like to have a different life. But I couldn't stand what Rob was doing to you. I couldn't take it anymore."

"Wow." 

We sat in silence, watching the waves. 

"Besides, I'm still a priest. Once you're ordained, it's kinda for life. But I don't have to follow any of their stupid rules anymore. And I'm technically not allowed to deliver the mass. But I can still do God's work, just as a therapist now. The church has no business anymore what goes on in my bedroom."

I raise an eyebrow. He'd never talked like that before. I couldn't help but ask.

"So, what's going on in your bedroom?" The painful look he gave me made me laugh. It felt good; I hadn't laughed in a long time.

"Nothing yet. I don't even know how to properly be an adult, let alone be in a relationship. Christ, Woman, let me figure out how to get a bank account first. One step at a time."

"Okay," I say, still chuckling. 

"Did you really do it for me."

He turned to me then with a look as intense as the blaze of the setting sun. "What do you think?"

I nod and turn back to the waves, no longer caring about the sandy mess of my outfit, or the sting of the cold waves. My heart was still broken over my mother's death. I could feel rage twisting in my belly when I thought of the past year, the death and destruction brought on by one man for so awful a reason — pure greed. It wasn't enough that he lost everything, or that he'd rot in jail until the day he died. Part of me wanted him to suffer more.

But if I gave in to that twisting, black mass of anger I could get lost inside of it and never come out. Despite all that I'd lost, I had to focus on what I still had and being there for Audrey, my sister and the rest of my family and friends.

"Kind of ironic that Jack had this massive life insurance policy and you were all named in it, even Rob," he muses.

"I'm so glad he changed it before he passed and made sure Rob's portion went to his kids," I say, thinking about my cousins. They were far from OK, but thanks to Uncle Jack, they were out of the financial hell their father created for them.

"I can't believe it just fell out of the sky, months after he passed. It's a miracle, if you ask me. What are you going to do with your share?"

Opening my mouth to argue, I closed it back up again. Jake still believed in angels and miracles; despite his crisis of religion, he never once experienced a crisis of faith. He personified the good in people, and I still believed in that too.

"I've already done it. Paid off the house, got myself out of debt, pre-paid Audrey's tuition and put most of the rest of it in trust for her. I took a small amount out of it to pay back the town what Rob owed."

"You didn't have to do that," he says.

"I know. I have to live here though, right? The Douglas name was honoured for decades until this happened. Now we can stand tall again. Besides, it was the right thing to do."

He nods, scanning the waves. I finally started registering the cold. Goosebumps sprang up on my legs and I started to shiver. Jake shook sand out of his black suit jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

"Supper at mine tonight? I'll make you my famous shepherd's pie."

"I'm counting on it."

THE END.