“You keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to get a workout in some other way,” Connor said, humor dancing through his words. “Want to burn six hundred calories with me?”
Emerson laughed. “I don’t want to know how much work six hundred calories would be.”
Connor moved her hair over her shoulder and kissed the side of her neck. “I think it’s sex twice on the kitchen counter and a blow job in the shower…give or take a few calories.”
She leaned back in the chair and looked up at him. “I feel like I’d burn more of the calories during the blow job. All you’d have to do is stand there.”
“Are you negotiating with me again?”
Emerson shrugged. “Just stating the facts as I see them.”
“Fine. A sixty-nine on the rug. Equal calories.”
“Go. Go to the gym,” Emerson said, shooing him away. “Put in some work and you might be in half-decent shape by Christmas.”
He lifted his top to reveal his perfectly crafted abs. “You think these need work?”
“Oh my god. Stop,” she said, reaching for the hem to pull it down. “You are insufferable.”
Connor laughed. “Okay. I’ll stop. What are you up to?”
“It’s Dad’s personal laptop. I’m going through it to see if there’s anything we need to keep on here.”
“You want me to stick around? If you need me to, I can skip the gym,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Emerson shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You go ahead. I’ll start dinner if it becomes too much.”
From her seat in the armchair by Connor’s living room window, she could see the bag of groceries they’d picked up from the store down the street. Steak, sweet potatoes to make wedges, and the fixings for a salad.
“Okay, I’ll be back in an hour.” He kissed the top of her head before heading to the building’s gym.
She opened the laptop to be greeted by a password screen. Despite warnings to her father, he’d stuck to the same old passwords, arguing that he’d forget if he had too many. The first, a combination of their mother’s date of birth and the name of the restaurant they’d gone to on their first date, didn’t work. The second time was the charm.
1son2ake3via
The last three letters of his children’s names in the order they’d been born.
The desktop was intimidating, folder after folder with names that really only made sense to her father. Unease shivered down her spine. This was her father’s private property. For a moment, she wondered if she should simply close the laptop and put it away forever. It felt more personal than the books on the shelf in his office.
She sat back in her chair and picked up the glass of wine Connor had left her, a robust Shiraz from Australia’s Barossa Valley. She held it to the light, taking a moment to appreciate the ruby hue. It was thick, syrupy, and when she put her nose to the glass, she could smell the jammy, plum aromas. It tasted as good as it smelled, and it was tempting to simply retreat to the sofa with a good book.
She placed the glass back on the table and decided to start with his email. There were messages from old friends, random emails from stores he liked to shop at, and newsletters from industry organizations he’d been a part of.
Some she typed out brief responses for, others she unsubscribed to and then wondered why she’d bothered. It felt as though they were loose ends of her father’s life that needed sewing up.
The next email was from the insurance company, and Emerson wondered why it hadn’t been sent to his business email address. She opened it.
Mr. Dyer, I repeat my apologies that we are unable to help you further. We have read all of the information you have provided, and while we are saddened to hear about your daughter, we are unable to act. This issue is now closed.
Emerson’s heart began to race, and she took a gulp of wine.
She opened the thread of emails. Twenty, maybe thirty of them. The urge to just get to the punchline nudged her on.
The first few were her father making the claim. He’d asked for some clarity on the claims form, some other questions about timeline and process…the usual.
But the fifth took her breath away.
Please find attached the papers emailed to us by Olivia Dyer, on your behalf, for the purposes of the assessment of the policy three years ago. As outlined, the distillery, warehouse, and other buildings are included. The events hall was not and is, as such, not considered insured by this office.
Emerson slumped back in her chair.
Oh, God. Dad. Liv.
She opened the file, already fearful that she knew the answer. When Olivia had sent the documents required, they were all there…except the events hall.
They had no insurance. There was no coverage for the weddings they’d had to cancel. There was no damage cover to repair the building.
Her breathing shallowed as she fought to push the panic that was rising back down. She checked the date of the final email, the first one she had seen. Her father had received the email thirty-six hours before he’d gone to the bank to take out the loan. Five days after Liv’s breakdown.
So that’s why you didn’t tell us what was going on.
Liv had been causing them all so much worry with her erratic behavior and deep depression. Their father hadn’t told them because Liv would have felt it was her fault for sending the papers in incorrectly, no matter how much they would have reassured her.
Her heart ached for her father working through it all alone. The desperation he must have felt. Tears burned her eyes.
Those last few days before his heart attack, her father had looked more tired than usual. Dark circles had ringed his eyes. When Emerson had asked him what was wrong, he’d told her he thought he was coming down with
