“He signed the letter.”
“That doesn’t mean recently.”
“Please do not become more dramatic than the situation already is.”
He stared through the window.
“What if he wants to meet me?”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Then you decide what to do.”
***”What would you do?”***
The honest answer was that I would slam the door in his face.
But Adrian was not me.
This was his life too.
So I answered, “I would get the truth first.”
The law office occupied the second floor of an old brick building downtown.
The receptionist had one of those calm voices that could make any terrible situation sound like a dental appointment.
“Name?” she asked.
“Adrian.”
She typed something, looked at him, then stood.
“One moment.”
When she returned, she carried a large sealed envelope with his name written across the front.
***My heart started pounding.***
Adrian accepted it with both hands.
“Would you like a room?” she asked gently.
I frowned.
“A room?”
She gave a careful nod.
“Mr. Merrick said you might prefer privacy.”
That unsettled me more than anything so far.
We followed her into a small conference room.
Wooden table.
Two chairs.
A box of tissues pushed to one side as though they already knew what kinds of conversations happened there.
Adrian sat.
I remained standing because I felt as though if I sat down, I might not get up again.
***He broke the seal.***
Inside was another envelope, older and slightly yellowed around the edges.
Several folded letters.
And a typed note from the attorney on top.
Mr. Adrian Walker,
Enclosed, as instructed years ago by my late client Harold Walker, are personal letters to be delivered upon your eighteenth birthday. Mr. Thomas Bell facilitated the annual correspondence and gifts at your grandfather’s request.
If you have questions after reading, I am available.
Sincerely, James Merrick
Adrian’s head snapped up.
***”My grandfather?” he said.***
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