Chapter Five

Ryan

I have to skip rehearsals again to meet Mom and Dad for an urgent lunchtime meeting about dead aunt Caroline’s secret will. This is good news because they’ve discovered that there’s a will in the first place and even better news because she must have left me something in it otherwise Dad wouldn’t be calling this emergency family meeting at all if she hadn’t, but it’s also extremely bad news because it’s Friday and every Friday the cast and crew go for lunch in a pub round the corner from the theatre, and I’m going to miss it.

I feel like Sophia and I are getting closer, and instead of strengthening my off-screen relationship with her I’m being reminded of the dysfunctional one I have with my parents. Next week is opening night for our play, which means in less than a month, Sophia and I will no longer be an invented item, and two month or so after that, we’ll no longer be in the same country. In short, this better be good.

“You’re late”, is the first thing that Dad says to me. “It can’t be that difficult to get out of bed for lunch, can it?”

He seems to be in an even grumpier mood than normal so I don’t even bother explaining I’ve just spent the last four hours practising lines.

“So, what’s going on?” I ask, getting straight to the point. I know it sounds vulgar, but if I can get this out of the way quickly, I might be able to catch up with everyone before they head back to the theatre for the afternoon pick ups.

“You better read it yourself”, Dad says, sliding a folded letter across the desk to me. “Apparently it’s official.”

I look at Mom, and then back at Dad, both of whom are nodding at me. “Sounds ominous”, I say, judging my opinion on the sombreness of both of their moods.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that after you’ve read it”, Dad says.

Mom shrugs. “It’s good news really”, she says. “At least it might be.”

I’m not at all sure what to expect. A debt passed on, money, a collection of old wooden spoons. I take the letter and unfold it. My eyes flit over the names of the lawyers at the top, the official stamp and the hologram in the corner, and then skim read the opening paragraph tripping over the legalese.

I take a moment to look back up to Mom and Dad who are both glaring at me intensely. “Is there a relevant section?” I ask.

“Page two”, Dad says, “third paragraph.”

I turn to it, and the first thing that jumps out to me is a figure, and I have to look at it several times just to be sure. I look at Mom and Dad again, just to make sure I’m not mistaken.

“Is this—?” I begin.

“Just read it”, Dad says curtly, cutting me off.

I go to the start of the paragraph and begin to read. Ryan Carter Speed, blah blah blah, an incredible talent, blah blah blah, to follow his dreams, blah blah blah, one million dollars. My heart stops and my mouth suddenly goes about as dry as the Sahara desert, which is fine, because if I can’t pump blood around my body I’m not going to need saliva anyway.

“One million dollars”, I say, barely able to get the words out.

“Read the rest”, Dad insists.

My eyes go back to the page. “On the condition that he is married or marries within six months of my death.” My skin goes cold. “Otherwise the money will be donated to the Little Apple theatre company to support young talent. What is this?”

“A condition”, Dad says, sipping his coffee like a cold blooded assassin.

“Wait”, I say, trying to get the whole thing straight in my head. “I’m going to inherit a million dollars, but I have to be married?”

“Less than that after tax”, Dad says plainly, “and lawyers fees.”

“But still a huge amount of money?” I ask, my heart not only beating again but beating rapidly now. I can pay my landlord, I can stay in my apartment, I can chase my dream without wondering how I’m going to support myself.

“But only if you’re married”, Mom adds almost apologetically. “Which might be the tricky bit.”

“What your mother is saying, and what the will stipulates, is that you have to either be married, which you clearly aren’t, or get married within six months of her death in order to receive the money. That’s not the only thing, though. You’ll get a hundred thousand dollars if by some miracle you manage to find someone in the first place, and then a hundred thousand dollars every year you stay together until the million dollars, minus taxes, has been paid out.”

Dad seems to be taking some pride in the fact this has been made difficult for me.

“It’s all in the will”, he adds, “seems like she had a sense of humor and more than a traditional view of things. She talks a lot about how you’re wasting your energy with a lot of woman you shouldn’t be with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say.

Mom gives me a disapproving look. “It has to be real as well”, she says, “otherwise it doesn’t count.”

“Real?” I ask.

“You have to live together”, Dad says. “It can’t just be someone you’ve paid to do it.”

The thought never crossed my mind. “There’ll be checks”, Dad adds. “She’s left money to pay for someone to check up on you.”

Consider my mind literally blown. I didn’t even know this woman before last week and out of nowhere she’s going to turn me into a millionaire, but only if I can get myself married within six months. Doing it for work is one thing, but doing it for real is another thing entirely. Married is forever, after all, even if it is for a million dollars and even if I already have someone in mind.

Dad raises his eyebrows. “Think about it”, he says. “This could be exactly what you need to turn your life around. Stop messing around with different girls every day of the week and start a family. It’s a decent amount to get going, especially if you insist on fooling around all day playing dress up.”

What world does my dad live in, where a decent amount to get going is a million dollars, and being on stage is the same as playing dress up?

“What did you and Mom get?” I ask.

Dad clears his throat and looks away. “She was a very strange woman”, he says by way of response. “Not entirely all there in the last few moments of her life. It’s a surprise the will stood up at all.”

“Nothing then”, I guess.

“You’re extremely lucky”, Mom says. “James was the only other person to get anything it seems, and even that was only a few old boxes of what was left of her belongings. It seems as though she felt an affinity for you, perhaps because of your interest in the theatre.”

“Shall we order?”, Dad says, cutting in. “I have to be back at the office this afternoon. Some of us actually have to work for our money.”