The Will

A chill crept into the marrow of her bones, and bit down deep. Torie sat alone on the park bench, clutching at the sleeping bag in her lap with white-knuckled hands.

"What happened?" She grimaced. Her voice was scraping against the back of her dry throat.

Her eyes were solemn as she turned to the young man nearby. Harrington James, as he introduced himself, stood far enough away to give her the illusion of privacy. In all black, he was slim and seemed reserved. Not that she could blame him under the circumstances. Despite his detachment, Torie was reminded of a younger version of his grandfather, Oliver.

"He had a stroke in the car," Harrington informed her as he stepped closer. "And then another in the hospital. He didn't survive it."

"But he seemed fine just last week..." She took a deep breath, processing the information. Anyone could have a stroke, especially if they were elderly. Torie knew Oliver was old enough. He would have passed on eventually. But that didn't mean she wanted him to go so soon.

She had to swallow the hard lump in her throat to ask, "Is it alright if I come to the funeral?"

"I'm sorry," Harrington shook his head, "but I'm afraid we've already had the service."

Torie's shoulders slumped; the constriction in her throat was back with a vengeance. Her eyes shuttered, then dropped his gaze. She felt the tears fall to stain the material of her sleeping bag. Torie brushed the back of her hand over her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking. Nevertheless, the shuffling of fabric was telltale. With a huff, Harrington presented her with a handkerchief a moment later. She took it and blotted her eyes, downcast.

After all, she was a perfect stranger crying over someone else's dead grandfather, something Torie didn't want to advertise. She wasn't a hard person to find, but she didn't exactly publicize where she lived, either. Still, Torie never met any of Oliver's relatives, and she wasn't inclined to chat it up with just anyone.

"How did you know where to find me, Mr. James? Did Oliver tell you?"

"No. William Turner, the Executor to his will, told me where I could find you," he replied. "And please, call me Harry."

She watched as he sat on the other end of the bench, and crossed an ankle over one knee. Of course, he would sit where Oliver sat every day. In the same spot. In the same way. The ache in Torie's chest grew worse.

"Grandfather wanted to make some final changes," Harry continued with a sigh. He turned toward her. "So, William flew in just in time. He managed to write you into the will before he died. That's why I'm here, Miss Holmes. You see, a will can't be read without all beneficiaries stated within present. So, I'll need you to come with me. If that isn't too much to ask?"

"I'm just a stranger. Just a homeless girl living in the park. I don't mean anything to anyone, Harry. I never have. I never will."

Why Oliver would do this made no sense to her, and she told his grandson that much. But, even as she said this, Torie knew it was a lie. And, from the disapproving scowl on his face, she guessed that Harry knew it too.

"You clearly weren't strangers. You meant something to him."

"I didn't even know him, Harry. Not like his family did."

You only spent every day of the last year together, she reminded herself. That isn't nearly enough time to get to know someone.

Harry scoffed, and his words echoed her thoughts. "What's sad is you don't know how wrong you are. Truth be told, you're the only one of us who's spent the most time with him. How's that for family, eh?" He snorted, but Torie did not smile.

"At least you have one," she murmured under her breath. Harry heard her.

"What's even sadder is admitting that I do not, in fact, have anything resembling a normal family at all," he countered. "So, I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. But if there's any consolation, everyone would like to meet you. Grandfather liked to talk a big game when he was in the mood. Frankly, he never shut up about you."

"He did like to show off, when he could," She agreed. "But, more than that, Oliver was kind – probably the nicest person I've ever met."

Torie knew that was true, no matter what Harry said about his family. Oliver hadn't turned out so bad, so far as she knew. She could count the number of people she trusted on one hand; letting down a wall or two didn't hurt so bad. Torie sighed, and lifted her gaze to watch the park come to life.

"We met almost a year ago in late March, you know. Even though it was spring, the air still cold, especially in the mornings. I remember waking up on this park bench. Only, I hadn't gone to sleep with a blanket, because I didn't own one. Everything I owned fit into this." She pulled close the drawstring bag that moonlighted as her a pillow. Harry listened, indulgent, as Torie continued to reminisce, "Oliver sat where you are now. He was reading the paper – the Virginia Pilot, I think. When I asked him if the blanket was his, he said 'Actually, I'm quite sure it's yours.' Like it was nothing at all."

Her eyes were still watery as she turned backed to him with a small smile. He nodded, understanding. They settled into a comfortable silence that lasted for some time. By the time Harry got back to his feet, the morning rush hour was in full swing. People walked their dogs and pushed baby strollers. Teenagers cut through the woods on their way to school. Businessmen and women spouted jargon into their cell phones and head sets.

Torie hesitated, watching as Harry started down the sidewalk. She wasn't sure if she should move, although she never answered his earlier question. A black SUV sat idle at the curb. Harry made it to the back door before he realized she wasn't with him. He stopped and turned to stare at her.

"Well? Aren't you coming, Victoria?"

Something about him nagged at her then. Maybe it was the way he stood there, looking more like Oliver than before. Maybe it was the way he said her name, the way Oliver used to say it. Maybe it was the smile he gave without a hint of patronization. She put the sack on one shoulder, then rolled up her sleeping bag to tuck it under one arm. She took a deep breath and stood.

"Actually, you can call me Torie."