The Letter

I Hereby Declare

"Okay, I'm coming!" Raven yelled.

Fastening her robe, she opened the door roughly. The ceaseless ringing of the doorbell had wakened her from her short nap. "Good afternoon," the pudgy mailman said, stifling a sneeze. "Hay fever," he said, rubbing his watery eyes. 

He handed her the mail. Among the stack was a certified letter. She took them; her free hand gripped on the doorknob braced to close it.

The mailman took a step back on the concrete doorstep then turn back; his brow creased with uncertainty and concern. Raven sighed, sensing the reason for his troubled countenance.  

Normally immaculate in her appearance, she had let herself go. Her black locks—the reason for her name—-was greasy and stringy, her sapphire-colored eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She hadn't washed her clothes in days. Her white terrycloth robe was dingy, wrinkled, and reeked of sweat mixed with perfume.

"Do I have to sign something?" she said with impatience when he kept staring. He cleared his throat. "No. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about your father. He was a good man."

The scowl on Raven's face softened a bit. Muttering a feeble, "Thanks," she closed the door; ending the painful conversation.

Listlessly, she skimmed over the mail; tossing the junk mail into one pile and the monthly bills onto another. She kept one piece of mail in her hand. The certified letter. Raven knew what was inside. It was a copy of her father's will.

A week had passed since he died and two days since the funeral. Though he had many friends, only those closest to him were in attendance. Arnie, his long-time friend and business partner, Beth, his twenty-two-year-old fiancée in the second trimester of her pregnancy, Florence, his ex-wife, and Raven his only child from that marriage and as her dad would say often the only good thing that came out of it.

Tears brimming her eyes, Raven traced her fingers, the red-lacquered fingernail polish chipped, along the ink lettering.

The last conversation that she had with him was brief. She'd called him on his cell-phone just as he was about to back out of the driveway to go to the other side of town for hot wings for Beth—something for her pregnancy cravings. Not wanting to talk and drive, he'd said that he would call later. The call never came.

Forty-five minutes later, a police officer arrived on her doorstep with devastating news. Her father was dead, killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. In shock, Raven's immediate reaction was to call Beth. 

The expectant mother, understandably inconsolable, could barely speak in coherent sentences.   "I can't talk right now," she said, hanging up.  

Raven still hadn't processed the news herself when a couple of hours of staring at the muted television screen someone beat at the door. Peeping out the door-hole, it was her mother.

A bit flustered, her mother said, while catching her breath, that she was out on a dinner date when she had heard the news. Clumsily, she grabbed Raven by the shoulders and pulled her into an uneasy embrace when she made no reply.

Raven knew the truth. From her tousled hair, smeared makeup, and silk blouse partially hanging out of her flower-patterned skirt, her mother had just climbed out of bed with her latest lover whose name she didn't care to know. She could smell sex and cigarettes on her person.

Raven and her mother were not close. She blamed her infidelities for her parent's divorce. She saw her one night through the lace curtains of her bedroom window. Her mother, wearing a skimpy dress, kissed a strange man, they both falling back against the door of a beat-up station wagon. He playfully swatted her ass while she giggled. Her father was out of town for a business meeting. She knew this because her mother had the date circled on the calendar.

Half an hour later—most of it spent talking discreetly into her cell phone—her mother left saying that she had a matter that needed attending to. So much for pretending to offer emotional support.

She tore the letter open. She knew that her father had his will updated upon learning of Beth's pregnancy. Though only engaged at the time of his death, she was certain that her father made provisions for his fiancée and baby. She read the first paragraph.

I, Aaron Ignacio, hereby declare that this is my last will and testament.

Taking a breath, she read further. As she expected, her father left Beth a substantial amount of money placed in a trust so she wouldn't have to return to her job as a sales clerk at the local department store—where they first met.

She read down to the third paragraph.

I bequeath the remainder of my estate, property, and effects whether movable or immovable whatsoever situated and whatsoever nature to my daughter Raven Vashti.

Raven blinked to make sure she read it correctly. The estate that her father mentioned is a 1460 square foot ranch built in the 1890s. 

Located in Ohio, Raven spent her summers there during her childhood. When her parents divorced, her mother gained primary custody of her and out of spite refused to return. The ugly divorce left her mother bitter, especially since the presiding judge ruled that her ex-husband didn't have to pay alimony.

Ten years had gone by since Raven last visited the ranch. Years of abandonment has certainly left it in a state of disarray and a need for renovating, a challenge Raven didn't mind facing. She was tired of city life and the strobing lights of nightclubs that didn't interest her anymore. She needed a break from everything. Breathing in the fresh country air was just the remedy. 

She looked through her contacts on her phone and dialed the number to her realtor. "Hello, Tracy."

Holding the phone away from her ear, she sighed. She had become all too aware of the awkward pauses people made when attempting to find the words to offer their condolences.  Though she knew that they meant well it made things more awkward.

"Yeah thanks," she mumbled in a hurry to change the topic. "The reason for my call is I want to put the townhouse up on the market. I'd like to sell it as soon as possible even if I have to take a loss. I'll be out of town for a few days so if you need to reach me you have my number. Okay. Thanks. Bye." She punched the button, ending the call.

For the first time since her father's death, she felt hopeful. The ranch had many cherished memories of her spending her days watching her dad riding on horseback on the 1.5 acres of land. He seemed his happiest there. Now coming to terms with his loss and needing a change of scenery, she felt that was where she needed to be.