The Little Black Book

The little black book was an unexpected discovery in the pile of belongings Lara’s estranged grandfather had left to her. It had arrived in a plain heartless manila envelope sandwiched between stacks of papers full of plain heartless legal words that hardly echoed the man she thought she remembered. It stood in stark contrast against the sea of white papers strewn about the table as Lara tried to make sense of what was left of the life of a man she had hardly known.

The papers told a lifeless and overwhelming story of property transactions, medical records, taxes, bank statements and on and on the papers went. The more Lara stared at them the less she saw of what she was longing to find – the truth of the sum of the man that her grandfather was, some semblance or sign that he had longed to know her as well, some answer to the question of why he had disappeared from her life all those years ago.

Levi Arthur Burke – born April 2nd, 1942, died Jan 12th, 2021 – 78 years old. Smoked cherry pipe tobacco against his doctor’s constant advisement. Drank three fingers of whiskey every night also against his doctor’s advisement. Suffered from arthritis in his older age. Had once owned a home on the California coast when he was just 30 years old but sold it and moved to Maine where a w2 seemed to show he worked for a fishing company. Died in his sleep and left everything to his only living relative, Lara E. Burke. Every paper only led to more questions and her head pounded against the puzzle before her.

Lara poured herself a glass of whiskey, wondering if it were a label her grandfather would approve of, and reluctantly picked up the little black book. The cover was smooth and soft like leather. It was obviously well loved, the edges of the pages were crinkled, a corner stained where coffee or tea had been spilt or dripped. The binding had the flex of a favorite book that had been open and closed multiple times. It had a weight to it, a weight that felt personal. Lara thumbed threw the pages, unsure of what she would find, and as she did a folded envelope fell from somewhere in the center.

Startled Lara jerked forward and sloshed some of the whiskey onto the table full of papers and dropped the black book onto the floor near the envelope. “CRAP!” she muttered to herself “as if I need more of a mess”. She quickly wiped up the whiskey from the papers with the edge of her old college sweatshirt she was wearing then turned her attention to the source of the distress. She slowly picked up the fallen envelope. On the outside in time faded blue ink in a slightly elegant chicken scratch was her name – Lara.

She tore the envelope open with a flurry of emotions filling ever nerve from her fingertips to her toes. The back of her neck tingled with the anticipation of it. But her hopes were quickly shattered as the envelope contained only the copy of the will, no letter, no explanation, no answers. Lara leaned back against the buffet cabinet and stared off into the ceiling perplexed and full of frustration. The last thing that mattered was the 2 million dollars her grandfather had left her, and she needed no reminder of the money. Where had it come from? Why was it left to her?

She groaned as she forced herself to sit up and pull herself together. As she did, out of the corner of her eye the little black book lay where it had fallen in her excitement, the ivory pages open. The same blue chicken scratch waved at her from the pages like a smoke signal.

She slowly picked up the book, and there was her name, again, but this time there was more than just that one word – this time the page was filled.

“Lara – it’s your 13th birthday” the page began. Her interest piqued she feverishly flipped through the pages of the little black book. There was a letter for each one of her 24 years. Some were short, some took up a page or two, but he never missed a year. Each started the same, informally, “Lara” and then the age she was turning in the same scrawling chicken scratch with the same blue ink. Only the fading colors and the number written showed the age. She could hardly focus on the words for the tears streaming down her face – a hot salty mixture of joy, confusion, excitement, and sadness. As she skimmed the pages she felt as if she were running through a forest towards an unknown destination and as she did phrases jumped out at her, lashing at her like tree branches as she bustled by. “I wish I could be there.”. “I will explain when you are older”. “someday you will understand”. But it seemed someday that someday would never come

There was one extra letter on the last page, not written on her birthday, no date to know when it was written, no informal or formal address. It simply said, “I’m sorry”. Lara closed the book and hugged it tightly to her chest feeling what could only be described as relief. Here it was – worth more than the money, the properties, the stock portfolio, and those heartless soulless papers – a priceless treasure - a life finally shared within the contents of a simple little black book.