The Beginning
Edward looked down at the piece of paper in his hand in utter disbelief. His mind refused to process it. He tried to listen to what the lawyer was saying, “Great Uncle Frank, recent death, bequest”. Surely, he thought, if one had a long lost great uncle, which he certainly did not, his name would be something like Archibald or Digory or something from one of those books found in the children’s section of the library where someone unexpected always swooped in at the last second to reveal that the lonely, destitute orphan was really the secret heir to a great fortune and large family. Not something as mundane as Frank. And since Frank couldn’t be the name of a long lost great uncle, even if Edward had had one this one couldn’t have been him and therefore Edward couldn’t have inherited a small book store in…where did the lawyer say this book store was? Maple Grove, New York?
New York. The thought of New York made Edward straighten. New York was something he could understand. New York was his ambition, his Holy Grail. Or rather Wall Street was. He made a supreme effort and pulled himself together. He planted his feet firmly on the floor. He clenched his jaw and he gave the lawyer his most serious “I’m listening to everything you’re saying and find it deeply interesting” look, perfected during four years of Harvard seminar classes. He found this to be an effective look for many situations: classes, job interviews, profound conversations with friends from the philosophy department, and just about any cocktail party involving important persons who expected to be heard even if they didn't expect to be understood. In fact, especially if they didn't expect to be understood. He was sure it was appropriate now.
Only, while he was sure he looked appropriate as he engaged in the look, punctuated by the occasional nod and low murmur, an active listening skill the lack of which some researchers blamed for the educational inequality gap, he wasn't sure he was quite getting it. Because somewhere in the back of his head Edward's mind seemed to be struggling to tear through the miles and miles of cotton gauze between him and the lawyer.
He wasn't sure why everything seemed so fuzzy. Was it the semi-constant hangover of one who had spent a few too many nights at Senior Bar in the week leading up to graduation? Was it the result of one too many all-nighters to finish up those last few final papers? Or was it just the fact that while his body was sitting in this lawyer’s office on Mass Ave., his mind was wandering between the half-packed state of his dorm room, the unopened orientation packet from JP Morgan on his desk, and his parents impending arrival for pre-graduation festivities that afternoon. He wasn’t sure which worried him more.
Suddenly Edward realized the look wasn’t appropriate anymore. That was because the lawyer was looking expectantly at him, obviously waiting for a response to something. Edward tried to summon his voice, clearing his throat gravely, another one of those golden Harvard skills.
“This is all very interesting,” he said probingly. “What exactly are you saying?”
The lawyer looked at him a bit strangely, not surprisingly, Edward thought, given he’d probably just spent the last thirty minutes explaining exactly what it was he was saying. “I’m saying your Great Uncle Frank left The Book Nook to you, to do with as you please, provided you spend six months in Maple Grove managing it yourself first.”
Managing it himself in Maple Grove? Who did this lawyer think he was? Some book lover with nothing else to do? “Well, I suppose I could help manage it from New York City,” he said.
The lawyer looked at him even more sharply. “As I have just spent the last forty or so minutes explaining (so it hadn’t been thirty minutes, it had been forty minutes he’d been tuned out Edward thought a bit apologetically), the stipulations in your Great Uncle’s will require that, in exchange for paying the entirety of your Harvard tuition (this in itself was a bit of a shock for Edward since he had always believed his parents had borne that responsibility, especially as his father often reminded him of that fact), and regardless of your ultimate decision about the fate of The Book Nook, you must spend six months living in Maple Grove before you will be permitted to make that decision. And since the bookstore is currently in a state of near bankruptcy, to postpone that six months will simply result in your assuming responsibility for all the debts entailed in the business.”
Edward felt his collar begin to tighten. “But I’m scheduled to start a job at JP Morgan in four days,” he said a bit desperately.
The laywer’s eyes bore into him. “Well, I suggest you see about postponing that position,” he said coldly and then proceeded to bundle Edward out of his office in three minutes flat, leaving Edward with the distinct impression that he had somehow offended the man, which struck him as odd since, in his experience, the look had yet to fail.
As he stood on the sidewalk, clutching the brown, legal-sized envelope with all the technical details of his inheritance (if you could call it that) from Great Uncle Frank, he felt the first, faint stirrings of despair in his soul. As far as he could tell, he had just been given a bankrupt bookstore in the middle of nowhere and what was worse, he was going to have to give up his coveted, hard-earned position with JP Morgan to go sit in the middle of nowhere and go bankrupt with the bookstore. Could things possibly get worse? And then he remembered that his parents were scheduled to arrive in just a few hours. Oh yes, they most definitely could.
