The Notepad
He drove in his driveway. There were leaves from the neighbor's tree on his artificial grass, which always annoyed him. He had not calculated the work that blowing or vacuuming, sweeping would take when he had the grass installed. And he felt a twinge of embarrassment or ridicule when he did the cleaning. So, when he did it, he did it when it was dark.
And it could have been, too, that it had been the cause of her leaving.
“I really love living things”, she had said. “I will mow and weed and fertilize and …” but he had not been listening.
Her leaving had been not unpleasant. It was efficient, which he had appreciated. A car pulled up and she was gone. Two, three suitcases. A box.
The night she had left he sat on his chair, next to his side table with the newspaper and the notebook and pencil. He waited for feeling. None came. Maybe a whisper of, no sounds, no stirring in the kitchen. No kettle whistling. Mostly less things.
But he went to bed on his side, the right, farthest from the alcove. He put the notebook and pencil in the nightstand, turned the little gold key and went to sleep.
*
Today he took his worn briefcase from the passenger seat, got his mail and went directly to his living room chair, instead of going upstairs to change his clothes and place his suit and keys, wallet on his valet stand.
He sat instead and put the notebook on his lap and pondered about retirement. He had arrived at what most called the golden years or at least the goal of working hard. But he did not feel those things. He felt somehow unfinished. And a bit unready for the attention the retirement party would be directing at him tomorrow. His was an efficient office, an office he had started as a young lawyer hired by the County. He had created it when he had learned what was done in larger counties. When someone passed away without a known heir, without an executor or when the decedent’s property was uncared for, the County, after much proper, exact legal work, could come in and take the deceased’s property and auction it off making revenue of various percentages for the County. He had followed the strict protocols of a larger county and made his mark. And he was offered a job with the County to run this new office, which he took. He wanted an unclaimed death to be orderly, neat, logical, legal and turn into some revenue if possible. The office grew and others even came to him from other Counties to learn how to properly set up a similar department.
The notepad was the only item that was out of order in his life, and possibly illegal. He stared at it on his lap. He looked at the fireplace which hadn’t been used in years. Then he took the pencil, added a name and closed the pad.
*
He woke up, alarmed that her cat was sitting heavily on his chest. The cat that she had begged him to keep and early in their marriage, he had agreed. But it was long gone. Ran away or eaten. Something. Now it was back.
He tried to sit up or roll over, but the cat wouldn’t budge. And what was worse was he couldn’t see it. It wouldn’t let him lean his head forward. So, he thought for a moment. He heard sounds of a lawn mover and a car or two and then he drifted off.
He woke again. It was dusk. He remembered vaguely about his job, a coming retirement party. Then he drifted off again.
He woke again. It was light out. He found himself sitting on the alcove bench where she used to sit. He heard some noises and someone entering his house. He grew alarmed and tried to look out the window of the alcove but couldn’t reach it. He heard voices. They were coming up the stairs.
He recognized voices of on-site administrators from the office! Mario and Samuel. He felt relief but also anger. Why were his administrators here? They should be on the job…He searched his mind but couldn’t remember the case that was next in line. Pauline Marshfield… no that was last month. He tried to stand up to confront them, ask them questions but he couldn’t. And no words came out.
He saw them search his bureau, his valet. They found the little gold key for the night table. They opened it and carefully took out the notepad and placed it on the bed.
“Let’s see if there is a holographic will here, “ Mario, the taller one said to the Sam.
He again was alarmed and then it came to him. This was the pre-retirement party- the prank! Of course! There was usually a prank on the person retiring. Joe Pratt thought he had won the lottery. He chuckled inwardly and relaxed and watched them.
“Odd, this thing. This old notepad. It seems to have all the names of the decadents that we have worked on and then earlier ones going way back to wow, when the office first started. All written in pencil. Hundreds of them. Wonder why he did that?”
He was in trouble now. He tried to stand up to admit his error, crime, whatever, but he couldn’t.
“And look, here, “the Mario said, “look at the last name in the pad.” He showed it to the Sam who just shook his head.
“William Evers Davis. I’ll be damned.”
What was wrong with writing that…
“He wrote his own name in the notebook and then…”
“Died.”
Suddenly he felt panic, grief, fear, things he hadn’t felt in many years. He saw a dog playing pulling at something he held, a stick. He felt joy. And then…
“I guess he had no one… Strange. And he started the whole shebang. I remember meeting him at the training.” Sam said. “‘Everyone deserves a neat orderly disposition of their affairs after passing. Particularly when there is no one for them’. “
The deputies both looked around the bedroom.
“Very neat. Won’t be hard the movers.”
They walked downstairs. They looked at the kitchen, the sparse dining room, the living room. They worked silently, looking in drawers and a cabinet for any documents or anything of value.
“Just the notepad and a checkbook,” Mario said.
“Yup. Okay we are out of here. Movers tomorrow and then…”
“Onto the next.”
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