UNE VIERGE À VENDRE

Angelica St. Clair

“Miss St. Clair?” 

I nodded to the man sitting across the table and pulled my chair to sit opposite him. He was my late uncle’s lawyer, Clinton, who had contacted me a week ago regarding Uncle Robert’s will. I didn’t even know there was one. My uncle had died two years ago in a car accident. He had been young, so I had assumed there was no will, especially since no one had ever mentioned the existence of one. I generally thought his belongings had been liquidated or donated.

“I would say it’s nice to see you, but…” I shook my head so I wouldn’t appear rude. 

“I know how difficult this meeting is for you, Miss St. Clair, but I promised Robert I would make sure you were aware of everything he wanted you to know.” He had sympathy in his eyes and I knew why. For eight years, Uncle Robert was all I had. he was not just an uncle. I would say he was like a father to me but no one can replace Papa.

That's not to say I didn't love him. I did, and losing him had crushed me so hard that I didn’t think I could ever recover from the blow. Clinton knew this, and I hated the look he was giving me. I did not want anyone’s sympathy. 

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, not wanting to discuss my uncle in a restaurant with patrons milling about. Besides, I had to keep myself distracted before I punched Clinton to sweep off the ‘poor girl’ look on his face. 

He followed my lead to Mystic Park. It was a chilly morning, so the park was nearly empty with only a few people running laps around it. We had plenty more privacy than at the restaurant, where tens of people strutted in for their morning caffeine fix. 

“Robert was a great man,” Clinton started, and I immediately cut him off. 

“Get straight to the point. While at it, do you mind explaining why you only came seeking me now? Uncle Robert has been six feet underground for two years and I don’t believe his ghost came to find you and tell you it was time to talk to me.” I nearly regretted being rude but I didn’t care enough. 

Clinton must have dealt with far worse families because he didn’t seem to care either.  “Your uncle's will did not indicate when you should claim his estates. In such instances, the law requires you to be of age before you can claim anything. 

I nodded, but I was furious. I wanted to be done with this discussion as soon as possible, so I could crawl back into my boring, numb life. 

Clinton opened his briefcase and passed an envelope to me. The will. It felt like it weighed a hundred tons. Tears stung my eyes and I rapidly blinked them away. 

“Can I read it later?” I pleaded. I was not ready for this. 

“Of course. Do you want the key to the deposit box?” 

I had no idea what he was talking about but I nodded. He rummaged through his briefcase and dug out a single key with a golden tag with a logo I recognized all too well. Galaxy Bank. That’s where my uncle had kept all his savings. I had been allowed to keep my credit cards for emergencies but this was different. It was like having a piece of him back and I had to take deep breaths to stop my tears from spilling out. 

“If you need any elaboration about anything,” he dug into the pocket of his black suit and placed a business card in my palm. “Feel free to call me any day.”  

_____ 

 “Morning, Nana.” I kissed Nana Simone on the cheek, placing my bag on the small table beside her ancient rocking chair. 

“My Aniela.” Her wrinkly hand trembled as she placed it on my shoulder. She had called me ‘Aniela’ for the last several months and I should be getting used to it. Yet it broke my heart every time. Aniela was her late daughter, and when Nana was not having episodes, she swore I looked like her. 

I liked to believe it was the reason why she wanted to adopt me. That, and the fact that her daughter’s name had the same meaning as mine, just in different languages. Although she was past the legal age and wasn’t in the right mental state for adopting a child, I had insisted on going home with her. After all, I was not technically a child at the time. I was sixteen

I wrapped my arms around her and did what I always did to calm her down. I played along with her current hallucination. “I’m home, mama,” I whispered. 

She flashed a smile. “Don’t stay up too late dancing, you hear?” She wagged a finger at me, making me squint my eyes. Was she back to the actual world where she knew I was Angelica St. Clair, or did Aniela like dancing too? I could never tell with her. Either way, I kissed her cheek again and grabbed my bag pack on my way to my room. The staircase creaked louder than usual as I impatiently dashed for my room. 

Unlike the will that felt like a decree from hell when I received it two days ago, my curiosity had been instantly piqued when I found the contents of the safety deposit box. I emptied my bag pack where I had stashed them and took out the two keys. They looked familiar but I couldn’t remember where I saw them. Setting them aside, I sat on my bed and opened the envelope addressed to me. Heaven knew it was the only thing I was truly curious about. 

I unfolded the letter with trembling hands and glanced at the door. I shuffled out of the bed and twisted the key carefully to lock it, afraid it might snap and lock me in infinitely. I was not afraid that Nana Simone might snoop; it just felt wrong for me to have sought my uncle’s belongings without telling her a word of it. She had been nothing but kind to me. 

I returned to the bed, pulled my legs under me, and teared up at the sight of my uncle’s familiar handwriting.

[Dear Angelika, 

If you are reading this, you are eighteen and unfortunately, I am not there to see you take your first steps into adulthood. You were right when you said I suck at being an uncle. In my defense, I think that’s because I’m better suited for fatherhood. I may have not said it in so many words but you have always been and will always be my little girl. 

I have always been a strong believer that actions speak louder than words but this letter is proof that actions are not within the scope of things I can do. Allow me to tell you the things I should have said when I had the chance. 

1. Clinton must have given you my will. I need you to keep everything; it’s the least I can do for failing you.] 

I frowned with the letter in my hands. Was he being serious? He was the best father I could ever ask for. When did he ever fail me? Was he drunk when he wrote this? 

Assuming he meant not being with me forever when he promised to, I continued, this time letting my tears fall. 

[2. If a boy tries to mess with you, you know where to hit him.] 

I burst into laughter through my tears. He had always been super protective of me, assuming every boy who looked at me was trying to steal me from him. The next part was less playful and more serious.

[3. Not every battle is worth fighting. If you fight hard enough, you will win, but sometimes winning comes at a price that’s not worth paying.

4. Surprise is the best strategy (assuming you think winning the battle above is worth any price in the world). I still believe some skeletons are better off staying buried but if you want to set them free, you need to be more prepared for their attack than they could ever be for yours. 

5. The small key opens the jewelry box. Everything in there belonged to your mother. 

6. If you are going to fight the battle in (3) and (4), I need you to remember one thing. You need to always put yourself first.]