head falling back as he released a long slow stream of smoke.
After a moment he blinked and spoke.
‘Yeah.’
Ava moved over to the seat opposite him and sank down slowly onto the tasseled afghan cover and waited. She’d spent enough time with her mother over the years to know how to deal with a stoner.
She waited patiently.
‘He was a good man,’ Baz spoke again after a few more moments, his voice low and raspy, his gaze pensive. ‘He loved you and your mama.’
‘Yes, he did,’ Ava replied quietly as her gaze was once again drawn to the photograph in her hands.
‘He was my best friend,’ Baz murmured, ‘nearly broke your mama when he died… guess they’re together again at last.’
He leaned forward over the bong and sparked up his lighter, taking another deep pull.
Ava placed the photo frame down on the untidy coffee table in front of her and glanced up at the wall above Baz’s head. It was almost impossible to believe that the guy sitting in front of her lugging a bong was a bona fide lawyer, but it was true according to the framed certificates and credentials on the wall.
‘Baz,’ she sighed in frustration, ‘what did you want to talk to me about? I don’t mean to be rude but everything’s still a little raw. I’m not really ready to sit here and reminisce about my dead parents.’
‘No,’ he agreed as he exhaled another thick cloud of smoke, ‘you’re here for the reading of her will.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. Smoothing out the creases he laid it on the couch next to him and began patting down his torso as if he couldn’t quite recall what he was looking for.
Spying a pair of tortoise shell glasses on the table, peeking out from under a TV guide, Ava retrieved them and handed them to him wordlessly.
‘Ah,’ he nodded in approval, unfolding them and sliding them onto his face before picking up the paper.
‘As it’s just the two of us,’ he began, ‘we’ll skip some of the formalities. They put me to sleep anyway…’ He scanned down the document and cleared his throat.
‘I, Serenity Cortez, formerly known as Caroline Annabeth Wallace, being of sound mind and body… yadda yadda yadda… and hereto do leave all my worldly possessions to my daughter and only child…’
‘But mom didn’t have any possessions,’ Ava replied mildly, ‘so isn’t this all a bit unnecessary?’
‘Ah wrong!’ He waggled a finger at her.
Placing his bong on the coffee table he stood and crossed the room to retrieve a dog-eared manila folder. Moving back to the couch he sat down and opened it.
‘Her estate is as follows… whoa…’ he blinked and sank back against the cushions, ‘head rush…’
‘Here, let me,’ she held out her hand as he passed her the folder.
Opening it, Ava scanned down the page, some jewelry, an old pocket watch and… her gaze stopped on the monetary figure below. She blinked, blinked again, then re-read the same line three times. When the figure didn’t change, she looked up at Baz with her mouth open.
‘Just because your mom didn’t live for money, didn’t mean she didn’t have any. She chose to live life the way she wanted. That…’ he pointed to the folder, ‘didn’t mean anything to her, she always said she wouldn’t be defined by dollar signs.’
Ava felt her stomach swoop and her head begin to pound at her temples. The shock was quickly replaced by a sharp painful jolt of anger.
‘It might not have meant anything to her,’ her eyes burned furiously, ‘but it would have meant something to me. With just a fraction of this I could have gone back to school, gone to college, instead of clawing my way from one day to the next, living in my truck, trying to scrape together enough money for food and gas. My life could have been so different, I could’ve been different.’
‘Your mom wanted the best for you,’ Baz shook his head, ‘she loved you more than anything. She wanted you to experience life, not get caught up in the chains of materialism.’
‘The chains of materialism?’ she whispered angrily, ‘is this some kind of joke? Is it materialism to want to have a home? A bed of my own? Not a sleeping roll on the floor of whatever shack we happened to be living in with twenty other people?’
‘Your mom did what she believed was best,’ he shook his head in regret, ‘no matter what I