Read Grace Doll for Free Online Page B

love with her. Still, I’m surprised Dad’s put this picture inside a safe deposit box. It must be valuable, like the unpublished photos of Marilyn Monroe people are always ‘finding.’
    I set the photo down on the table, but it’s hard to drag my gaze from hers. It’s not like I haven’t seen photographs of her a million times. Even today I see them on the cover of the random tabloid. And my crush is long gone. But her eyes—the look on her face—mystifies and compels. In this particular photo, it’s like she’s so real I expect to see her eyes blink. I gently ease out a piece of sketch paper from the envelope. The letter is handwritten—the penmanship is Dad’s—aged, weak, but with an artistic slant.
     
     
    I look at the contents of the safe, as if something important will appear. Like money. Gold. Something.
    My heart plunges. This is it?
     
    My pulse seems to have stopped dead in my veins. Breath races in and out of my chest. Rufus Soloman? Is this why the man wants to talk to me? I blink. Focus.
     
    He can’t be serious. But he locked this up. I have the key.
    Why would he tell me this now?
    My gaze continues to the next paragraph.
     
    You’ve got to be kidding me. What does he expect me to do? Drop everything and go running to some old lady? Anger crashes through me. I want to crush the paper shaking in my hands and I’m frustrated that I can’t bring myself to. What an idiot you are, thinking that he’d leave you something special. Something substantial. Like money for an education.
    I can’t finish the letter, not right now. My father couldn’t have cared less about me. It was always about him. As if years of neglect wasn’t enough.
    I stare at the walls lined with small steel boxes. What do they hold? Better treasures than this pile.
    Disbelief weighs my heart down to dark places. Finally, my gaze shifts back to the letter. There’s another paragraph but my eyes can’t focus on the words and I’ve got too much pride to be insulted further.
    Scraping my hands down my face, I slowly lower in the provided chair.
    Unbelievable.
    From the table, Grace Doll watches me in the photograph.
     
    * * *
     
    In the parking lot of the bank, I sit in the van, staring at traffic crawling along Sunset Boulevard. Night came, and the parking lot slowly emptied. Now, it’s eight o’clock.
    I’m vacant.
    Inside of the VW van starts to feel like an icebox. A black and white cop car pulls into the lot. He’s doing his rounds, this is a bank after all. I’m the only one here. A teenage boy sitting for hours in the lot of a bank? Suspicious.
    Starting the van, I back out of the slot and pass the officer, forcing a smile on my lips. I can hardly concentrate on the road, let alone placate a cop with a nice gesture I’m so furious.
    My last wish...
    Another wave of anger surges through me. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Is this what it’s all been about? Some twisted grooming so you could leave your burdens to me?
    It makes sense now: the stories of sudden vanishing acts while married to Mom—no explanation given except that he needed to get away. Even Judy’s been victim of Dad’s mysterious disappearances. Once she’d called Mom, demanding to know if he was with us. Mom’s voice had pitched during the conversation. “Welcome to Jon’s world,” was all she’d said.
    His world, his secrets.
    My body barely contains the resentment. The betrayal. Why did he marry Mom to begin with? She said he’d always preferred younger women. Obviously, the thirty year age spread wasn’t enough. And if he preferred younger women, what the hell possessed him to marry gold-digging, seventy-something Judy?
     
     
    my last wish ...
     
     
    I let out a ragged growl, thrust my hand into my hair and drive Sunset Blvd. home. Why should I do a damned thing for him? The old lady’s lived—what—eighty plus years? Maybe it’s time for her to face up to her decisions.
    Not my problem.
    Then it hits me: