Ginni
Ben hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting. He felt the Willow assignment below him. He wasn’t the Mr. Christy of Woodrow and Christy. Benjamin Christy, the first, had brought his son in fresh out of law school.
In the beginning, the plan—Ben would step into his father shoes and take his place as a senior partner. That was ten years ago. After a decade of lacklustre performances and tons of mistakes, he hadn’t even made junior partner and was still taking care of small, very small, inconsequential cases. He’d complained only last week.
The old man’s words still stung in his ears.
“If you think I am going to put all I’ve built into the hands of an overgrown frat boy, you’re sorely mistaken. You drink. You whore around like your peckers on fire, while your wife sits at home and dries up—only one little girl.” The old man paused long enough to take a swig of scotch. The liquor only added fuel to his ire and he really exploded. “Where are my grandsons? Maybe they’d have more sense. Christ. I’ve met acne-ridden, snotty-snouted preteens with a better nose for the law than you. He threw the Willow file at Ben. “You’re lucky I even give you this. If you weren’t my son, you’d be out on your ass.”
Ben took solace in a Canadian rye and told himself that if he were just given something worthwhile, he’d show the old pecker-head what he was worth. He took the Willow file but in an act of pure petulance didn’t make the call for a week. He was pleasantly surprised when a long-legged blonde walked into office two days later. He slipped off his wedding ring while she sat down.
There was one final letter. Ben handed over an envelope. Ginni slid out the one sheet of paper and read.
My daughter,
I hope I can call you that. I know I didn’t count much as a father. I did love you, in my way, more than anyone really. I know that’s not saying much but it’s true.
Phillip
Ginni finished reading, returned the single sheet of paper to the envelope, and slipped it into her purse. Ben watched her intently, hand poised on a box of tissue. The tears didn’t come. “Was there anything else?” she asked.
“There’s a small property with a cabin. If the photos are to be believed, the cabin is very, well … rustic. It’s quite small. No running water.”
He passed over a Polaroid. Ginni didn’t look impressed. She placed the photo on the desk.
“How much do you think its worth?”
“Not much, unfortunately.”
Ben didn’t want this meeting to end. He liked looking at her. She had big blue eyes, full lovely lips, high full breasts, and fabulous legs. She was almost perfect. There was just a hint of purple on her jaw-line peeking through the heavy make-up meant to hide it. Had someone hit her? Asshole. Ben had his shortcomings but he’d never hit a woman. He liked women. That was his problem. He liked women a little too much.
“May I call you Ginni?”
She nodded. He grinned.
“The property is quite isolated, Ginni. There’s no road. But I’d be happy to look into this further? Maybe call a few local real-estate agents …”
Ben was going beyond what was expected of an estate lawyer. Ginni knew why.
*
Ginni and E.E. struggled along the path to the cabin. Well, she struggled. He was little bothered by his lion’s share of the load. He hadn’t lied. The cabin wasn’t more than a two hundred meters from the lake. It felt a lot longer. Ginni tripped twice—banged her shin against a log the first time and fell to her knees the second. When they finally reached the clearing, she was breathing heavily and covered in mud up to her thighs.
The sight before her did little to raise her spirits. The Polaroid hadn’t captured the extent of wear. It must have been taken years ago when the cabin could have held onto the descriptor cozy.
Her new home went beyond small. Its roof was covered with moss. It sat on bare ground and leaned.
***
Words and Images are my own.
Ginni is published in Strays. Strays available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores. Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.