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I appreciate that, sir, because this is the least strange of all the things Dr. Napper has asked of me.
Donna, who has been reading over my shoulder, looks up at me. “Oh God, what do you think is coming next?”
I arrive home thirty minutes later. I’m a total mess, my mind whirring along with all the thousand things that have now changed and the million things I have to deal with now that Dick is really gone. On top of all these responsibilities, I also have a pile of emotions swirling inside me. Grief at losing one of the only people in this world I know I can trust, shock at this all happening so fast, guilt for allowing us to grow apart over the years. But I can’t think about that now. I have to stay focused or everything we built together is going to slip through my fingers like dry sand.
Michael, who must have been watching on our security screen in the kitchen, opens the front door as soon as the limo passes by the gates to the estate. The gates slide shut, blocking any view the reporters would have of me exiting the car.
I open the door before the driver can get to it and hurry to greet Michael as he carefully makes his way down the front steps of our sprawling Spanish Revival home. The sun has set over the ocean in the distance, and the hills are dark except for the lights of the few homes in this area of Woodside.
Michael’s face lights up. “You’re home. Finally.”
We give each other a quick hug—nothing tight and never longer than a couple of seconds, even though, at the moment, I could use something longer. When I pull back, I put my hand on his shoulder as we make our way up the front steps. “I’m glad to be home.”
“I heard about Richard and I’m very sorry. How are you?” he asks.
“I’m okay. A little sad and there’s a lot I have to do now that he’s gone.”
Nodding, Michael says, “I’m sad too. Dead is forever.”
His words are a punch to the gut, but I offer him a small smile. “Yes, it is.”
The smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies greets me as soon as we step inside. Greta, our housekeeper and Michael’s caregiver, pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Welcome home, Ty. Come have a snack.”
When we reach the kitchen, I see she’s got two plates with cookies and two mugs of cocoa set up at the table. Michael and I settle ourselves at the table, and I reach for the mug, letting it warm my hands that I didn’t realize until now were cold.
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Greta says. “He was a great man. So full of life.”
“Thanks. That he was,” I answer, completely numb.
“I imagine your life is going to be turned upside-down for a while.”
Michael cocks his head to the side. “Greta, Ty is very much sitting upright at the moment and I doubt very much that he could live upside-down, no matter how sad he is.”
She and I exchange an amused glance and she says, “It’s one of those strange expressions, Michael. It means that a lot of things will change very quickly for Ty.”
I break off a piece of the soft, warm cookie. “Yes, I’ll be really busy making sure the company can continue to run smoothly and dealing with a lot of paperwork.”
“Hmm, that means you will probably have to be traveling quite a bit again.”
I nod and sigh, then pop the cookie in my mouth and let the blend of sweetness and spice soothe my nerves.
Michael gives me a pointed look. “Can you please try to keep your trips down to three days? Because it’s really not that fun for Greta to have to deal with me every day for an entire week. I get quite agitated when you’re gone too long.”
I smile at him. “I’ll do my best, Michael. I promise.”
“That is all anyone can ask of anyone else,” he says. “That they do their best.” He pauses, then says, “Actually, that’s not true. You can ask them to do their very best.”
“Good point. And I promise to do my very best.”
It’s funny how you can be so close to someone, then gradually, time and circumstances (or perhaps stubbornness and differing priorities) can cause you to grow apart to the point where you don’t feel like you know the person anymore. Not really. Not the new version of them. The Richard I partnered up with was a nerdy college kid, like me. Ambitious, determined, and laser-focused on becoming wildly rich. He knew what it was like to not fit in, which I think was one of the reasons he was so good to Michael. He took notes for me when I had to miss classes because Michael was sick or his school was closed for a holiday the university didn’t have.
But people change. I wanted to stay put and continue to grow our fortune while he wanted to see every corner of the planet and break as many world records as possible. We both did what we set out to do, but it was at the expense of our friendship. Little irritations grew bigger each year until we barely saw each other anymore. Only when necessary. But the friendship was still there underneath it all. The honesty. I can (and did) say that he let me down, but he also was the reason I have what I have today. And that’s a hell of a lot more than most people get.
His final message is about to start and I am sitting at my desk sipping a cocoa with a generous splash of whiskey in it while I wait for the Dick Cam to boot up. Michael is watching a nature documentary in our home theater, which means I’ll have at least ninety minutes to myself.
The screen lights up. Richard is sitting at his desk in the office, dressed in a fleece jacket and a t-shirt, looking like a hiking guide instead of a COO. He smiles, salutes and starts talking. “Hello, team, if you’re watching this, it means I must have gone off on life’s final—and greatest—adventure today. I’m sure I still had much to do on my list, but I died knowing I had already accomplished more and lived enough for a dozen men. I truly had it all and did it all so don’t grieve for me. Instead, I want you to take this time to celebrate. Not just me, but the opportunities that I have afforded you as well. All the ways that I made your life better through my money, my advancements in the bio-medical industry, and hopefully, the inspirational example I have set for you.” He picks up a glass of champagne and holds it up. “To a life well-lived.”
I tip my mug to the screen. “Modest, as always, Richard,” I mutter.
