Page 4 of My Unfinished Heart

“Well, that’s not very helpful, Phil.” Huge parts of my brain are shutting down. Heavy iron doors slamming shut.

Tristan squeezes my arm. “Archer.”

I look at him. His lips part to say something else when Haskell plows forward with his attack on my life. “It’s a lot. I know. Your father was very clear, however⁠—”

“My father never even knew me. I haven’t seen or heard from those people in more than six years.” Despite the rising volume of my voice, Tristan doesn’t startle away. His grip on my arm changes to a steady pressure with a flat palm.

Raising both his hands in the universal calm down gesture, Haskell nods with understanding. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. It’s not as catastrophic as it sounds.”

“It isn’t,” Tristan says. “Connor turned eighteen last November.”

The lawyer sighs with relief. “Exactly. I just thought it was important you knew your father’s wishes, as you’re now your brother’s nearest living relative, and he’s—as you know—incapable of making his own decisions at the present time.”

There are no words I can think of to illustrate the enormity of my relief besides a truly heartfelt Thank God. Settling back in my seat, I mumble instead, “You should have led with that. Sorry for…” I glance at Tristan who’s looking intently back at me. I don’t know what else to say.

“Understood. All I need right now is for you to fill out this form.” He hands me a single piece of paper and a pen. “Obviously there’s more paperwork involved, but this will get the ball rolling. This form allows us to begin the process of transferring accounts into your name.”

“What if I just walk away? From all of this?”

“Archer.” It’s a hushed whisper from Tristan as his hand drops from my arm.

“Look,” Haskell says. “I imagine this type of windfall can seem more burden than blessing, but if I might offer some advice?”

“Do you actually have any?” My foot taps restlessly as I lean forward to fill out his paperwork.

“Take some time to think about it. You don’t have to decide anything today. Today, your brother needs you.”

“My brother’s gonna wake up and not even recognize me.” The words are harsh and bitter, full of the enormous resentment I carry around like steamer trunks.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he says.

“I shouldn’t have picked up your call,” I mumble, mostly to myself.

“And miss this weather we’re having?” he asks as he blithely begins to gather his things.

“How’d you find me anyway?”

“A woman by the name of Helen Miles.”

I jerk my head up. “Excuse me?” Her name is another train, but this one hits me square in the chest. I stare at the lawyer, waiting for him to say a single thing that aligns with my own version of reality.

“She contacted us with your phone number shortly after the accident.”

How the hell?

“Who’s Helen Miles?” Tristan asks.

“A woman I used to know.” As I re-focus on the paper in front of me, Haskell and Tristan wait patiently for me to fill in the blanks. “I don’t know my checking account number.” Finished, I push the form back over to him.

“You can email it to me.” He presents me with a file folder. “This is your copy of the will, and you have my card. Call if you have any questions at all.”

“I don’t know why I would. You don't seem to have any answers.”

“I'll work on that,” he says, a wry smile on his sweaty face.

As he makes his way to the exit, I turn back to Tristan who’s staring after the lawyer with a blank expression, his bitten lips slightly parted, looking as shellshocked as I feel. “So how’s your morning going?” I ask.

A version of a laugh bursts out of him, and a tight grin forms on my face.