Chapter Thirty-Nine Sassy
thirty-nine SASSY
Sassy was getting used to her father being gone, but the office still felt strange without him. His door was open all the time, not closed. His desk, which was normally a shining example of efficiency, cleared of paper at the end of every day, was piled high with boxes and files.
They both felt it, she knew. Tom was in there now, wearing a brown-checked, short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and she watched him from her desk, giving herself a little treat by admiring him from behind. When he turned, she was quick to look away and appear busy with something.
“At least he was organized,” Tom said, not appearing to have noticed. “You and I should be able to sort through these fairly smoothly. I want to spread everything out on his desk so we can pick through them. Can you come help me?”
Sassy was also dressed casually, in light blue flare pants and a loose white blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stepped into her father’s office, and her gaze dropped to a box on the floor, mostly filled with crumpled paper and old files.
“I can take that out,” she offered, but he moved in front of her.
“No, no. I’ll get that later.”
She frowned. “It’s just garbage. It’s not too heavy for me. Look.”
Before he could argue, she lifted the box then recoiled when she discovered what he hadn’t wanted her to see. Two empty whisky bottles. She hated finding these ugly reminders of her father. She only wanted to remember the good man he’d been before all this.
She sighed. “I didn’t know he was drinking in here. I thought it was just at home, when he was alone.”
“I guess there was a lot we didn’t know. His door was closed a lot at the end,” he reminded her. “I’m sorry, Sassy. I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.”
“I know. You tried. I’m too stubborn for my own good, but you already knew that.”
Her father had left a lot of files behind, but it was simple enough to sort through them. One pile for open cases, the other for completed ones. They set the finished ones aside then began to read.
“You have a lot of work ahead of you. There are some here that he hadn’t touched for weeks,” she noted. “Maybe a follow-up?”
“Good idea,” he said, carrying another box to the table. “Make a list with dates and details so you can prioritize.”
She nodded. “I’ll make it easy for you to follow.”
She brought out a clean sheet of paper and began writing down what he’d need. When she finished, she glanced up and realized he was studying her, looking thoughtful.
“What if you make another list for you to look after?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I know you’re a sworn Marxist and all, but you’ve been doing a great job of faking it at capitalism lately. What would you think of having some of your own accounts? I’ll be with you the whole way for anything you need. And of course, you’d keep all your commissions.”
“Selling houses? Oh, I don’t know what I’m doing. I only do what you and Dad tell me to do.”
“Not true. You’ve been doing your own research behind the scenes just because it’s interesting to you. Your attention to detail is bad.”
She dropped her hands at her sides. “ Bad? ”
He wrinkled his nose and dug more files out of the latest box. “Isn’t that what kids say now? ‘Bad’ is good. That’s what I meant, anyway. I’m just saying, when I ask you about an account, you already have the details in your head. We have different strengths, and you’re only just starting to figure yours out, but you’re a natural. You’re way ahead of me in a lot of ways. Why not give it a shot?”
How could she say no to him? About anything? “You’ll help me?”
“Anything you need. Think about it, Sassy. Down the road, you and I might be partners.”
Oh, she had thought about that a lot, but those thoughts had nothing to do with business. She studied the stack of files. “You really think I can do it?”
“I do.”
“Right on. One at a time.” She glanced behind Tom, at all the books and the few photographs on her father’s handsome bookshelves. Stepping closer, she took down the framed medal and skimmed her thumbs over the glass. “I used to think this meant something.”
He was observing her closely. “It does. Just not what you thought it meant. He still fought over there, and he still pulled Mr. Moore out of the way when he was injured. I think of it, in a way, kind of like my brothers. I have no idea what they did over there, and I never will, but they will always be heroes to me.”
His words put a smile on her face that stayed there while she continued sorting. “Are you going to move into this office?”
He shot her a careful glance. “I don’t think so. If I do, it won’t be for a long time. It’s still his. What do you think?”
She nodded, pleased. He was right. It would have been too soon.
“What’s this?” Tom muttered, pulling a small, black leather book from the box. He flipped it open, then his eyes widened. “It looks like a journal of sorts.”
“Then close it! You can’t read someone else’s diary.”
“No, no. Not like that. This is a business journal.” He turned more pages, working his way to the back. “This is amazing. No wonder his desk was always spotless. All his thoughts were in here. See? He wrote them down as he went and crossed them off when they were done.” He kept going, and his smile began to fade. “This is dated about two months ago, and there are a lot of things he didn’t cross off.”
“I can start with those, if you think I should,” she said, waiting for her turn to hold the book. It was a piece of her father, no matter if it was all about real estate. She wanted to hold it.
“Yeah, but…” He was distracted, looking through all the entries. “I don’t know if you want to see this, Sassy.”
“Why not?”
“He’s writing about other things in here as well.” He kept reading. “Even his writing has changed. He… Gosh. He was so hard on himself.”
“Let me see.”
“Wait. There’s a list here with your name on it.”
She grabbed the book from his hands, and right away she saw what he meant about the handwriting. It was in the same black ink as the rest of the entries, but the letters were messy.
“Oh, Tom,” she said, reading the title of the list and fighting tears. “This is so sad. All he had to do was talk to me.”
Things to tell Susan
1. Tell Susan I love her.
2. Tell Susan Rita couldn’t get enough of her smile, and I couldn’t get enough of Rita’s expression every time she held our daughter. Tell her about Rita. How she could sing, how her favourite colour was red, how she loved to listen to the rain, even if it meant she dragged me outside and we got soaked. I didn’t mind.
3. Tell Susan she is much smarter than she thinks she is. Her socialist attitude makes me crazy, but she sure can make a point. Even if it is wrong. If she tried, she could carry on her grandpa’s legacy. Just because Joey won’t doesn’t mean she can’t. She doesn’t need to protest for women’s rights. She just needs to stand up for herself. She’s smarter than at least half the men I know.
4. Tell Susan I miss her now that she’s at the apartment. Tell her that I snuck in to amateur night at that coffeehouse after a friend of hers phoned me to let me know about it. Nice boy. Hippy.
5. Tell Susan her stubbornness is an asset. She just has to learn to temper it and use it to her advantage.
6. Tell Susan that when this war is over, I’m going to take Joey and her to Italy, and tell them about that day.
7.
She read the list twice. Once out loud, once to herself. It was just as hard to read it the second time.
“What do you think number seven would have been?”
“Tell Susan she should give Tom a break and let him take her out for dinner.”
She laughed and slapped the book closed. “What?”
“Hmm. Maybe he wouldn’t have written that. Not sure.”
“Tom, are you trying to ask me on a date? Here and now? This is hardly the place or the time, do you think?”
He shrugged. “I’m never good on timing. And every time I want to ask you out, something goes wrong. So I’m just doing it.”
She was speechless, briefly. “I see. Well, if this is going to be a business dinner, the food has to be good.” She lifted her chin, watching the little curl on the side of his smile. “If it’s a personal dinner, it has to be delicious.”
He nodded. “I hope you like the best steak in the city. It’s personal.”