Short story: An unexpected inheritance

Sally’s dad Benjamin had slipped peacefully beyond the borders of this world and into the next.

Even though she and her father had drifted apart after the death of her mother, his passing had evoked memories of their once strong bond with one another while she was growing up, and she felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t spent more time with him in his later years.

As Benjamin’s sole heir, Sally had spent the last 48 hours making the tedious rounds of attorneys, banks, the funeral parlour and the administrative offices of the retirement village where he had  spent the last five years of his life,

According to everyone that Sally had spoken to thus far, her father had been a well respected lively man, who had contributed wholeheartedly to the wellbeing of his fellow residents with his cheery nature and great baritone singing voice.

Sally had been introduced to a silver haired sparrow like lady called Shirley, who, by all accounts, had been her father’s line dancing partner for years and over a strong cup of sweet tea, accompanied by a rather stale slice of fruit cake, the gentle soul had regaled Sally with tales of pretty frocks, patent leather shoes, jolly music and the precious companionship of her recently departed father.

The administrator of the retirement village had asked Sally to pick out one of her father’s suits and deliver it to the funeral parlour to dress him in for his final journey through the white-hot flames of the crematorium the following day.

Tightly clutching the key given to her for this purpose, Sally hesitantly walked along the shiny tiled grey painted corridor to room number 17. Inserting the Yale key into the lock and taking a deep steadying breath, she turned the door handle and entered her father’s final dwelling place.

A shiver tickled her spine. The built in cupboard containing his clothing was standing ajar. The retirement village staff had thoughtfully been in to tidy his bed and to open the gauzy curtain fluttering at the window overlooking his handkerchief sized garden, to allow the bright sunlight to stream in; dispelling the gloom of what might have been an unbearable and deeply emotional experience for Sally.

Cautiously, Sally moved further into the room. A single bed covered in a blue knitted bedspread stood under the window, flanked by a slightly lopsided night stand. An antiquated television set complete with bent and buckled bunny ears balanced precariously atop an old “ball and claw” style wooden table.

Sally noticed a well stocked bookcase with a framed photograph standing on top. Tears sprang to her eyes as she recognised her younger self, dressed in a midnight blue taffeta knee length dress and wearing matching high heel shoes – her matric farewell photograph.

For years her dad had asked for current photographs of her and her family comprising her husband Richard and Debbie and Jack, their 17 year old twins. But somehow, life had gotten in the way and she felt deeply ashamed that all her father had had to remember her by was this outdated photograph.

She hesitantly opened the closet door wider and was confronted by her father’s clothing; three white shirts, two pairs of beige trousers, three gaudily knitted jumpers and a neatly pressed navy blue suit hung from a rail.

On a shelf below, lay two leather belts, a neat pile of hankies, six pairs of well darned brown socks, four pairs of old fashioned “Y” fronted underpants, a bottle of roll on deodorant and his favourite aftershave; Old Spice. Sally caught a lingering whiff of the fragrance and she smiled, remembering her late mother’s ire each time he patted it onto his newly shaven jowls,

“Now don’t overdo it Bennie my boy, she would tease, you’re too pudgy to attract the ladies, even of you bathed in the stuff!”

A tear rolled unchecked down Sally’s cheek. Memories are skilled hunters; pouncing when one least expected them, momentarily incapacitating one’s ability to function. Sally let out a tiny sigh of regret for her parents passing, and then, she mentally shook off the depressing feeling of loss and got on with the job at hand!

She took a blue folded linen bag out of her handbag, carefully packing a pair of underpants, socks, a white shirt, a belt, and the navy blue suit into it. Sally discovered a pair of highly polished brown leather shoes resting side by side under the bed and these too went into the bag.

Her task complete, Sally quickly left the room, locking the door behind her. She returned the key to the office and drove to the nearby funeral parlour to deliver her parcel as arranged.

When she reached the neat red brick building with its discreet advertising board and regimentally clipped hedges, she entered and handed the bag over to the receptionist.

“For Mr Sinclair as requested”.

The stylishly attired receptionist gave Sally a conciliatory smile and asked if she had gone through all of the pockets of the suit and trousers?

Sally could barely contain her irritation at this request. She took the bag back from the manicured outstretched hand of the receptionist and unceremoniously dumped its contents onto a nearby table. Replacing everything else, Sally turned her attention to the suit. She riffled through the pockets, feeling as though she was intruding upon her father’s right to privacy. She was about to return the suit to the bag when she thought that she heard a feint crackling sound,

Sally checked the pockets of the suit once again and to her surprise, found a little inside pocket which she had previously overlooked. She inserted her hand and pulled out a neatly folded Lotto ticket which she stowed in her handbag as a memento of her father. Finally, she handed the now acceptable items back to the receptionist and hurriedly exited the building.

The brief service held in the crematorium chapel the next morning, was attended by a handful of the residents from the retirement village, ringing down the curtain on the earthly life of Benjamin Sinclair.

Sally made her way home, feeling sombre, but proud that she had successfully wrapped up her father’s business affairs as she was sure he would have wanted.

She broke her journey home at a garage, and while the petrol attendant was attending to her vehicle, she strolled over to the kiosk in search of a cold drink. When she opened her bag to pay, she spied the Lotto ticket, and on a whim she handed it to the cashier to check.

Bells went off, customers applauded and the young cashier did a jig of sheer joy and Sally almost passed out!

She had just received her inheritance of R12 million!

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