Page 45 of Blackout

I needed to find a copy of my dad’s Will. Was my mother the only beneficiary? Why hadn’t she continued on with what Dad had planned? Was missing him the only thing that had kept my mother away from the bakery, or was it her depression, or was there something else? Did my mother think she couldn’t do it – run the family business without my father? Was it easier let Grandpa maintain control?

It was time to set what my dad had wanted into motion. The first thing I needed to do was call his lawyer, but at this time of night they wouldn’t be open. I made a note of the lawyer’s number I needed to call. Then I crammed the papers back into the leather folder, zipped it up and stashed it in my wardrobe. I wanted to hold onto the folder until I had spoken with Dad’s lawyer.

I tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling most of the night. My mind wouldn’t let go of the information I had learnt. Now that morning was here, I was worse for wear. I cursed myself and wished Zach were here with his arm around me so I could let it all go. But Zach wasn’t here. Soon, was all I could tell my weary self that things would be better.

I called Mum as soon as I could to tell her I wouldn’t make it to the office today. She didn’t question me, and I didn’t offer any more information than I needed to. It would be good for my mother to be there by herself, to sink her feet in, to get a feel for being back where it had all started. And to work on her own terms without someone watching over her shoulder.

The call to the lawyers was next, and the appointment was set. Although there was a wait, I couldn’t complain. The next call I knew I had to make, but didn’t really want to, was to the psychologist. I couldn’t deny I needed the help anymore, not after last night’s lack of solid sleep, unable to shut off the outside world. I needed an olive branch now more than ever.

I called the number Lex had left me but without a referral from my GP, I knew how much this would sting me. But did the money really matter if my health deteriorated to a point that I was so mentally crippled I couldn’t leave the house I lived in? I couldn’t do that to myself; there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and I just needed to find it. The first availability was today, later this afternoon, so I took it. I needed to take the first step to get myself on a track that was better than the one I was currently on.

I eyed the folder still on my kitchen table and the papers inside it. I needed to sort through the folder and to try and understand Grandpa’s side. I made myself toast and a coffee and sat down. The folder I stared at was a decent thickness as there were many papers inside. Most of them related to when Grandpa had first set up the bakery and were most likely useless to me. But I looked at them anyway.

Like a dog with a bone, I knew I just couldn’t let this go. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to understand. I took all the papers out and laid them all out just like I had done last night with what was inside of Dad’s folder. The papers in Grandpa’s folder were untidy and I didn’t understand any of it, which was why I also needed the lawyer.

I grouped papers that I thought went together. Everything in here seemed so dated. Grandpa’s papers were old-school, and the writing was almost illegible. I found the business terms I had stumbled upon hidden amongst the other papers in the folder. Once everything was sorted, I realised the business terms I had found had been superseded by my dad, who had taken over ownership of the bakery.

When I thought I had read through everything, I put all the papers back in the folder, closed it and put it with Dad’s leather-bound folder in my wardrobe. I needed to hold on to these, keep them safe until my appointment when I could talk to the lawyer.

It was time to get ready for my appointment today. There was no need to see my reflection to know that one restless night’s sleep and an overactive brain could turn a woman into a red-hot mess. But one could hope that a shower, the right clothes and a little make-up could iron out the wrinkles and smooth me, Harley James, out.

Only after I put myself through the wringer of my get-ready routine did I look at myself in the mirror. I could see I was tired; the makeup wouldn’t hide that. But I put it on anyway and felt a little better. As I gave myself one last look in the mirror, I knew I had done enough to give me the confidence I needed to leave the house today. I may have even given myself enough confidence to get through the appointment I was about to walk into.

Twenty-three

Four weeks. That was how much time had passed since I had watched Zach walk out of my quaint Victorian terrace because I had asked him to give me some space. God damn, did I miss that man. Four weeks. That was how much time I’d had to work on myself with the help of my psychologist, where we talked about my how I was feeling and how to deal with my anxiety. Now I was ready to move on and take the next step. Four weeks. That was how much time I’ve had to wait for my appointment with the lawyer’s office. That day had finally come.

I looked back at the last four weeks and wondered how I’d managed to do what I did. The answer was: one day at a time. It had taken longer than I’d wanted to see the lawyer. But every day I waited I was able to work on the exercises my psychologist had given me, including the calming exercise. It was a breathing technique I had been shown and was a must before bed and any time throughout the day when my heart started to race.

My life would soon be wrinkle-free. Well mostly, anyhow. There was some stuff that would take longer to smooth out, mainly my relationships with my mother, Addison and my grandparents, as I had been distant with them over the last five years. But that was okay, it was a work in progress, and I got better at opening up every day. I now had a plan in place, and I was determined to stick to it. There was also a man I hoped still waited for me.

My time at the bakery since I had told my mother and grandfather I was stepping away from the family business had come and gone. Technically I was on holidays, but in reality, I was two weeks into figuring out what I was going to do next.

My mum had settled into her office manager role easier than I thought. I’d only had to show her the new computer program I’d purchased to help manage the money coming in, how to enter the bills to manage the outgoing money and how to order in bulk when the stock levels were low. Otherwise, she really didn’t need my help. I didn’t mind that my mother didn’t need me at work; my mind was elsewhere anyway.

Mum was so talented with her organisational skills in the office she was able to move on to managing the staff and their rosters. She even helped out on the bakery floor. She swept up flour, received deliveries, stocked up on supplies and checked the quality of our bakery products. The only thing she wouldn’t do was lift the bags of flour; she made the other bakers do that. I was proud of her. She was back on her feet. It was so good to see her happy in her new normal without my dad. This was what he would have wanted, Mum working for the family business even though it had taken her ten years to come on board. Five years to overcome her depression and another five years navigating the workforce until she’d found something that suited her. The James Family Bakery was what suited my mother best.

The last two weeks had been the worst though. I had been stuck in limbo as I waited for my appointment with the lawyer’s office. I’d had no choice but to hang around. In Melbourne. For that long. To kill time, I exercised every day, another technique the psychologist recommended to me. My body was less curvy and pasty white and musclier with a healthy glow.

While I’d hoped today wouldn’t be too difficult, the process consumed a large proportion of my time, and the paralegals. Why I had bothered with an appointment at the lawyer’s office I didn’t know. I had wasted my time.

Brad Waters, the lawyer who had been assigned to sort through the information I brought in, introduced himself when I first arrived but left me shortly after with his team of paralegals.

It made sense for me to use the same firm, Waters’ Law Firm, that my dad had used to change over the ownership of the bakery. I had taken his work folder with me in preparation to ask questions about the plans he’d had for the James Family Bakery. But as I was merely a manager and not the owner, the paralegals weren’t overly helpful.

I even asked the paralegals about my dad’s Will, and the explanation I received was what once belonged to my father now belonged to my mother. I knew nothing about Wills, having been fifteen at the time of my father’s death, but now, ten years later, I held a copy of his Will in my hands.

Exhausted from my time spent at Waters’ Law Firm, I crashed down onto my lounge and dropped my head back into its cushioned arm. I sighed, wanting tomorrow to come around quicker than it was. Time dragged as I became stuck in my own head trying to find the right words to not only tell my family but what I would say to Zach as well. My phone vibrated next to me, and I almost didn’t answer. But when I looked at the number I didn’t know that had come up on my screen, I knew I couldn’t ignore it.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Harley James?’ I was asked by the person on the other end.

‘Yes,’ I answered, as butterflies began to dance in my stomach.

‘This is Brad Waters,’ the voice told me. ‘We met briefly earlier at Waters’ law firm, and I’m sorry I was unable to sit in on your appointment.’

Why was I now on the phone with the lawyer? Was there something I had missed at my appointment? I was none the wiser, having already spent time with his team of paralegals and learning nothing new.