His Father's Book

A final chord rang out into the atmosphere signaling the end of the hymn, but long before, the pews of the small chapel had begun to empty. Henry Wilkes was dead, and the world was all the better for it, though no one would have dared to admit it aloud.

Only Ben remained in the pew near the back right corner for a little while after everyone had left. There would be no graveside service, as Henry's remains were set to be cremated that afternoon. Ben had been sorrowfully acknowledged by a few of those in attendance. He was, after all, Henry's only child. But Ben couldn't escape the feeling that most of the acknowledgment had been somewhat of a caged congratulations. All of Henry's acquaintances and colleagues from the firm knew very well that Ben and Henry hadn't spoken in years.

Ben shuffled around uncomfortably. His father left him everything — and after a 40 year career as a lawyer, all he had to give was a small black notebook and twenty thousand dollars. Every single one of Henry's colleagues had noticed the book in Ben's hands. However, only some of them had vocalized the attention that little book commanded. "Your father never put that book down! I'd give my eye teeth to see what's inside!" or, "I can't believe Henry didn't want to be buried with that book ... he loved it so much! What's in it?"

Ben's grip tightened a little around the book. It's pages were bent and slightly yellowed after so many years, but the leather cover, softened with age, barely showed a scratch or mark despite it's frequent use. He hadn't bothered to open it yet, because what could his late father possibly have to say to him now? Ben's memories of his father were limited, so much of it had been a cocktail of cruelty mixed with neglect. His mother had done her best to ignore Henry by leading a very full and enthusiastic social life. Her escape had done Ben neither harm nor good — he felt that he barely knew her, but every childhood scene that Ben could pull to mind had the looming presence of Henry in it.

For a moment Ben considered what he wanted to see behind that smooth black cover. An apology? An explanation? Sometimes, when he was younger, Ben would daydream about what his father did all day at the firm ... A strong and brave lawyer defending innocence and punishing the guilty. Ben would think to himself that such an important job was the reason why his father was so distant, so dark. Perhaps the weight of all those crimes and bad people made him tired — too tired.

Ben glanced up at the casket, adorned with flowers. Perhaps the book contained some cryptic message, the secret of which Henry had taken to his grave. Some of his colleagues certainly believed this to be the case. After all, someone as difficult and hard as Henry was sure to have many secrets. Ben thrilled for a moment at the concept — perhaps Henry was not who everyone believed him to be? Could some other motivation have been there all along?

The candle near the casket was suddenly blown out by a draft from the open window. He knew full well that he would never know his father any better than he already did. The only person who knew Henry — really knew him — was dead. He had spent his life all on himself, never a moment of time for anyone else. The retirement accounts and funds he had amassed were reduced to twenty thousand dollars in the six months he was given left to live by the doctors. Henry sold his house and furnishings, took a private cruise, spent countless hours in Las Vegas parked at a card table, and attended every concert he could purchase tickets for. He had spent those last six months alone. But no one questioned it, no one wondered if he was happy or even merely satisfied. Death had taken him suddenly — despite the knowledge that it was coming. Henry was waiting in line at an ATM, attempting to withdraw some of that last twenty thousand, when his heart gave out.

Ben was keenly aware that his father never wanted to leave him anything. But now he wondered if perhaps he should have called. Reached out. Those last six months had seemed so full that Ben had hardly felt as though he could squeeze in. And Ben had grown so much since leaving home, he doubted there would be space for him at all. He certainly could have found Ben, if he wanted to. After all, he had given the doctors Ben's information as an emergency contact.

What could possibly be in the book, then? If his father had actively tried to ensure that Ben would inherit nothing — why leave him the notebook at all? His father could have written inside some reason for being the way he was. Guilt over some long kept secret? Past trauma that had created the cold, selfish man that he was? Could he have known something? Something that kept him from ever being close to anyone? Perhaps Henry was noble, after all. Perhaps he was so distant to protect those he loved. Perhaps even his money was, in his mind, a danger to his son.

Ben chuckled lightly at the thought. Nobility had never been a word he would associate with his father. Where were all of these thoughts coming from? He could hardly believe that he was really so attached to his father that he needed and desired an explanation. But could it be, truly, that Henry Wilkes was nothing more than a selfish and heartless man?

Ben paused to breathe. He hardly had the courage now to open the notebook. Fear overtook him at the thought of what was in it. His entire life the singular image of his father had leaned over him, pressing heavily on him, holding him down. He had struggled against it, argued for it, felt a taste of triumph over it, and had in some ways blamed it for all his failures. Now, when he would open this book, his entire world view could shift. He could suddenly lose the father he had and gain a new one. Ben felt for sure that he wasn't ready, but equally sure that it couldn't wait.

Ben opened the book to the first page.

Phone numbers. One that Ben recognized as belonging to a pizza shop nearby the firm.