"I'm dying son," my father stated rather flatly. "I don't know how much time I have left," he added. I started to say the usual placatory things about him being around for a lot longer yet, etc, but he cut me off. "We've always been honest with each other and now is not the time to change that. I have a few things to say while I have the chance. I am proud of you Jim. I always have been. I'm proud of the man you have become. You are a decent, hard-working man with your eyes firmly set on your future. When you eventually marry, I hope you have the type of marriage relationship which your mother and I had, bless her soul. I see in you the type of man that any woman would be stupid not to latch on to. I hope, but I am sure, your family will bring forth more decent people."
We sat in silence on the back porch of his home, gazing at the setting sun as it made the stationery clouds light up with golden streaks. The beers we were sipping only added to the sombre mood. "Hmm," he harrumphed. "This time of night matches my mood as well as the state of my health. Jim, there's something I need to give you now." He abruptly strode inside and brought out a worn old suitcase. "I have had this for the last twenty-three years, ever since you were born. I want you to have it. I won't be needing it any longer." Without any fanfare, he handed me the case and asked me to open it. I was speechless at that point. This scenario was very serious. It almost seemed as if my father was giving up. I opened the case and almost choked on the beer. The case was full of cash! Serious cash, not the one and five dollar bills, but stacks of hundred dollar bills. They were all neatly bundled and filled the case to its maximum.
"Dad! What the fuck! Where did this come from? Please don't tell me my dad had a secret life of some sort!" I stammered. My heart filled with dread at the revelations that this suitcase might reveal.
"No son! Don't get the wrong idea. All of that cash is legit. I didn't steal it if that is what you are implying." Almost as soon as he said that, I was filled with remorse. Here I was questioning the integrity of a man who was my father, my mentor and my confidant.
"Sorry dad. Maybe you could explain."
He took a slow drag on his beer and looked directly at me. I knew better than to try to interrupt. Patience was a virtue that both of my parents had instilled in me long ago, not by force, but by steadfast example in the way they went about their lives. Patience with each other's foibles, patience with the moods and tempers of growing children, patience with the ups and downs of the rollercoaster of the job market. "That money is a continuation of a similar stash which my father gave me, much the same way that I am giving it to you. Mind you," he added ruefully, a cheeky smile moving his lips, "My dad didn't give me quite that much!" At this point he laughed with that sound that seemed to come directly from his soul. My dad's laugh was always like that. Loud, infectious and sincere. "I just kept adding to it every chance I got. There weren't many chances while you were young you know. There were bills to pay. You know how it was."
I did remember how it was. We weren't rich in the usual sense. Our house was always moderate, not large and pretentious. We always went on holidays together, but not in an extravagant loud way. We ate out on special occasions, but never in the most flamboyantly-priced restaurants. We had money. We never had want of anything. Everything we needed, we had. Our clothes were comfortable and good quality, but never the most recent fashion. My mother always looked good with what I would always describe as 'normal' attire.
"Well, since your mother died," he paused in reflection, "I have been able to substantially add to the pile. Her insurance payout amounted to almost half of what is in there. No need to count it. I already have. There is $750,700 in there." This time I did choke on my beer. As I spluttered and heaved to get breath back into my alarmed lungs, Dad added, "I want you to have it. No one knows it exists, especially not the government. No damn taxes due on this lot! I trust you and I know in my heart the man you have become. I know that you will put this to good use when the need arises, just as I have done. I didn't splurge it on luxuries, I didn't give in to base desires for expensive things. I didn't feel the need to make myself high and mighty by splashing money around to buy friends. It was always there, patiently waiting until and if we ever needed it. Well, now I don't need it, so it's yours. Do with it as you will." He finished his beer. "Your mouth is still open. Do you want another beer?" he added as he handed me another.
"Dad, I don't know what to say. This is astounding, not only because of it's generosity, but because of the fact that it even exists in the first place. I can't accept this. If your health is as bad as you're telling me, you're going to need it to take care of the medical bills. This money could make your days extremely comfortable. Please don't give it to me!" I pleaded.
He just continued to stare at me and stated, "That's already taken care of. I leave tomorrow to go into the retirement village. The one that has high care units attached. Take it. As I said I trust you with it. Whatever you do, don't put it into a bank. The taxation department, the investment hounds and the dogs of the financial world will, sure as eggs, leach away the total. Those pricks have a way of getting fat off decent hard-working people's savings. Promise me that son!" As speechless as I was, I nodded ascent and we finished our beer. Plus another!
Dad did go into his unit, and true to his prediction, he died a short time later. He seemed to give up in those last weeks, not in the sense of despair, but more in the calm patient realisation that his time was at an end. He went to his rest peacefully and in a dignified manner.
I finished college, went to university to study business management and graduated, not with honours, but still with a decent grade. I managed to get a job at a local fabrications plant as distribution manager. Well, when I say 'manager', I should say that the first few years were under the guidance of the aging existing manager, John Stokes. 'Old John' as everyone called him, mentored me to eventually take over from him when would retire, although no one knew when that would happen. "You have a patience about you, young Jim. I see it. I see you working here as a manager in the making, but you don't hesitate to pitch in and help the packers when needed. You are a special breed of manager Jim, or should I say manager-in-the-making. You always put in way more hours than most others. You also have a calm confidence, like you know that nothing bad will happen to you. I see that also. What I don't see, is a ring of silver on your left hand!" That last comment, which he made often, was always finished with a clucking chuckle, like he was talking to a kid who was doing something wrong. John saw right through me. What he said was true. What he didn't know was the reason for my underlying confidence was that I had nearly $780K stashed in my now newer, bigger suitcase/travel case. That amount of money was a great backup if anything were to hit the fan! Yep, you realised it. I had been adding to it whenever I could. I kept my promise to Dad. No banks. Only I knew it existed.
The company I worked for produced a wide range of stainless steel accoutrements. This ranged from cooking utensils, cutlery, appliances, medical grade implements and even fittings for balustrading. Our products were the best. They were made with high quality stainless steel and priced fairly. We also offered, as part of the cost, express service home delivery anywhere in the country. This was always by courier and never by general post. This quality guarantee and excellent reliable service ensured that our company would weather any business storms. I was glad I landed a job here. I knew that I could have salary hunted, like so many of my generation, but I knew this company would be here in the long term. Besides, I did have a suitcase of back up!
The other thing John didn't know was that even though there was no ring on my finger, I was seeing a very special girl. Evonne Stones was her name. I called her 'Vonnie' which she says had an almost French charm to it. She loved it and so did I! We had known each other since college, not intimately, but just in a general way. She was often in the same classes as me and she hung out in the same refectory. She was at many of the same parties as me, so it was inevitable that we would start a relationship of some sort. At first I wasn't interested in her, except in the typical teenage sense. She was HOT, hot! She was slim, but not skinny. Her skin had that lightly tanned look which also promised to be soft velvet to the touch. Her eyes had that deep blue tinge which mesmerised anyone who looked there. Her tits, the cleavage of which she showed shamelessly in the latest fashionable tops, promised to fulfill fantasies only viewed in various men's magazines. She walked with a poise which seemed beyond her actual age. Yep! She was HOT! All eyes were usually centred on her as soon as she entered any gathering. Usually the bulk of man attached to her at the time would glare back until everyone looked away and continued what they were doing before she entered. The trouble with this picture is that every time we saw her, she was attached to a different set of arms! She didn't seem to keep a partner for long, male or female. She had a reputation of being a hot party girl who swung whichever way the wind blew. She was sexually loose. Apparently! I couldn't verify that from personal experience, but the word was out there on the street, so to speak. The other whispered gossip that accompanied those words, was that she was also a cold-hearted bitch, who would dump someone unceremoniously and cruelly, just to chase another 'new' experience.
Imagine my surprise when at one frat party, she actually came up to me and, handing me a beer, casually asked in a statement kind of way, "So, you're Jim Ables. I have seen you around the place. What's your story Jim?" she asked this last question, not only with her mouth, but with her stunning eyes. They seemed to have a cheeky glint which echoed the small questioning smile which appeared on her face.
"Hi. Umm. Yes. Jim Ables. You're Evonne right?" I stammered back. I normally wasn't this klutsy with girls, but Evonne seemed to stun me. "Like a fish about to be bled and gutted," I remember thinking at the time.
