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The Black Book

short stories

By Amethyst ChampagnePublished 3 years ago 3 min read
The Black Book
Photo by Brandi Redd on Unsplash

"Ugh, I can't believe we have to waste a Saturday doing this."

Rolling my eyes at my younger sister, I opened random boxes in our grandmother's attic, who'd passed unexpectedly.

Our parents out of town, we were tasked with going through her belongings. We weren't really close with her, but swallowed the lump in my throat when I'd received the call from her neighbor

"God, it's dusty up here," Maddi coughed.

"Yeah, just be careful." Grandma never stressed on cleanliness or tidiness, which had drove Mom crazy.

"Easy for you to say, Alexa."

True, my gymnastics training gave me incredible balance on the beams we stood upon, but it wasn't a professional dream.

I hoped to open my own bakery someday, loving to make sweet foods. If only I had the credit to take out a loan.

Maddi, who was seventeen, bounced from one job to another, always grumbling about something. Too bad complaining didn't pay the bills.

Checking the boxes, I spotted a black object, realizing it was a black leather bound book. I pulled it out, wiping the cover clean with my sleeve.

"What are you doing?"

"Found something interesting."

"How is a book interesting?"

I ignored her, studying the cover. Must have been custom ordered, Grandma's favorite symbols etched on the cover. Opening the book, I tilted my head, nothing written on the pages except for a few sets of numbers.

What the hell?

Taking a picture, I texted Mom, asking her about it. Maybe she'd know something, or Dad could figure it out, who was a math whizz and loved solving mysteries.

"What do you think that means?" My sister stood right behind me.

I jumped, "Dammit! Don't stand so close to me."

Maddi lifted her hands in surrender.

"Sorry."

"Do you have any idea?"

"Nope."

Mom quickly replied, saying they were bank account numbers. I knitted my brows, asking for the name of Grandma's bank.

Getting her answer, I traveled back to the hatch door, Maddi following me as I ran out of the house, locking the front door for me while I started my car.

I wasn't one to fixate on money, but curiosity pumped through my brain as I drove to the bank. We quickly got an appointment with a banker, waiting in her office.

The woman met us, shaking our hands. "So I read all the information for you grandmother's accounts, and it turns out she had three savings accounts worth thousands of dollars each, along with investments."

My jaw dropped. "How is that possible?"

Although Grandma wasn't poor, she hadn't been rich either, hand making us gifts instead of buying them.

"She'd been saving for years in high interest savings accounts."

"So what does that mean?" Maddi raised her hand.

"It means you've inherited a lot of money."

I quickly texted Mom the news, sitting down.

"I know, this is a lot to process. How about I give you a minute."

Maddi squealed when she left. "I can't believe this!"

Neither could I. This meant I would be able to open my bakery and carry it until it took off and made its own money.

"Now I feel bad about complaining earlier."

I laughed.

The lady came back, holding papers in her hands

Finishing quickly, we left for the car. I did my own version of a happy dance, grooving to the music as I drove us home.

Our parents came back early, a mixture of emotions on their faces as I told them everything, carrying similar reactions when they got home from the bank.

Within days, we had all the money divided equally, Mom and Dad deciding to be one unit.

Maddi didn't receive access to her portion, our parents putting it into a savings account she couldn't access unless she held a job. She pitched a small fit, but calmed.

I split my share between my accounts, checking out open spaces for me to open my bakery. It took me about a month before I found the perfect spot, snatching it quickly.

A few months later, I finally opened my bakery, Maddi helping me for free until word spread and had people lined up outside the door.

Secretly, I kept her black book after organizing her belongings, writing my recipes in it. I felt slightly closer to Grandma, even if she was gone.

family

About the Creator

Amethyst Champagne

I create fiction, short stories, poetry, and more!

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    Amethyst ChampagneWritten by Amethyst Champagne

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