Legacy Park

I cannot recall a single conversation with my grandmother in which she didn’t throw in an adage or truism she had picked up in her many years on Earth. She was an old-fashioned woman full of ancient and archaic wisdom and philosophy, mostly in the form of proverbs. Her favourite saying by far was the reassurance that, in life, ‘what is meant for you will not pass you.’ I loved my grandmother dearly, but I never truly believed this. We all know there are too many unhappy-ever-afters and could-have-beens in this world for it to possibly be true. Besides, even if it was true, what did that say about me? That minimum-wage shift work was meant for me? That my fiancé being called away for weeks at a time, leaving me at home with our young daughter and her infinite energy was meant for me? That watching Lulu, on the day she turned six, sit by herself on the living room carpet as she unwrapped the few toys kind relatives and my meagre savings had bought her was meant for me? All Lucia really wanted was a bicycle, even a used one, she pleaded, but I saw no sense in such a gift when we lived on the sixth floor of a city-overspill apartment block surrounded by fast multi-lane roads.

Damage limitation - I warned Lulu well ahead of time not to get excited, that I couldn’t work any shifts at the restaurant whilst Aunt Christie was recovering from her operation and couldn’t babysit, and we have to save every penny Daddy earns for the deposit if we ever want to move to Legacy Park, and we couldn’t throw a party anyway, and that definitely wasn’t my fault because there was nothing I could do about it even if I was a millionaire.

Can I be honest? I was glad when our county went into lockdown. Knowing that I was no longer the only one stuck inside all day with a restless child to entertain, it was a good feeling of camaraderie. No. It was a great feeling of schadenfreude, but camaraderie sounds much nicer. Either way, I mostly felt relief. Relief that it wasn’t my fault we couldn’t celebrate Lucia's special day by going to the trampoline park as all her friends had done for their birthdays. Relief that our need to save money was not to blame for an austere, lonely celebration. Relief that Ricky, being in another state, would not be missing much when he missed another milestone event in his daughter’s life.

So it was just Lulu and Mama in the tiny, cold apartment, eating dry cake and dreaming of a brighter tomorrow.

And then it happened. An automated text from the bank saying a deposit has just been made into my account for the amount of-

Okay.

Twenty thousand dollars.

Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.

Ricky answered on the first ring; I caught him at the start of his break. His surprise was genuine – he had no idea who had gifted me such money, though we both agreed on the why. Twenty thousand is a somewhat specific amount, just the amount we were saving to put down on a house deposit. It must, therefore, have been someone who knew of us and our goal. An Anonymous Payee were the words used by the bank's customer service agent when I called up, panicked, to ask what was going on (in my cynicism, ‘hacker’ and ‘laundering’ were the first words which sprang to my mind). The same agent assured me the money was completely legitimate and meant for me, but could disclose no further details about the benefactor.

The money was meant for me. I recalled my grandmother’s most savoured platitude. The money was meant for me.

But from who? I mused possibilities. In my little black notebook- a handy tool for shopping lists and to-dos- I wrote down the name of everyone I knew who might be the mystery philanthropist. Ricky’s boss was known to be a charitable man and certainly had the means for such a generous gift, but why would he donate the money to me and not Ricky, whose account details he would have on file? The parents were the next suspects – both his and mine - but neither of us came from wealthy backgrounds, and surely they would let us know if they were sending such a substantial amount of money our way –it seemed an odd thing to hide from us. Two phone calls and four convincing denials later, I was pretty certain they were not the culprits.

I did splurge a little. I took Lulu to Lakeside Mall, we had lunch at TGI Fridays and I explained, best as I could, that we were now rich thanks to the kindness of someone unknown, for reasons unknown.

That the money was a complete, total and utter mystery didn’t faze my daughter in the slightest - she could explain it very easily.

‘It was my birthday wish,’ she said simply over vanilla cheesecake and ice cream.

‘You wished for twenty thousand dollars?’ I replied, puzzled.

‘No silly mommy.’ Lucia took a sip of cola. ‘I wished to live in the big house.’

Of course she did. Lulu wanted to move to Legacy Park even more than Ricky and I did. There were no children her age in our apartment block, but there were plenty of young families moving into the new residential estate across town. Our apartment was squared in by speeding cars on all sides; Legacy Park houses each had their own back yard. But I think she (and I, and Ricky) wanted the silence most of all. With heavy-footed neighbors above and a young couple with a teething baby below us (not to mention the constant roar of the nearby I-70 highway), peace and quiet was a luxury reserved for the rare weekend day when the weather was nice, I wasn’t working, and we could drive into the country for a nature walk and a picnic.

After our delicious, no-expense-spared meal, I took Lulu to every store at Lakeside and bought her far more toys and clothes than any six-year-old really needs. Materialistic? Perhaps. But there was nothing materialistic about the happiness I felt being able to give my sweetheart all the presents she deserved.

I got Christie a new sofa, to say thank you for watching Lulu all the times I had to work late at Santiago’s Diner. Her old one was in a worse state than ours, but a new one for us would have to wait- the remaining $18,000 was all for the house. Christie was made up for me, in the way that only a true friend can be when you tell them of such news, knowing they would have every right to feel intense jealously at the seeming unfairness of it all. As we reclined on my biggest purchase so far, I realised that Christie wasn’t nearly as surprised as I was expecting her to be. So unsurprised, in fact, I had the craziest thought.

‘It wasn’t you, was it?’ I asked.

Christie laughed, honestly amused. ‘I think I’d want some credit if I’d parted with that amount of money,’ she said in her warm Scottish accent, one that hadn’t faded after decades of overseas living. ‘And I wouldn’t give you money just to let you buy me a couch now, would I?’

I agreed, she sipped her tea and continued:

‘You probably made an impression on a customer, you know, like how you hear of celebrities and CEO’s leaving massive tips for their servers. Someone kindly millionaire probably arranged it with your boss. I bet it happens all the time.’

It wasn’t the wildest suggestion. I did interact with a lot of customers, and I’ve not hidden my hopes to move into one of the new houses in East Riley from anyone. I added ‘anon diner customer’ to the list in my notebook. I thought some more – who else at my work knew of the twenty grand I was trying to save and could have donated such an amount? Only Manuel sprung to mind. My boss was a decent man, but as manager of a small business with a family of his own to provide for, he seemed far more unlikely than a faceless well-wisher.

As soon as Ricky returned, we arranged a house viewing. We took our time walking around 5 Aspen Drive, deciding if the three of us could be happy in such a place.

Of course we could. It was perfect. Perfect! Three bedrooms, a huge kitchen and the back yard - it was a level flat lawn; just asking for a swing set and barbecue grill to complete it. I could see it all – how I would decorate the living room in mauve and gray, how I would arrange our furniture in the master bedroom and how Ricky could have the smaller closet but the big walk-in one was all for me, how the kitchen – the huge kitchen -would be the hub of all dinner parties, and I would mingle with neighbors and pour the wine and pass around the hors d'oeuvres I’d made from scratch earlier that day.

It had always seemed to me a frustrating truth of life that any increase in financial income – however small or temporary - is immediately followed by an unexpected but necessary expenditure. A bonus at work? The car needs a new set of wheels. Given a raise? Renters insurance just went up. Parents gave you five hundred dollars as a thirtieth birthday present? Forget the Spa day, your own offspring needs new shoes and sneakers, and there’s a class trip coming up and it’s really important can’t-miss-it learning and it’s two hundred dollars by the way.

This time was no different, the last of the windfall -eighteen thousand dollars- left my account in one big chunk exactly two weeks after it had appeared, joined by a couple of thousand Ricky had saved. I’d never been happier. My fiancé and I both put our names on the mortgage brimming with excitement.

The realtor, a middle-aged woman with a smile a bit too bright to be genuine, congratulated us on our purchase and asked about our future plans. I’d spoken to Shelly once before, months ago, when I first heard of the new houses going up across town and realised that moving there was possible if Ricky and I worked hard and saved, saved, saved. Twenty thousand isn’t a huge amount for a house deposit in our city, but it’s a heck of a lot of money if you haven’t got it. ‘When you inquired about the house in March, you made it sound like it would be much longer before you could afford a deposit,’ she said in a light, passing-curiosity tone, ‘may I ask what changed?’

What could I say? Where did the money come from? I thought of all the names written and crossed out and re-written in my black notebook. Colleagues, friends, family, ex-employers, even ex-lovers. Whoever donated the money deserved to be credited. But whoever donated the money did so without wanting recognition. There were no strings attached, no acknowledgement was expected. Whoever had given the life-changing sum had done so with the intention of making the money seem to appear out of thin air. With the intention of making the money seem to be simply a-

‘It was my wish!’ Lulu burst out when I took a second too long to respond. The realtor laughed at the innocence of such a remark, but, it dawned on me then, Lulu was completely right.

‘It was,’ I said seriously, then I laughed at Shelly's expression and at the absurdity of what I was realising: ‘The money was just a wish come true.’