Page 89 of On One Condition

I know it’s the envelope without any other proof than its color. It has to be. For the briefest moment I contemplate letting sleeping dogs lie and not open it. I already know that Maxton Sharpe was an unscrupulous asshole. Is there going to be something beneath this seal that paints Pop in a different light? In my heart of hearts, I know nothing could change my opinion of him . . . and yet I still hesitate.

But curiosity gets the better of me as I move to the desk, take a seat, and slide my finger under the seal. With a deep breath, I remove the lone object from inside.

An uncashed check.

Made out to Pop.

Signed by Maxton Sharpe.

With a date of that fateful night.

Made out for forty thousand dollars.

I stare at the faded blue rectangle and am not exactly certain how I feel. Surprise? Indifference? Disgust?

This is what saving his son from what he felt was a disgrace from dating me was worth to him? This is all he believed I was worth?

Tears blur my eyes, and those damn insecurities Maxton cemented into my psyche that night rear their ugly head. But for all the right reasons. For Pop reasons.

He didn’t cash it.

We’ve always struggled financially. This money would have gone a long way for a family like ours whose ends didn’t always meet.

He sat on it, holding on to it for years, long after the check was invalid.

I think of the college experience I missed out on. The dreams that slipped through my fingers.

He could have deposited it into a savings account. He could have used those funds to help pay for my college.

And what if he had, Ash? How would that make you feel knowing the price of your destroyed self-esteem was what put you through college?

I blow out a breath and lean back in the office chair, trying to process the dueling emotions inside of me. Regret and relief. Time passes. Moments tick by in the early morning hours as I play with the check’s edges. Study the scrawled penmanship. Stare at the name in the memo section—Asher.

Would life have been easier if Pop had cashed this check? Used the money for me? Used it to get better care for Gran? Used it to unburden the finances after the fire?

Of course, it would have been.

But I look around at everything I have—consider the times we struggled that brought us closer. The memories we made because we had to be more creative. The Fields and everything I’m aspiring to make it . . . and I know I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Did I miss out on a dream?

Yes, I did.

Dreams change. Isn’t that what I told Ledger that first night at Hank’s? The irony is I said it to deflect the conversation. To give an excuse about why I didn’t go to college.

And now I’m sitting here believing it.

Dreams do change.

And I’m damn sure going to make this one a reality come hell or high water. It’s the least I can do to honor Pop for being the man he was. For having integrity. For building me up when someone else tore me down.

For loving me how he did.

After some more reflection, I tuck the check back into the envelope and file it in my “Reasons Why I Love Pop” file. Where it belongs.

And as I trudge upstairs, finally tired and ready for sleep, there’s one question left that’s plaguing me.

To tell or not to tell Ledger about the check.