Little Black Book

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the lawyer said as he handed me a large box. “These are all the personal belongings I could locate from your father's last known residence.” I nodded.

He continued, “As you know, he owed money to quite a few people. I’ve included a summary of the amounts owed and what has been paid.” He handed me a thick white envelope. “Based on the amount of debt, there aren’t any funds left for an inheritance.”

I nodded again. “Thank you for your help,” I said and left the office juggling the box with one hand and pulling the door open with the other. “No father, no money, nothing but a box of useless items to remind me of my dad. Always thinking of others, not of his son.” I thought.

The box seemed to take center stage in my small apartment. I delayed opening it. Memories of my father were jumbled and I was afraid looking at what lay inside the box would change my memories.

I remembered sitting in the car while he collected rent payments. Watching the stars during a campout. Quiet drives down back roads, alleys, and the woods to watch the deer, squirrels, and foxes. Memories of walking through half-constructed or decomposing buildings, holding my father's hand.

I wanted to keep those thoughts foremost in my mind, rather than on the loss I felt. Finally, I lifted the lid and my breath did a sharp intake.

On top was my father's little black Moleskine notebook. The one where he kept track of all his tenants. Marking who had paid, who was behind, and who might be moving. It smelled faintly of wood smoke and his cologne. I fingered the soft, ivory-colored pages. The cardboard cover was bent in one corner where I had dropped it when I was ten. I was surprised he kept the notebook so long. I looked in the back to see if any rent checks had been tucked in the pocket and forgotten. It was empty. I remember drawing on the back pages, but they were no longer there. Torn out and thrown away long ago I supposed.

Thumbing through the pages I remembered most of the names, though I couldn’t remember what each person looked like. Then I noticed the letters “MD” next to a name. I didn’t remember them being a doctor! MD with a line drawn through it was next to another name. I counted eight MD’s. Two of them weren’t marked out. A single CD, one C, one D, and one M.

What did the letters mean? I know he didn’t have that many medical doctors for renters. Could the C stand for a $100 payment, or had they given him cash? D for still owes a debt? M for Monday, Money, Maybe? Did someone give him a CD for payment? Then I looked again at the C. Maybe these were amounts owed and noted in Roman numerals. I added them up. If the six MD’s weren’t marked through but were intended to have a line OVER the letters, this was a list for $20,000. My heart sank. My father owed another $20,000 to twelve more individuals. Why else would he have kept the notebook that long?

I scrounged through the rest of the box and found a photograph album, some Polaroid photos of people who looked vaguely familiar, one of me in the middle of a construction site with my dad, and an old, faded red address book. I looked through the address book and found a phone number for the first name on the list, Gwen Evans. She lived just around the corner. I picked up my phone and dialed. Quick busy. I dialed again in case I had punched the numbers in wrong. No, I got a quick busy again, so the line was not in service. I tucked the notebook into my back pocket, threw on a jacket, and headed out the door. I would have to let the people on the list know to contact the lawyer so my father's debts could be paid off somehow.

I knocked on the door. A tiny, frail woman opened the screen and asked me what I was selling. “No ma’am, I’m not selling anything. Ms. Evans, I’m Joseph Keen. I found your name in my father's notebook. I believe he owed you some money. I’m sorry to say he died last week. I only found your name today. Please contact the lawyer on this card to straighten out the debt,” I said as I held out the attorney’s business card.

Gwen Evans looked at me, her eyes suddenly bright and she smiled. “I remember you! You used to come around with your father and collect the rent money! How are you doing? I’m sorry, I didn’t know about your father. Do you have his little black notebook with you?”

Puzzled at the question, I pulled the book from my pocket. “That’s the one. That’s the book I remember. Hold on a minute.” And she disappeared from the doorway. She reappeared ten minutes later with a soft, ivory-colored page, similar to those in the notebook, folded in a small square.

“I’m glad you came. I hate to have things unfinished,” she said as she opened the door and gestured me inside. “I hope you don’t mind, I called a few other people who are in that book.” She nodded toward the book in my hand. “They’ll be here in a moment.”

“I’m sorry, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I began. “I don’t have any funds on me to make payments for my father’s debts.” She laughed and put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh honey, you are confused.” Just then the doorbell rang. On the porch were two balding men, a youngish-looking female, an older man, and a thirty-something female with a baby on her hip. Gwen held the door open, accepting hugs and hellos as they all entered the living room.

“Denny is on his way. He and Sue Ellen are picking up Carl and Bella on the way over.” said a tall, lanky man as he skipped up the porch step and into the room.

“Thank you, Benjamin. I don’t have Denny’s number anymore,” said Gwen. “Well, I suppose introductions are in order. Everyone, this is Gregory’s son, Joseph. Joseph, let me introduce you to Harold, Ken, Kitty, Greta, and her baby Kay, Benjamin, and George,” Gwen said as she pointed each member out. I nodded my head at each name and received a nod or a smile in return.

“I’m sorry.” I stammered, “Some of you look familiar to me, though it has been a long time since I’ve seen any of you. You should know my father died last week. I found your name and looked up your address,” I nodded at Gwen. “I recognize everyone by your names in my father's book. But I’m a little confused why you were all called over. I don’t have the funds to pay his debt to each of you with me. His lawyer is in charge of the estate.” Under my breath I muttered, “Such as it is.”

Just then Denny, Sue Ellen, Carl, and Bella called out from the open door. “Hello! We’re here. Don’t start without us!”

“Come in!” chirped Gwen as she brought out some folding chairs.

I was starting to feel panicky. The lawyer had already told me all the funds from my father's estate had been used up. I didn’t have the money to pay these people back. I'm barely making ends meet as it was! What would this crowd do when they realized they weren’t going to be paid?

“Joseph,” said Harold, “I would like to be the first to say I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.” I nodded and noticed Harold held a soft ivory paper in his hand. I was startled to see each person, minus baby Kay held a similar paper.

Kitty stood and walked over to me. She handed me her paper, folded in a small square. On the outside was the Roman numeral MD. “The debt is repaid,” she said and sat down. One by one, each person in the room repeated Kitty’s words and actions. When they had all returned to their seats, I held eleven soft ivory papers, each folded in a small square, all with Roman numerals marked on it. Denny stood again and handed me one last paper.

“This is Mike’s. He died two years ago and asked that I make sure you get it when the time comes.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

Sue Ellen smiled and asked me to open the papers. Inside each first fold was a check, made out to Joseph Keen. They totaled $20,000.

“I still don’t understand. Why are you all giving me money? My dad owed you funds.”

“No sweetie,” said Bella. “Your dad didn’t owe us anything. We owed him. Some time back we were all at one time or another in a bad place, unable to make our rent payments. Some of us owed more than several month's rent. Instead of kicking us out for non-payment, he made a deal with each of us. Pay rent when we could. Put aside money to pay him back, but don’t give it to him. We were to keep it tucked into the paper you hold now. After he died, we were to give you the total owed. The amounts we owed are written in Roman numbers on the front of each page.”

“I don’t understand. I’m happy he was able to help you, but why did he ask each of you to hold the money?”

“Because your father was a kind man and went out of his way to help others. He was afraid his generosity would prevent him from having any funds to give you when he passed. By asking us to keep the money, he knew you would have funds, free from any of his debt.” said Ken.

I wept and hugged each of them in turn. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me the best memory of my father. That’s worth more than any amount of money.”

“There’s one thing we’ve overlooked,” said George. “Look inside the pages. Your father wrote a note to you on each one.”

I carefully opened one of the pages to its full size. Inside was a drawing I created when I was eight. My father had written, “Best artist in the family” at the top. Each subsequent page was a drawing I made on a page from the little black book. Each one had praise or a heartfelt comment from my father.

Carefully I tucked the pages in the back pocket of the notebook, put the notebook in my jacket pocket, and walked home. I was wrong. I had my father's love and always did. And the proof was there in the pocket of the little black book.