Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  The idea of being able to borrow a million dollars made my stomach twist. "Five hundred is fine."

  He typed some more, then a small printer on his desk ground to life and he said, "We're all set. Your draft will be finished in a moment. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  Tell me whether I should be buying this car? I had wanted it the moment I saw it but it would cost half of a month's interest. Was that too much? Could I justify it?

  I had been wishing I could get a new car in the next few years, so why not go for it a little earlier? Splurge, as the spa people had said. Besides, I hadn't even gone for the most expensive model. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was spending half a month's income on a car. Pocket change. Hardly a splurge at all. Ted was right, I was showing remarkable restraint.

  I smiled at Ted. "You've given me everything I need. Thank you so much."

  *****

  After I handed in the bank draft at the dealership and arranged to pick up my new car on Monday morning, I realized I should probably check my post office box since I'd directed all of my mail there.

  I regretted checking, though, when I handed in the 'see clerk' notice that had been the only thing in my box and received three large cardboard boxes full of letters in exchange. I rifled through the top one, noticing as I did that nearly all of the mail had been redirected from my home address to the box. That explained the volume, since I certainly hadn't given out enough of those address cards for it all to have come from them. People must have found me in the printed phone book. "You're sure this is all for me?"

  The postal clerk nodded. "And we just got a delivery so there's probably more in the back room that's not sorted yet. You should either get a bigger box or come check more often."

  Wasn't there a third option, like ignoring it all entirely? Not wanting to visit the post office daily, I upgraded my mail box to the largest one and set up forwarding from the old to the new then lugged my boxes out to the car.

  As I got the last one stuffed inside, I heard, "How was the spa?" and looked up to see John.

  "Great, thanks," I said. "How are things here? Did my trees behave?"

  He shook his head, giving me a serious face. "Several fights, I'm afraid. But I got them under control."

  I laughed. "I wish I'd seen them fight. But thank you for stopping them."

  "Next time I'll make a video. What's in the boxes? Did you buy lots of stuff while you were away?"

  Not wanting to list my many purchases, which were in any case tucked away in my suitcase in the trunk, I grimaced and said, "It's all my mail. I assume most of it is requests for money. And maybe a bill or two. Which I guess would also be requests for money."

  He grimaced back. "What are you going to do with it all?"

  "No idea. Throwing it away unopened seems cold, but I can't imagine dealing with it either."

  "Yeah." He paused for a second, then said, "If it'd help, I'd be happy to go through it with you. Probably wouldn't be so deadly with a beer or two to pass the time, and if we did them weekly they wouldn't pile up too much."

  I smiled. "I'd have wine, but I see your point and you're probably right." Something about going through the letters with John felt strange, though, maybe because he wouldn't take any of my money himself. "I'll look at a few myself and see how it goes. Thanks for the offer, though. I may well take you up on it."

  "Sure, any time. Well, I'm off to get groceries. Need anything?"

  I'd stocked up before my trip so I shook my head, then looked around. "Hey, where's your car?"

  His neck reddened. "Deceased, I'm afraid. I'll get it looked at next week."

  After he got paid.

  I took a breath to offer him the money to fix it, and he backed up a step and said, "I'd better run. See you later."

  "Need a ride?"

  He shook his head. "I could use the walk."

  The determination in his voice made it clear he wanted me to back off, so I said only, "Okay. See you later."

  He smiled, looking relieved, and I went home trying not to feel guilty about buying a new expensive car when John couldn't get his old one fixed. I had intended to offer, and he knew it, though, so by the time I reached our building I'd pretty much convinced myself I didn't need to feel bad. He'd figure something else out. He always did.

  Once I'd hauled all my stuff to the elevator, I pressed the 'up' button with great hope. Sadly that hope proved misguided and I had to make four trips up and down the ten flights to my apartment because I could only carry one of my heavy things at a time.

  Once the suitcase and all three mail boxes were safely stashed in my front hall, I walked panting around the apartment looking at my beautifully-cared-for trees while my heart settled down. Maybe I should buy the building when it came time to spend the principal. I couldn't be a worse owner than the one we had now.

  Once my body had recovered from my unplanned bout of exercise, I opened the top box of letters and pulled out the first three to see what I'd be facing.

  Number one was a long badly-written tale of terrible life decisions that had left the writer the single mother of six children. After telling me all that everyone in her life had done to hurt her and how not a single thing that had gone wrong was her fault, she ended by saying, "If you don't give me a hundred thousand dollars to start my own business, I'll kill myself."

  In almost stereotypically childish writing, complete with hearts dotting every 'i', the second letter said, "My mommy and daddy don't live together any more and it makes me cry every night. If you're a nice lady, could you give me lots of money so I could make them not fight any more? If you don't, I guess you're not a nice lady."

  The third envelope held a single sheet of paper with "$40,000" written at the top and a name and address below it. No explanation, no groveling, just a simple expectation that I'd come through, and though I certainly would not I found myself unpleasantly appreciative of the lack of emotional blackmail.

  I sent John a text.

  Hey. Just read a few letters. This is not a solo job. Can I take you up on the booze and reading offer? Trust me, we'll need the booze to survive the reading.

  Not wanting to look at the letters any more, I stuffed them all under my dining table, arranging the tablecloth to hide the boxes. As I finished adjusting it, my phone buzzed.

  Sounds like a plan. Zack has a party 2-4 Saturday. Maybe then? Oh, and any chance you could babysit him tomorrow night? He says he's ready to beat you at CoD.

  I smiled and sent back, "Tell him he'll lose, but sure. And thanks."

  So nice to have a friend, two if I counted Zack, who treated me exactly the same as always, with no awkwardness about money.

  Chapter Seventeen

  John bustled around giving the apartment a quick tidy despite my insistence that it looked fine, then said, "Okay, I'm off. We'll probably grab a drink after the movie but I should be back by eleven. That okay?"

  I nodded, trying to gather my nerve. "But can I talk to you for a second in the hall before you go?"

  A frown creased his forehead. "Sure. Problem?"

  I shook my head. "Just don't want someone to hear."

  "I'm not listening," Zack said without looking up from the four games he was trying to choose between for our first battle.

  "Then how do you know what she said?" John ruffled his son's hair. "Have a good evening, monster. Be good to Angela."

  "Yeah, yeah, I'll destroy her gently."

  "That's all I ask."

  I followed John out into the hall and closed the door behind us.

  "What's up?"

  I bit my lip, searching for the right words. "Look, there's something I've... I want to..." I thought I wanted to, anyhow. Most of me did, but a part didn't, and that bothered me. I should be eager to help out my friend, not clinging to my money like a dragon hoarding more gold than it could ever need.

  He stared at me, his forehead creasing. "Want to, um, want to what?"

  Realizing he might be thinking I want
ed him to be going out with me instead of with Lacey, I blushed hard and blurted out, "I want to give you money. For your car or whatever."

  He took a step back and his chin went up. "I've been hoping you wouldn't do this."

  "I got that impression," I admitted. "But I could really help you. And I want to. Twenty grand? Or even ten? Whatever you want. I just... you work so hard and I could make your life easier."

  He shook his head. "Life's not supposed to be easier," he said quietly but fiercely. "I won't teach Zack to sit around and wait for things to be handed to him. I've-- too many people act like that, like luck is all they need, and it's wrong. I won't have my kid live like that. And I won't take your money. Ever."

  I didn't much like how he'd said that, as if I had been one of those 'sitting around and waiting' people, but I knew he hadn't meant me. I also knew that he probably wouldn't give in, but I couldn't give up quite yet. I'd been trying not to feel guilty about my new car ever since I heard about his defunct one but the guilt kept creeping in and I hated how it tainted my excitement. "John--"

  "No." He shook his head again, as if I might not have understood his single sharp word. "Not now, not ever. I will make it on my own and Zack will learn to do the same." He turned and walked down the hall to the stairway door since the elevator was again broken, ignoring my soft "I'm sorry".

  Once he'd disappeared, I heaved a deep sigh then went back into the apartment and locked the door behind me.

  "Ready to get slaughtered?"

  I made myself smile. "As if. But sure."

  I wasn't. I kept seeing the passion in John's eyes and how upset I'd made him, and remembering how unusually long it had taken Claudia to answer my text message yesterday afternoon suggesting we have dinner tomorrow. Had she found out I'd given Terrence the IVF money? Was she angry at me too? She'd explained her slow response by saying she'd misplaced her phone in the office, and as she'd done that before it wasn't impossible, but something about it felt wrong and made me worry.

  All of that didn't exactly make me play my best, and after about half an hour Zack said, "You're letting me win."

  I shook my head. "I'm not. Just got a lot on my mind."

  "Big surprise."

  I looked at him, startled and hoping he hadn't heard the conversation in the hall. "Why do you say that?"

  He rolled his eyes as only a pre-teen can. "Because you're rich now. It makes everything different."

  Knowing John wouldn't want his son thinking that, and not liking it myself, I said, "It does not. I'm the same as I was before."

  He didn't speak, but his disbelief seemed to take up half the room.

  "I am. I'm just... richer. But I'm the same."

  "If you say so."

  "I do. Why do you say I'm not?"

  He shrugged. "Your hair's different, you've never just gone off to a spa before, you quit your job... stop me when you've heard enough."

  I gave his shoulder a light punch. "I've heard enough." He didn't even know about the Lexus and all the other stuff I'd bought for myself, and that made it harder to say, "But I'm still the same me underneath." Was I?

  "When did you last buy someone's coffee?"

  I took a breath to answer, then frowned.

  "Since we did it the night you won?"

  "Everything's been so weird, I can't remember."

  He gave a slow nod. "I bet you'd have remembered before. You used to do it a few times a week, right?

  "Yeah, but..." I thought of the random request letters I'd read and how harassed I'd been at the Setherwood. "People might expect more of me, more than just a coffee. I don't want to be bothered, hounded."

  He rolled his eyes again. "How would they do that, when you'd just pay at the drive-thru and then drive away? But anyhow. It's your money. Hey, can I have some chips?"

  Since John had said he could have a snack, I felt fine saying yes to this, and as Zack rummaged through the cupboard I rummaged through my mind.

  Had I done one of my acts of kindness since the win? If I had, I didn't remember, and I certainly hadn't given away anything significant. Five dollars here and there were fine before, but shouldn't I be making far larger donations now?

  I wasn't even making the five-dollar ones any more, never mind bigger ones. And I honestly hadn't even thought of them.

  Was Zack right? Had the win changed me already?

  Chapter Eighteen

  At six o'clock Saturday morning I woke up to a phone throwing a hissy fit. Texts and ringing, ringing and texts, the thing wouldn't shut up. Horrified, I reached for it, and sure enough the strangers had again found out how to reach me.

  I shut the phone off, because I couldn't stand the noise, and took it to the mall the moment it opened.

  The clerk at the mobile kiosk, the same one I'd dealt with before, looked like he thought he might recognize me but wasn't sure. No doubt the long red hair was throwing him off. Once he'd looked up my account, though, he said, "Another number change? Someone's leaking your info to the bad guys, I guess."

  He sounded almost wistful, as if he longed to have 'bad guys' in his life. I wanted to tell him to be careful what he wished for but instead I said, "I guess so."

  He leaned forward over the counter. "Any idea who it is?"

  "Nope."

  This clearly intrigued him. "Okay, here's what you do. Tell everyone you're getting rid of the phone, so they won't try to find the number. Then give the new one to one person at a time. Wait like a week, then pick someone else and give it to them. When it gets leaked, it must be the last person."

  Or the second-last person caught on to the game and decided to make the last one look bad, but overall it wasn't a terrible idea. "Okay. I'll tell everyone now and then you can change the number."

  I powered on the phone, and winced as it began throwing alerts in all directions.

  "Dude," the clerk breathed. "That's an epic fail. Someone hates you."

  Wondering if he truly thought that would help, I started trying to text people to say I was ditching the phone but the constant alerts made it impossible. "Okay, new plan. Change the number and I'll just email everyone to say I got rid of it."

  "And then do the one new person a week thing. And when you find out who it was, you can, like, out them on Twitter or something."

  A fate worse than death.

  He typed away for a bit, then the phone fell silent.

  "Changed," he said unnecessarily. "Gotta charge you the fifty bucks again, though, because it's so soon after the last time."

  "No problem."

  He processed my credit card, then said, "Hey, I have another idea. Get a temp number app."

  "A what now?"

  He looked unimpressed with my lack of technological know-how. "Can I see your phone a sec?"

  I handed it over and he tapped away at it with great speed for a few seconds then said, "Put in your password and it'll download."

  I took back the phone but didn't enter the code. "Tell me what it is first."

  "It'll give you a temporary phone number when you ask for one. If you've got someone you don't want to give the real one to, give them a temp and delete it when you're done."

  Seeing the potential, I put in the password. Once the software finished downloading he showed me how to set up a number then said, "That should help. But if you do figure out the stalker let me know. I love this kind of shi-- stuff."

  "You got it," I said, figuring it'd make him happy.

  The Tim Horton's across the aisle from the mobile kiosk was wafting out an enticing coffee aroma, so I bought myself a drink and a cookie and settled down at a table to look through my contact list and think.

  The temporary numbers would be useful for short-term things, but if I gave everyone a temporary and it got leaked I'd have to start all over again with letting everyone know, so that wasn't a great permanent solution.

  I couldn't really give out my actual number one person at a time. It would take forever. Plus, how would I pick who went first
and second? If I did my parents first, which seemed to make sense, Zack wouldn't have my number in case of emergency for at least a week. Would I put Zack ahead of Claudia? Which sibling would get my number early and which one would wait for weeks?

  No, I couldn't do that. But I could, and did, go through the phone book with the utmost care, and whenever I had even the faintest doubt of a person's trustworthiness I didn't pass along my number.

  Everyone who did get it also got a request to list me in their phone book under a different name in case someone else got hold of the phone. I hated sounding so paranoid, but it seemed necessary.

  I didn't enjoy analyzing my friends and family and acquaintances for any possible bad intent, especially since I'd done this before and had obviously done it wrong. I had no idea whether I was right this time or whether one of the people I'd decided was safe was actually the leak, and the only way to find out for sure would be to wait for another leak. The whole thing felt wrong. It felt awful and creepy.

  It felt like everything had changed.

  *****

  After the mess with my phone I couldn't bring myself to go to yoga and risk being harassed for money, so I went through all the poses I could remember in my living room. It wasn't the same, though, and I left a message for Emily-Claire to ask her whether she'd do private lessons for me. That would be great, of course, but I'd always liked being part of a class, and I missed how my life had been before the win.

  I missed that even more when John and I were settled in his living room that afternoon going through the letters I'd been sent. We were weird with each other at first, since my awkward apology when he returned home Friday night and his equally awkward acceptance hadn't exactly cleared the air between us, but the one good thing about the demanding nature of most of the letters was that John and I quickly found ourselves united by disgust.

  "Look at this." He waved a letter at me. "Guy wants you to buy him a koala. Says it's his life's dream."

  I shook my head and gestured at the pile of rejects between us. "I figured most people would at least try to make it look like they needed the money for good reasons, or like they'd make a difference with it. But it's like they feel... entitled to a share somehow no matter how stupid their request."