Mr. Valenhart

Scarlet Adams was just beginning the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. She walked to the door and opened it as far as the metal chain would permit her. 

Standing on the other side was a gentleman in a black suit. His arms were behind his back and his head held high, though he still managed to make direct eye contact with Scarlet. “Ms. Adams,” he began in a comforting, yet authoritative tone. “I’m Wyatt Crawford. I’ve come on business regarding your recently deceased uncle.” 

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet said, hugging the door closer, her hand wrapped tight around the doorknob. “I think you have the wrong woman. I don’t have an uncle that’s died recently.” 

Wyatt Crawford pulled a small sheet of paper out from his coat pocket, carefully undoing the perfect folds. “Scarlet Eleanor Adams, daughter of Elizabeth Richmond-Adams and Jeremiah Adams, brother of Richard Adams.” Scarlet closed the door and undid the chain lock. She opened the door again and looked at Wyatt Crawford, whose expression remained unchanged. “Might I come in?” 

Scarlet wandered around the kitchen, tidying whatever was in her line of sight. “So, what is the relationship again?” she asked, polishing a fork with a cloth over and over. 

“Issac Valenhart was best friends with your uncle, Richard Adams. He has no relation to you by blood, but your uncle considered him a brother.” 

“See, that’s what I don’t get,” Scarlet said, slamming the rag down on the counter. “He’s not even related to me, but I’m in his will? He never met me. Why am I in his will?” 

“Your uncle spoke very fondly of you to Mr. Valenhart,” he said, watching Scarlet carefully. “He would have liked to meet you, but your father was against it. He and Mr. Valenhart were not on the best of terms.” 

“How do you know so much about them?” Scarlet asked, walking to the living room to join Wyatt Crawford. 

“I was also close to Mr. Valenhart,” he said, lifting his head. “I considered him a close friend.” 

Scarlet softened her tone. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you,” he said as if he was accepting a cup of tea rather than condolences. “I assure you this is what Mr. Valenhart wanted. He prepared his will months before his passing. After your uncle died, he wanted to be ready when he would eventually pass. I suppose none of us expected it to be so soon.” 

Scarlet clenched her teeth together but kept a straight face. “I get that. It’s good to be… ready, I guess. So, ah, I’m sorry, your name’s slipped my mind.” 

“Wyatt Crawford,” he said patiently, “but you may call me Mr. Crawford, if you wish.” 

“Sure. So, Mr. Crawford, what did my uncle say about me that made him like me so much?” 

“From what I was told, Mr. Valenhart saw a lot of himself within you,” Mr. Crawford said. “You were described as an outgoing, caring child. Very imaginative, always up for trouble.” 

“Well, what kid isn’t? That doesn’t sound that special to me.” 

“But it did to him. Mr. Valenhart didn’t have the best upbringing, and to hear of a child with such big ambitions and ideas filled him with joy. He always wanted to meet you, but due to circumstances, he was never able. After your uncle passed there was no reason for him to try and make it happen.” 

“What was he like?” Scarlet asked. 

Mr. Crawford took a deep breath. “He was an extraordinary man. He was never in a bad mood, and always acted happy to see you. You could call him at two in the morning and ask him for something, and he’d bring you double of what you needed. He always wanted to have fun, but he wasn’t afraid to slow down, either. He never let the world or his past get him down, and he always tried his best in everything he did. He started businesses that helped the world. Donated his time. Always was willing to help others, even if they were strangers. He never said he didn’t like something unless he tried it three times, and he was always down to try something new.” When he finished, he cleared his throat. “Of course there was more to him than that, but that’s how’d I describe him,” he said, casting his eyes down. 

Scarlet nodded. “He sounds like he was a very nice man,” she said softly. “I wish I could have met him.” Mr. Crawford nodded in agreement. “So, what do I need to do, inheritance wise?” 

Mr. Crawford cleared his throat and retained his serious look. “In his will he has granted you 70% of his wealth.” 

Her heart jumped, but she kept a straight face, as to not appear disrespectful. “I don’t mean anything rude, but how much is that? It sounds like a lot just for me.” 

“I can’t give an exact number just yet, but I’d estimate it to be about 90 million dollars.” A small squeak escaped from her lips. She couldn’t believe it. A man she had never met just made her a millionaire. “Mr. Valenhart didn’t have many people left in his life,” Mr. Crawford continued, ignoring Scarlet’s shocked state. “While he was writing his will, he wanted me to be the main beneficiary, but I refused.” 

“But why?” 

“It didn’t feel right to me. I felt wrong to think of taking his money when he died. We weren’t as close as he was to your uncle, yet he was so prepared to give me most of it. I, instead, recommended he give it to someone else who’d have better use for it.” 

“This is big,” Scarlet said. “I really don’t know what to say.” 

“There is a requirement you must oblige to in order to accept the inheritance, however,” he said, reaching into his pocket for yet another sheet of paper. “This is just an excerpt, of course: ‘To Scarlet Adams, I leave 70% of my wealth and savings. Though we never met, I trust you will grow up into a fascinating woman who’s not afraid of the world or what it has to offer. Though I am nothing more than a stranger to you, know that I believe in you, and what you will accomplish. I ask, however, that before you collect this inheritance, you visit my grave, so we can finally meet. My friend Wyatt will accompany you to confirm that my request has been fulfilled, as well as assist you in any way you may need.’”

Mr. Crawford lowered the paper and sighed again. It took him a moment to notice Scarlet had froze in her seat. Her chest didn’t move, and he even couldn’t see her blink. He let them sit in silence for a moment so she could process what she needed to, but he had no idea what that was. After a while he asked, “Ms. Adams?” 

Scarlet blinked once, then turned to Mr. Crawford. “I’m sorry,” she said, a weight resting on her voice. “I can’t do it. I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

“Visit him. I-I get very weird with death, and dead people, and I’m sorry but I can’t.” She rose to leave, but she had nowhere to go.

Mr. Crawford rose as well. “All he asks of you is to visit his grave site and say a few words,” he explained. “There is no service. It would only be us and him.” 

“That’s almost worse,” Scarlet said, her breath growing short and choppy. “No, it’s too much. Give the money to charity or something. I can’t do it.” She sat down again and buried her head in her hands. 

Mr. Crawford stood awkwardly. “I can’t tell you what you should do,” he started, “but Mr. Valenhart expressed a great hope that you would visit him. He wanted you to have this inheritance because he believed you would use it to benefit both yourself and the world.” He sat down again, leaning close to Scarlet. “What is it you’re scared of?” 

“It’s not that I’m scared,” she said, her voice straining. “I’m just not comfortable with death and the idea that one day this all ends, and I don’t know what happens. And I don’t know what happened to him, and it’s just this whole thing and… No, I’m sorry, I can’t.” 

Mr. Crawford stared at her for a moment, thinking. He clasped his hands together and said, “I understand, Ms. Adams, that mortality can be a troubling thing to think about.” Scarlet stared at him with watery eyes. “It’s scary not knowing what happens. I understand. Mr. Valenhart was scared as well. But his fear was not rooted in the idea of what happens to him, but what will happen to those he left behind. He was afraid things would fall to chaos after he passed, and he wouldn’t be able to help. That’s what he struggled with when outlining his will. But when he put you down as his main beneficiary, he was at peace. He trusted his judgement, and he trusted the idea that you would do the right thing.” He took another breath. “He wanted you to have the money, Ms. Adams.” 

Scarlet skimmed the tear forming at the side of her eye with her finger. Her body trembled, but she spoke with confidence.   “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.” 

The drive to Mr. Valenhart’s grave took two and a half silent hours. Mr. Crawford drove while Scarlet sat in the passenger seat, trying to prepare herself for what was to come. She tried distracting herself by fixating on the cars passing by. She would stare at the license plates and try to tally the different number of states she saw. She tried reading every sign that passed, and forming an animal out of every cloud that drifted aimlessly in the sky. There was an endless horizon of distractions in her sight, but nothing could bring her mind away from death. It loomed over her consciousness like the grim reaper himself. No amount of reasoning or praying or theorizing could save her. 

When they arrived Scarlet was hit by the weight of death. The sky was blue and endless, and the grass was green and trimmed, but gravestones covered the ground for what seemed like miles, rolling along with the hills in a never ending imperfect pattern. Walking through the path she saw stones broken and crumbling, covered in moss. Some had dead flowers; some had none at all. Newer gravestones were scattered among the aged, the inscriptions clear and polished. There were graves from every time. She saw the graves of those who served, their branch and rank carefully spelled out right under their name. Graves of those who lived past a century, and graves that barely made it past a decade. Graves isolated and alone. Graves of families buried together. 

Mr. Crawford led her to a patch on a hill where the sun hit just right against the graves, casting sharp shadows onto the candy green grass. He slowed his walk until he could see Mr. Valenhart’s stone. Scarlet stopped with him, and with a single nod from Mr. Crawford, she knew it was time. 

Her first step to Mr. Valenhart felt like dragging her feet through tar. A familiar lump rose in her throat, and soon she was standing above the gravestone. 

Though Mr. Crawford was only a few paces away, she felt alone. She took deep breaths as she read the inscriptions. He had lived a life of 64 years, too short for her comfort. He wasn’t a father or brother or husband to anyone, but a friend to all that crossed his path. 

“I guess I’m supposed to speak to you,” Scarlet said, her voice barely audible. She tried her best to contain the cracking in her voice, but there was nothing she could do. “I’m sorry you died. Thank you for including me in your will. I’m sorry.” 

Scarlet quickly turned heel and began to walk back to Mr. Crawford. As she lifted her head she saw a sight that made her stop in her tracks. He stood back alone, but she could see tears in his eyes, and his face scrunched up in pain that he tried his best to conceal. He did not see Scarlet stare at him. He was focused on the ground, determined to control himself before she finished. 

She turned around and stared at the grave. The dirt in front of the stone was barren, standing out like an island within the ocean of perfect grass. His stone was as fresh as a gravestone could be, and was decorated with flowers of all sorts of colors and petals. 

She returned to her previous spot and stared down at his name on the stone. “I’m sorry,” she said, more pronounced than her first greeting. “I don’t do well with this kind of stuff and… Well, I want to thank you again for including me in your will. I don’t know what my uncle told you, but I’m glad it was all good things. It was brave to give most of your money to a stranger. I don’t know if I could have done that. You sound like you were very brave, which is good. I know I wish I could be braver.

“I wish you could tell me what it’s like,” she went on. “It’d be nice to know what happens at the end of it all. It seems like every year more and more people I know die, and I wish I knew they were okay. I want them to be okay. And you. I really hope you’re doing okay. And I hope that you’re happy with what you did. You changed my life, and there’s no way I can repay you for that.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “I’ll try. I’ll visit. I know it’ll never repay you for your help, but it’s the least I can do.” 

She read the gravestone over once more before turning around and drifting to Mr. Crawford. She felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. 

Mr. Crawford had failed to contain his emotion before she finished. Tears were streaming down his face, but he paid no attention to them. He addressed Scarlet as his cold and composed self. “Congratulations. You’re a millionaire.” 

“Can we talk about that later,” she said through tiny hiccups and sniffles. “It doesn’t feel right.” 

Mr. Crawford nodded. “Of course.” 

The pair walked down the path they had arrived from, facing the blank slates of the backsides of the gravestones. Scarlet continued her deep breaths. “Would you mind telling me more about him?” Scarlet asked. “About his life?” 

Mr. Crawford stared at her, and a small smile warmed the air between them. His eyes glimmered with gratitude. “Of course.”