Accidents

It’s strange to think about how our actions can have a huge impact on those around us without knowing it. That even the smallest things could be perceived by another person as significant and important.

Olivia had a day like any other ‒ until suddenly it wasn’t. Returning home after a long shift at work, she tossed her mail from the day onto a growing pile on the kitchen table. But like a poorly executed round of Jenga, that was the tipping point. Half the stack tumbled off the table, scattering all over the floor.

As Olivia went to pick it up, the corner of an envelope caught her eye. It was from a law firm. She abandoned the mess and ripped it open. The letter inside claimed that she had been left $20,000 from a man by the name of Cory Locke who had passed away two weeks before. She rolled her eyes at the obvious scam and threw it on the table with the rest of the fallen mail.

Later that night, Olivia decided to settle in for a night of reading in her favorite chair. Her bookcase was packed with a combination of her favorite stories, ones she hadn’t read yet, and an assortment of books added by her boyfriend when the shelves at his apartment got too full.

As she browsed the titles a book she didn’t recognize caught her eye ‒ Accidents by Cory Locke. She pulled it from the shelf and opened the back cover. Below a picture of a man with an emotionless face, a bio stated he lives in the same town as Olivia. Or lived, if the letter on her kitchen table was to be believed.

She took the book back to her chair and grabbed her phone, tapping her boyfriend’s name on her recent calls list. He’d barely said hello when she said, “There’s a book of yours here called Accidents by Cory Locke. What do you know about the author?”

“Um, he’s from here but that’s all I know. I borrowed that book from the library once, but then bought my own copy,” he paused for a second before continuing, “because the girl in it always kind of reminded me of you.”

They talked for a couple of minutes and then said goodnight. Olivia grabbed a blanket, got comfortable in her chair, and started reading. It was three in the morning before she turned the final page. She should be tired, but her mind was filled with the story she just finished. Because her boyfriend was right. That character was her. They didn’t share a name or career or anything specific. But there was something about her that felt so familiar. Like she was reading a story of her own lost memories.

After a fitful night of sleep that felt more like a nap, Olivia crawled out of bed and went straight to the letter she’d left discarded on the table. She decided she’d at least call the lawyer and see if it was real. At this point, it was about more than the money. She needed to know who this author was and how he knew her when she had no idea who he was until twelve hours ago.

When she called the law firm, she told the receptionist that answered who she was and about the letter she received. She heard recognition in the older woman’s voice, as though this wasn’t the first time she’d heard about this letter. Olivia was transferred to a lawyer by the name of Mr. Jacoby who immediately confirmed the validity of the letter and the large sum of money that was now hers.

“But… why me?” She asked, still not understanding. “I didn’t even know this man.”

Mr. Jacoby chuckled. “Not many did, my dear. But I’ve known him a long time, and I can assure you his motives are genuine. In fact, if you have some time today, I’d love to take you by his estate and show you something.”

They agreed to meet in two hours. Rather than going to work distracted, she called in sick and headed to the local bookstore. She had research to do. She located the Cory Locke collection, in which there were probably twenty or so books, at least at this store. She picked a few at random and started reading the opening chapters. But she didn’t feel a similar connection to any of the main characters. Just Accidents.

She returned the books to the shelf and decided she couldn’t wait any longer and it’d be okay if she got to the estate a little early.

When she arrived, there were two cars already in the circular drive. The front door of the house opened and two men stepped out. The younger of the two was clutching a little black book in his hands as though it was a precious gem that he didn’t dare drop. They walked together to one of the cars, shook hands, and the guy with the book got in and drove away. Olivia took that as her cue and exited her vehicle.

“Olivia?” the older man asked as he walked in her direction.

Olivia nodded and held out her hand to shake his. “Mr. Jacoby, I presume. Who was that man?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“He’s the same as you.” He said. “There are twenty-five of you actually, but he’s the only other one that’s reached out so far.” Before Olivia could ask more questions, he ushered her into the house. They walked through a large foyer and then down a short hallway to the right, stopping at a pair of double doors. Mr. Jacoby opened both and stepped aside to let Olivia pass in front of him.

Olivia’s eyes went wide, taking in her surroundings. Every wall was covered with shelves, from floor to ceiling, packed and almost overflowing with books. A large wooden desk sat in the center, with two chairs in front of it. A shorter bookcase ran along the wall behind the desk under a set of windows overlooking a well-manicured backyard. Those shelves were cluttered with knick-knacks, reference books, stacks of folders and papers, and right in the middle, one single shelf with a row of identical little black books.

Mr. Jacoby crossed to that shelf and then pulled a paper from his pocket. He looked down at it and then back to the row of books, counting and pulling out the eleventh one from the left. He looked inside the front cover, closed it, and handed it to Olivia.

“Have a seat and look through that,” he said, gesturing to the chairs. “I’m going to step outside to make a quick call.” He left, closing the doors behind him.

Olivia sat down and stared at the book in her hands. She opened it slowly and sucked in a breath when she read the four words on the first page, written in a crooked but legible script.

Accidents

Inspired by: Olivia Errins

On the next page was what looked like a diary entry, dated September 6, 2015. In his careful handwriting, he recounted his memory of that day.

As I waited for a nurse to call my name, I shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chairs, observing the people around me. Today there was a young mom trying to wrangle two boys that were no more than three years old, as a tiny baby fussed in her arms. I could see she was frazzled. Worry on her face about whatever had brought her here. This wasn’t where you came for routine checkups. It was an oncologist’s office. She looked lost but I couldn’t be of any help. People are hard for me. I can write them, but can’t interact with them.

One of the boys tried to grab a toy from the other, and with a hard yank, he bumped into a side table that had a large vase of flowers on it. It wobbled precariously and then fell, spilling flowers and water across the carpeted floor. The room went silent except for the hiccupped sobs of the newborn being bounced in the mother’s arms. I could see tears in her eyes as she looked at the mess on the floor, and the young boys that had also started to cry. The whole display made me wildly uncomfortable. But a second later, a nurse from behind the reception desk rushed over with some paper towels. She assured the mom she had this and talked to the kids in a soothing voice. Telling them accidents happen. Nothing is broken, and everything can be fixed right up, no harm done. She sopped up the water, placed the flowers back in the vase, and set it ever so gently back on the table.

“See?” she said. “Good as new. I’ll even get some fresh water to put in there. We can all just reset and start over as if this never happened. Now be good and sit with your mom. I bet that would make your new little sister very proud.” With a smile, she turned around and looked in my direction on her way back to the desk. Her blue eyes captured me and her soft smile settled in my heart. It was like she became a part of me and I knew her. I didn’t really, but I did. In my own way. My next book would be about her.

Olivia paused before turning to the next page. With the story to jog her memory, she could actually remember that day, though she never would have given it a second thought before. And she still had no recollection of the man. Why would she? She saw countless patients every day come and go through that waiting room.

Mr. Jacoby gently pushed open the door and walked back in, silently sitting beside her. Olivia just watched him and waited, her questions unasked but knowing he could hear them.

He cleared his throat, “Cory was a unique man. He struggled with autism all his life. He couldn’t connect with people outwardly, but he loved to write about them. And every once in a while, he’d meet someone that struck him as important. And when that happened, it was like he could read that person down to their very essence and then make them come alive on the page the same as they lived in the world.”

Olivia wiped a tear from her eye as she looked back down at the book. “But I didn’t even do anything,” she said softly.

“You did though,” Mr. Jacoby said. “Like he wrote in your book, and it is your book now, accidents may happen, but they happen for a reason and they have a ripple effect. Meeting you was a happy accident for Cory. And he lived for those. They had a profound effect on his isolated and lonely life. He may have been no one to you, but you became one of his closest friends through the words you inspired him to write.”

Olivia nodded slowly with some kind of understanding and smiled. But then realized what he just said. “What do you mean by my book now?”

“Mr. Locke’s will stated that each of his book subjects should be given $20,000 dollars as a thank you. And if they also searched out the reason for it, and came to collect the matching little black book, they’d get all future royalties from the sale of their book. You now own Accidents, which brings in roughly $200,000 each year. Congratulations,” he said with a grin.

Dumbfounded, Olivia holds the little black book close to her chest. Now seeing why the young man earlier treated it as a gift to be treasured. This man she didn’t know, that she didn’t remember from a day that felt like any other six years ago, just changed her life. Because of a seemingly insignificant accident.