Matteo shrugged. “She was relatively young and in good health. I imagine the premiums weren’t very high.”
“So, there’s enough to cover the funeral expenses?” At least I wouldn’t have to worry about that.
Matteo pulled a yellow Post-it note from the top of the stack and slid it over to me. “Once we settle the estate costs and subtract our administrative fees to date, you’re looking at a remaining balance of $2,823,000.84. Like I said, your aunt included a stipulation that only allows you to collect the balance once you graduate from college. You need to get on that, if you haven’t started already. I can help with the application process, if you need it. Of course, I’ll have to charge you for my time. How are your grades?”
Gerdy and I walked back to my building from the attorney’s office in complete silence, our hands intertwined.
I might have been in shock.
I was most certainly stunned.
Gerdy hadn’t fared much better.
Matteo had went on, as if inheriting nearly three million dollars from an aunt you thought was destitute was a rather normal occurrence. There was talk of colleges and boarding schools, possible career options or travel, allowances and per diems. His words slipped past me like river water over a smooth stone. I heard them but didn’t really hear them.
When we reached my building, I stopped Gerdy at the door and turned to her. “We can’t tell anyone.”
“Okay.”
“Not a soul.”
“Okay.”
“Not even Krendal or the people at the diner. Not until I wrap my head around everything.”
“Not even Dunk?” she asked.
“Not even Dunk.”
“Okay.”
She twisted her fingers in mine and brushed the hair from my eyes. It was getting long again. Auntie Jo used to cut my hair for me. I’d have to get it cut again soon. Maybe Gerdy would—
“Why not?” Gerdy asked.
I should have had an answer for that, but I didn’t, not anything that made sense. These were my friends. In many ways, they were my family. With Auntie Jo gone, they were all I cared about in life. Why not tell them?
“They’d be happy for you.”
“I know they would.”
“Then why?”
I sighed, staring down at our feet pointing toward each other on the cracked sidewalk. “Whatever just happened doesn’t feel real to me. This kind of thing doesn’t happen, not to me, not to people like us. I’m still trying to process Auntie Jo’s death. This is all too much. Right now, I need normal, I need stability. I want to go back to the diner and wash dishes and cook and pretend everything is like it was. I want to go upstairs and find Auntie Jo chain-smoking at the window.”
“She’s gone, though. You need to accept that,” Gerdy said softly. “You need to move on.”
“I know I do, I just don’t want to. At least, not today.”
“She’s gone and she left you a gift, the greatest gift she could. Something wonderful. She found a way to give you a better life. Thebestlife.”
“Accepting that money. Telling people about the money. That makes her death real. I don’t know that I’m ready for that, not yet.”
“Not telling people won’t bring her back.”
“I know.”
“Doing something with the money, going to college like she wanted, becoming something important…that’s how you honor her memory. You keep her alive through your actions.” Gerdy smiled up at me, the freckles on her nose crinkling. “You’re one of the good guys, Jack. She didn’t want you to spend your life in the kitchen or at the sink of some little hole-in-the-wall diner in Pittsburgh.”
