handed it over. By the smile on his face I knew it wasn’t too little. Whether or not it was too much was hard to tell.
I closed the door, set the envelope down on the cheap veneered coffee table and waited for a voice to tell me what to do next. Open it? Take a nap? Go get wine first? The last option was the only one that resonated emotionally.
“Wine it is,” I said out loud to myself. When I realized I was speaking to no one, I added, “I’ve been not-legally single for a day, and I’m talking out loud to myself.”
I grabbed my keys and set off on quest for wine and food that needed no more preparation than a couple of turns in the microwave. While learning the layout of a market I’d never seen before, because I was on the opposite side of town from where I’d lived my entire adult life, I received calls from the animal shelter where I volunteered, the exterminator, and my daughter. I told the first to leave me off the schedule for a couple of weeks, told the second to cancel the account, thinking that insect infestations were the least my soon-to-be ex deserved. Last, I assured my daughter, the college junior who’d heard the news from her father, that I was going to be fine.
Through all of that, I never stopped thinking about the ‘package’, as the clerk had called it. By the time I returned to my (hopefully) temporary digs, I was tired of waiting. I set the two-and-a-half bags on the little countertop and went straight to the envelope.
I ripped the cardboard zip free and removed the contents expecting it to be a notice of intent to divorce. After all, who besides Cole knew where I was? Come to think of it, I hadn’t told anyone, including Cole, where to find me.
It contained a letter of summary and introduction, several legal documents and a printout of travel arrangements in my name. Paid travel arrangements that included a first-class, one-way ticket to London. I spread the papers out on the coffee table and stared for a few seconds before deciding that there was only one reasonable course of action when approaching a rare mystery such as this. Pour wine. Drink wine. Then read.
Congratulating myself on the foresight to pick up a wine opener at the store - because of course there were cheap wine glasses in the cabinet, but no opener - I poured three inches of deep red liquid, intent on feeling neither pain nor guilt. I moved the envelope’s contents to the dinette and switched on the swag light that hung above.
After getting as comfortable as dinette chairs allow, I took a drink of black blend. Not a sip or dainty taste. I enjoyed a full-on gulp with no shame and no one to critique my choices.
Dear Ms. Hayworth,
You have inherited a fine retail property with residence in the Eden of England, Cumbria, and funds sufficient to cover your personal needs and ensure maintenance of the property for your lifetime.
Enclosed you will find documentation of air transportation, a passport, a bit of currency, and a credit card in your name. After clearing customs, kindly look for a sign that reads ‘Hayworth’. We will have a man ready to escort you to a vehicle suitable for completion of the journey. Your auto will be equipped with navigation and programmed to guide you safely here.
Feel free to overnight en route to our picturesque village of Hallow Hill. The choice is entirely yours. We look forward to your arrival.
Sincerely,
Lochlan Jois, Solicitor
This could be better than winning the lottery. Or it could be the opening scenes of a horror movie. There was only one appropriate response. I reached for the wine glass and downed all that was left in the goblet. My head was swimming. Granted, more wine wouldn’t add clarity to the situation. But dammit. I deserved an illogical minute now and then.
I didn’t know which mystery to focus on. How did Lochlan Jois know I was at the Southside Residence Inn? How did he know I had just become available for travel? Perhaps the biggest mystery, how in the name of all that’s holy did he manage to get me a passport and credit card without my signature? Annnnnd, what is a solicitor?
The passport took priority for pressing questions. I opened it to find a recent photo that I don’t remember being taken. It wasn’t horrible. Just bad