“Iwant it,” I said simply.
Hislips spread into a wide grin. “Really?”
“Yeah,this is it. This is the place I want.” The place my dad would have wanted forme.
Iturned around to Connie, who waited by the bar expectantly. “Let’s do it.”
“Wonderful!How about you meet at my office tomorrow, and we can get the paperwork going?”
Withouta second thought, I grabbed Devin’s hand, wrapped the fingers of both my handsaround it and clutched it to my chest. I felt good. For the first time in a longtime, the future looked bright, and it was a good day.
?
Ifthere’s one thing I know about good days, it’s that they are often counteredwith a bad one.
AfterDevin dropped me off at home that evening, Mom was sitting on the couch,watching TV. She asked me how it went with the realtor, and I excitedly gaveher the rundown of our meeting.
“That’sgreat, honey. Daddy would’ve been so proud of you,” she said, and with a hugand a weak smile, I left it at that. Afraid that if I spent too much time, thenice moment would backfire.
Iretreated to my room and dove for my laptop, prepared to log into the bankaccount my parents had set up for me when I was a little girl. The account thatheld the inheritance from my late-grandparents, donations my father made towardmy dreamon a monthly basis, when his addiction couldspare it, and earnings from part-time jobs and nights of babysitting.
Mycoffee shop fund.
Withthe excitement and nerves of someone about to invest such a large sum of money,I put in my username and password. I waited with anxious anticipation for thewebsite to log me in.
Andwhen the website finished loading, I found I’d been locked out. Confused, Igrabbed for my phone and called the bank. Obviously annoyed that I called fiveminutes before closing, the teller informed me that the account had beenclosed.
“Closed?”
“Yes,”she said in an impatient monotone. “According to our records, all of the moneyin the account was withdrawn last year. We require a minimum oftwenty-five-dollars to keep the account open, and—”
“Iknow,” I said, cutting her off. My heart pounded in my ears, my stomachchurned, and my eyes burned with the onset of tears. “Can you tell me whoclosed the account?”
Andas she gave me my father’s name, my heart broke all over again.
?
Thesecond meeting with Connie had been a lot shorter, and a lot less fruitful,than I’d initially planned. And so, afterward, Devin and I foundourselvesat TheOl’ Tavern, justdown the street from what should’ve been mine.
“Youknow … Dad was the reason I even wanted to open Black & Brewed in the firstplace,” I said. My words settled into tremors and Devin noticeably bracedhimself. Clutching to the empty bottle of beer in his hand. “He told me I coulddo anything, he told me to work toward it, and then hestoleitfrom me.”
Ishook my head and looked up to the iron lantern hanging over the table. Asingle tear worked its way over my cheek and splashed onto the wooden tabletop. I knew there should have been more, more tears, and more anger. I justdidn’t have it in me anymore.
“Andthe worst part is, I can’t even hate him. It would be so mucheasierifI could just fuckinghatehim, Devin.”
“He’syour dad, Kylie,” he replied, treading carefully. “There would be nothing easy abouthating your dad.”
Witha broken sigh, I closed my eyes. I could see my laptop’s screen and my bankaccount.
“Ishould’ve changed the information when I had the chance,” I said, meek andshattered. “I should’ve known better than to leave that type of money in hiscontrol. I should’ve been keeping an eye on it. I mean, God, I hadn’t checkedthe fucking thing in over a year!Fuck…”
Devinshook his head. “You can’t blame yourself.”
Mylips pinched and twisted. “Then, what do I blame, Devin? If I can’t blame himfor being sick and I can’t blame myself, thenwhat?”
Hehung his head, because he didn’t know either. Nobody ever did.
Itook a peekout the window at the old, dilapidatedbar. I could see the sign for my coffee shop hanging over the door. I could seeeverything I ever wanted behind those windows, and my father—the man I couldnever stop loving—had taken it all from me. My dreams, my goals. They weregone, along with the money he’d helped me save.
