Page 88 of On One Condition

Ledger: Look at you with the jokes.

Me: Anything for you, dear.

Ledger: Cancel the paint appt. We have plans.

Me: Are you sure? I was really looking forward to it.

Ledger: Smart-ass.

Me: What do I wear?

Ledger: I’ll get back to you on that.

Me: Okay. I’ll be naked until told further.

Ledger: No complaints on that front.

Me: Smart man.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Asher

I can’t sleep.

My mind is in overdrive, and my excitement building over my new endeavor has created insomnia. The kind of restlessness that only a good bout of sex with Ledger can seem to fix by tiring me out.

I contemplate texting him. He might still be working since I know he had a conference call with someone overseas that he had to stay up for, but I decide against it.

He might ask more questions about why I suddenly can’t sleep. And I don’t want to have to lie.

Instead, I opt to wander through the house and selfishly admire the changes I’ve been making to the décor to make it more mine.

I’ve been scouring garage sales, estate sales, and online markets for others’ trash that I can make my treasure. It’s taken some time, but that’s okay. I think it would be too hard to change it all at once. That would feel like I’d tried to erase Gran and Pop completely.

Rather, I make a change, get used to it, and then move to the next. Little by little I’ll make it mine while preserving elements of what was once theirs.

The office. I realize I left the desk lamp on, and when I head in to turn it off, I’m met with one more of Pop’s stacks.

I stare at it for a beat.

Just tackle it and get it over with. Clean the slate. Rip the Band-Aid off. Keeping it isn’t going to miraculously bring Pop back to life.

I smile and know I’m right. With a deep breath, I take a seat and prepare to face it.

Within an hour, I have broken the big stacks down into sub stacks. I’ve gotten it down to a science now: receipts for taxes go in one place, invoices get filed alphabetically, and payroll info by the employee is kept in binders on the shelf. I have a file for miscellaneous items I’m afraid to throw out in case it’s important but that I’m not quite sure of its relevance yet.

And then there is a stack of silly Pop things that I’m just not ready to part with. A Post-It note that Gran had written “love you” to him on. A ticket stub from the last movie we saw together. I never realized Pop was such a sentimental guy until I started this project.

It makes me love him even more . . . if that’s even possible.

I’m singing out loud to the music pouring from the speakers and doing a little shimmy with it as I add the items to my “Reasons Why I Love Pop” file. I do one shimmy too many and accidentally drop one of the papers in between the two hanging files. I reach in between them and scratch my fingers around where I can’t see to try to feel for it.

I find it, touch it . . . but there’s also something stiffer than a receipt there too. Figuring it’s another lost between the crack item, I pick it up to put it in its proper place. But when I pull it out between the drab green hanging files, I’m met with a tan envelope with worn edges.

My heart stops in my chest.

“When Pop came inside after talking with that . . . horrid man, he had something in his hand. A tan envelope.”