Millions of Reasons

"It has taken me so very long to find you, dear," Lisa heard a man's voice say. She looked up from the blandly-colored front desk of a doctor's office in Ashersville to see a thin and aged white gentleman dressed all in black, from his brimmed hat to his overcoat, and down to his slacks and shiny shoes. Black. A navy blue pinstriped vest nestled underneath in the sea of shadow for contrast.

"I'm sorry? Do you have an appointment?" she asked the man, who simply smiled at her and shook his head.

"No, ma'am, I'm here on a separate matter entirely."

"Okay. What can we do for you, mister…" Lisa said.

"Blackwell. Mortimer Blackwell," he said, and offered his hand across the counter, which she took and shook. "I'm here today on a peculiar bit of business I'd like to run by you. I think you may like the details." He emphasized tails instead of de and Lisa wondered if he was from the South.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't have authority to accept or reject offers from reps,” she said with a smile. “The doctor is on lunch but should be back shortly."

He held up a hand and laughed quietly, politely. "No no, dear, you misunderstand. My business is with you. Might you have a small block of time approaching during which we might discuss this further?"

She studied Mortimer. Besides the black on black outfit and his thin but sturdy build, nothing struck Lisa as unusual about the man. Except, there was something, wasn't there? Just under the surface—under the smile and the way he stood stock straight, confidence loud as the Harleys that sometimes passed by on the street out front—there was something else. Something deeper, older than his years. Lisa fettered with papers on her desk. She smiled nervously. "Ummm, once I’m off I could have a few minutes, sure. What's this about again? A business inquiry? I don't understand. I'm the front desk lady."

Mr. Blackwell's smile grew larger. "I'm aware of your position here, child. Please, meet with me briefly, allow me to explain."

Lisa's feelings were written on her face: confusion, trepidation and just enough curiosity to keep intrigue in the mix, as well. "I guess that would be okay. How about the big park near the library?"

"Exquisite," he said, and whirled around in a tight circle, ending with his hands on the counter. Lisa thought he moved like a man half his age. "I have been looking forward to this for many years."

Lisa frowned. "I hope this is nothing weird. You're not a sicko or something, right? Or like, a conman or a kidnapper? I'm just a front desk clerk, nothing special."

"Well, there is where we will have to agree to disagree, Lisa. For you are quite special, indeed. To me, and to others, you certainly are." There was something in his eyes Lisa couldn't ignore, a depth she had never seen before. Except maybe in animals. Dogs, mostly. Cats didn’t like her.

She smiled cautiously, her eyes narrowing. "How did… how did you know my name?"

He pointed a long and bony finger toward her chest. "Name tag."

Lisa blushed. "Oh. I'm sorry. Of course. It's just that—"

Mortimer shook his head and hushed her, holding up that same bony finger. "It's quite all right, child. These days, you'd be mental or just plain stupid to take anything at face value, much less an odd visit like this from a stranger. You're a smart one, kiddo" he said, winking and tapping his temple. "After work it is, then. I'll meet you at the park.” He leaned forward just a hair. “And, I’m sorry, but curiosity, I’m afraid, has got the best of me. Which car out there is yours, dear?"

Lisa smiled, disarmed. "I'm the little yellow Honda. In the back by the citrus trees. I get free fruit that way for much of the year. The people don’t mind."

He tapped his temple again, ancient lips pursed in a playful smile. “Then I do indeed have the right wonderful person. I’m just so tickled, you have no idea.” He stood up, straight as any wall, and tipped his hat to Lisa. Then he turned and floated across the waiting room floor on thin and long legs, easing himself out of the small office as quietly as he'd entered.

That evening, after she'd closed up the doctor's office, she drove to the park, butterflies fluttering in her belly. If she said they were all excitement, she’d have been lying. Not all those butterflies were the tickly type; some of them, she couldn’t help but notice as she stepped onto the shadow-covered grass of the park, flew with acid-dipped wings.

Mortimer was already there, sitting on a bench away from the other benches, a single light illuminating it from above, its white globe fixed atop an intricately-designed steel pedestal. Seeing his silhouette sitting there, the bench itself and a small patch of surrounding grass the only things in color, Lisa thought it could be 1923, if it were a scene from a movie. However, she reminded herself as she approached the bench, this was not a movie. This was real, and it was happening to her. A fresh wave of excited fear swept through her, and she shivered before forcing a smile.

"You made it!" Mortimer said, patting the empty spot beside him on the bench. "Have a sit. We have much to discuss."

"Okay."

He took a moment before he spoke. "I apologize for the strong entrance. I’m not a man for beating around bushes. I've thought about this in depth, and I'm still not sure where to start, so I'll just start. About six years ago, you gave me a ride somewhere, Lisa. Do you remember that?"

"No. A ride?" Lisa wasn't the type to pick up hitchhikers.

"Correct. I was desperate, dirty, and down, and you came along at precisely the right moment. A divinely orchestrated moment, I would later come to understand. And now, I’m here to make it whole, to complete the loop, in a way."

"I’m lost," Lisa said with a weak chuckle.

"Maybe this will aid in recollection. I was also obese. Very, obese."

"Obese? You?" she asked.

"Yes. Fat. Wide load. You know—" and he opened his arms and puffed his cheeks up. "—big."

Lisa's smile faded. "Oh! Wait, back in Los Angeles? Where did I drive that guy? I remember it was so strange… but yes, he was… overweight, badly."

"He was me, dear. And it was to the beach. Do you remember, you dropped me in front of a small laundromat."

"Right! The laundry place! I remember thinking it funny because—"

"Because I had no money and my clothes were beyond what a rinse was capable of repairing, yes. I, too, noticed the irony at the time. I had been on the streets for months at that point, nearly a year, and I wasn't very good at that life. But anyway, that's neither here nor there. The point is, Lisa, that I went to that beach to kill myself." Lisa's mouth hung open. "It's true. Please don’t feel bad. There’s no way you could have known. But, ultimately, I didn't. Obviously. I thought if I could just see the ocean one more time, I'd be ready to go. So I saw it. And then I just kept looking at it, so majestic and powerful and wonderful and terrifying, so full of mystery and beauty.

"After a while, I picked myself up, brushed off the sand, and a few days later I started a small business with a bad check I’d managed to cash. It was to be my last effort. If it fell on its face, I would walk into the sea. But it didn't. In fact, it grew so large so quickly I had to hire a team. And now it's gone global and made me a very wealthy man."

Lisa smiled again at him, warm and true. "That's awesome! Is it something I've heard of?"

"Yes and no. In fact, I saw my products on the wall today at the office where you work."

"Oh! The screen prints? That's you?"

"The prints, yes. I have a gazillion other products, too. BlackwellEnterprises is what I named it."

"So you're like, a millionaire?"

"Several times over. And it's all because of you, dear."

She held up her hands and shook her head. "Look, I just gave you a ride. Anybody woulda done it. You did all the hard work."

He shook his head. "But anybody didn’t do it, Lisa. You did. Do you see? It’s all connected. Your kindness and compassion that day—it meant everything to me. At that moment in time, I quite literally had nothing else. And now, at long last, I have found you and I want to make you an offer."

Lisa squinted. "What sort of offer?"

"Well, it doesn't seemrightto me that you struggle financially— no offense— and work so damned hard, while I make so much for doing so little. I would like to offer you a life-changing sum of money. It would please me to no end for you to accept. And, to preemptively answer a couple of questions I had already foreseen, no, it wouldn't hurt me at all. I have more than ten men would ever need. And yes, I really do want this and I’m under no coercion and do not operate for trick. I’m of sound mind and I want to change your life, as you did mine. Please. Accept this offer.”

Lisa hesitated, the silence so real it was loud. She cleared her throat, shifting slightly on the bench. “How much money are we talking, Mister Blackwell?”

“I’d like to give you a million. It would make the entire thing worth it to me. I have no family, no friends to speak of, and you've never left my thoughts. There’s no one more deserving, not to me. I tell you what, take your time. I know the answer should be obvious, but the brain loves creating complications, doesn’t it? Here’s my card. Call me when you know.” His smile was large, almost too large to fit on his face anymore.

She had no choice but to smile back. “You run a hard bargain. You really just want to give me a million dollars, no strings attached and no catch?”

He turned to her, gingerly placing his hands on her shoulders. “I wouldn't create chaos for you, not in all the time I have left on this plane. The money is yours if you just accept, free and clear.”

She nodded, slowly. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. This doesn’t seem real. My head is spinning and my thoughts are blowing by so fast I can't see them,” she said, almost out of breath. Her face softened. “I’m so glad you turned things around for yourself. And I’m so sorry you had to suffer like that.”

Mortimer’s face seemed almost superimposed in the whitewashed light of the lamp. “Everything that exists requires an opposite of itself, or it couldn’t exist. Without suffering, I would never have known success. They are one, intertwined eternally, each visible only from a certain perspective. Change the perspective, change reality.”

“That’s really powerful. You're a deep man, Mortimer. And a good one. Thank you. For the offer and for understanding that I need time to consider.”

“It’s no trouble a’tall, Lisa. I’m in town for three or four days. I like it here. I’m staying at the new hotel, a Buffalo-something-or-other.”

“Oh, yeah! I've been curious about it since they put it up. But it’s so expensive.”

Mortimer stood, and his eyebrows stood with him until they almost touched the brim of his hat, a confident smile so big it nearly connected the corners of his gray eyes. “Not to a millionaire. Think about it, sweetie, and call me.”

Lisa went home, ruminated on the offer for two days, and accepted. Mortimer wired the money into her bank account and she was set. If she invested it and got even eight percent return, he explained, that was eighty-thousand dollars annually, for doing nothing at all except being herself. She recognized the freedom that would afford her, and found it impossible to decline.

For two years, Lisa lived like a queen. She moved out of her small apartment and bought a house and a newer car—but still used. Mortimer stayed on as both her friend and, now, as her financial advisor, as well. The pair went on three or four vacations together a year. They took Ski trips, stayed on Maui for nearly a month, and rode the oceans in large luxury liners.

Although the life was a good one, and worry-free, for the most part, Lisa found herself missing her old life from time to time. Once or twice a week she’d drive by the doctor’s office, just to see. She missed being helpful, missed comforting the patients and joking around with the doc, who had a heck of a sense of humor.

She even missed the bad parts, she realized. Rushed and simple lunches that she was always still so thankful for; upset and demanding sick people who really just wanted someone to hear them; the holiday season, when the roster was full and the waiting room was a chaotic mix of coughing, crying, moaning, and tissue boxes.

Part of her, she found, almost wanted to go back to work. Yes, she loved her new life. The anxiety had all but disappeared, and a ton of worries she had before were diffused and sent away like bad children after supper. And seeing the world with Mortimer was the best. She valued their trips more than he knew.

But the rest seemed empty, void of purpose. Go see another movie. Leave big tips atrestaurants and receive all the thanks. Buy another purse, another cute outfit. Drive to the mountains, have lunch, come back home. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

All these were good things, but when good things were the only things, she found, the tendency for boredom and lethargy to set in was very real. The mystery had gone. There was really nothing to dream about anymore. Most things, she could just go get. No, she wasn't a billionaire, but in the small area where she lived, her salary and savings were nearly unheard of without a degree.

But other people worked, had something to fill the empty spots. Even Mortimer! He may not work nine to five, but he was in charge of all those companies and had so much responsibility. Lisa only had to exist, as Mortimer had said when he’d offered her the money.

And it had sounded so good then, hadn't it?

She would think about it, she decided, but she really missed feeling connected to something, as she had at the medical office. And she wasn't sure if Mortimer would understand. She felt guilty for wanting to work again—felt like she was scoffing Mortimer's wonderful gift to her. Maybe he would get it, see her point of view. And, who knew? Maybe she’d go back to work and find it laughably impossible to bear after living the other way. Who knew. Nothing had to be decided right away and besides, it’s possible the doc wasn't looking for anyone to fill front desk, anyhow.

She would think about it.

And then, one day, while she was cleaning house and half-watching a lady on television making a casserole, her phone rang. Mortimer had died, the man on the other end reported. She was listed as a beneficiary in his will—in fact, he’d said, she was the onlybeneficiary in his will, and he would like to see her in his office on Lime Street as soon as she possibly could.

She raced down nearly immediately. When she sat down across from the man in a handsome office of dark wood and emerald green, he rustled papers on the desk and cleared his throat. “Miss Cathaway, I’m so sorry for your loss. I wouldn't do this justice, so I’ll simply read what Mr. Blackwell wrote.

My lovely Lisa—

If you're hearing these words, then I have passed on. And that’s okay! All good things must end. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I believe you're one of the best people alive today. I mean that. And I’ve so enjoyed our adventures. My, my! How magical it has been.

Lisa, I have no heirs. In light of this, I’m leaving the entirety of my companies—21 in total now—and all of my assets, liquid or otherwise, to you. Don’t fret. The companies run themselves, I saw to that. The finances will be directed to you now, and the particulars are taken care of by a team who is well aware of my arrangements.

All you've to do is, well, whatever you want! Unbelievable amounts of money will be pouring into your accounts—my old ones, that are now assigned to you—every week. You've not to worry again. I have a fine lady, Ambrose, flying in from Germany to assist you and set you up with the computer sites and log-ins you'll need, along with any other pertinent information. There are literally no worries.

And, psst—if you want to work for the doc again, go right ahead. Follow your heart, your passion; you won't ever be led astray.

Your friend, always,

Mortimer.

When the man was done reading she sat, motionless, for a long time. The man, who’d been in the business his whole life, allowed the silence.

She finally spoke, hands over her mouth. “Oh my God. Okay.”

He smiled, flipped the page so that it faced her, and held out a gold pen. “Excellent.”