declared himself satisfied, and let her drive away. “Keep it for a few days,” he said, “then bring it back and I’ll fix whatever you broke.”
Four hours, two stalls, and much circling later, she found a parking space and remembered why she didn’t own a car in Los Angeles.
Back-and-forthing in the space was nerve racking, and Nina kept having to slam the brakes to avoid hitting the car behind her. After one particularly hard brake, the glove box of the car flew open and a pile of envelopes and papers slid out onto the passenger seat and floor.
Nina turned off the car and reached over to pick it all up. She saw her name, then saw Becky, Katherine, Archie, Millie, Lydia, Peter . . . There were lots of yellow envelopes, the kind with little metal butterflies on the flap, each addressed to one of William’s kids or grandchildren.
Nina frowned; this couldn’t possibly be good. She found hers and opened it, still sitting in the car, the engine ticking as it cooled. There was a folded piece of paper, and a very ’80s-looking bankbook, with My First Savings Account written on it in gold, with an actual rainbow unicorn. Banking used to be so much cuter. She opened it up and goggled at the balance. Over two and a half million dollars. Doubtless there was some mistake. She turned to the letter.
Dear Nina,
I’m going to open this letter in the classic way: If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.
Nina made a face at the cliché, but kept reading.
My being dead probably doesn’t bother you much, seeing as you didn’t find out I was alive until I wasn’t. I’ve wanted to reach out to you many times, and I used to come and watch you get picked up from school, to make sure you were happy. Your mom was quite right to keep me out of your life; looking back, my biggest regret is how much I hurt my kids, and you were spared that. But I did love you, even if it was creepily, and from a distance.
Nina looked out of the window. It would be nice to know what her father’s voice sounded like, so she could imagine the letter in voice-over, but as she didn’t, she decided to pretend the car was talking to her in William Daniels’s voice. It had started raining, which seemed appropriately anomalous for this moment.
Anyway, I’m leaving you this car, and also the savings account. Your mom refused to take money from me, so I put it away for you. One hundred dollars every week you’ve been alive, plus interest, and it’s ended up being an excellent example of the miracle of compounding. Spend it on something amusing. If you want to sell the car, please offer it to Moltres first; he loves it. Don’t be fooled by his gruff exterior. He’s really a pussycat and a good man. I’m not suggesting you marry him or anything, but he’ll give you a fair price.
Here’s the thing, Nina. I have a feeling you and I are very alike. I know you love books even more than I do, and I know you enjoy being alone. (Yes, I stalked you a little bit online as you got older. There’s nothing you can do about it now that I’m dead. Sorry.) But I made mistakes in my life, and I want to give you some advice.
Oh God, just like Becky had said. Tablets of stone. Advice from beyond the grave.
I was an anxious child, with parents who didn’t like me. My father wanted a big, brave boy, and my mother wanted my father to be happy. I learned very early on how to cover up, and cover up well. I was terrified of the other kids at school, even more than the teachers. So I kept my head down, got all A’s, didn’t make eye contact, and ran home every night to do homework and read. I rode that horse all the way through college. I don’t have a single friend from those days, and when my parents died, I didn’t know enough about them to write a eulogy. I asked a neighbor to do it.
Eventually, I discovered drinking, and that helped, right up until it didn’t. It certainly helped me achieve my primary goal, which was to avoid feeling uncomfortable at all costs. Difficult feelings? Drink and get numb. Painful relationship? Drink and leave. Children who need me, or whose mothers needed me? Drink, leave,