A view of the lake

Ava threw the Special Delivery letter from Brent Atwell onto the coffee table and walked to the bank of windows and stared out. East towards the lake. How Ava longed for a wide, expansive view of the water. In the beginning when she’d first purchased the condo Ava counted herself lucky to have this postage stamp view of it, even paying extra to get it. It was more than most people had living right downtown. But as time passed and she got used to the little view she had, Ava started hungering for more.

She gazed out on the gray day. Low clouds scudded across the sky. The patch of water she could see from her window reflected the color of the sky. The day matched her mood. Maybe she would go into work after all.

No, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do that this weekend. Gazing down at the street below she wondered again what this lawyer could possibly want with her. Obviously it related to Chris but what did it have to do with her?

Ava supposed she ought to feel guilty for not returning any of Atwell’s or for that matter anyone else’s calls. Since Chris’ death she’d gotten into the habit of letting messages collect on her machine. At first, when she was too numb with grief, she simply forgot to check her machine. But as time passed she ignored her answering machine by design.

On the rare occasion Ava noticed the machine blinking “FULL” she stood at the machine staring off into space, numb. Hitting the Delete button over and over Ava didn’t once bother to listen to any message. She didn’t care, she just wanted to be left alone.

But now this letter had arrived. She’d had to sign for it. It made her feel caught in Brent Atwell’s web. He now had tangible evidence that she’d gotten his message. He was a lawyer and  he wasn’t going to leave her alone. She was sure of it.

Sighing Ava picked up the cordless phone along with Atwell’s letter and went to sit in her library. It was actually the guest bedroom but she had lined the walls with tall bookcases and filled everyone of them to capacity. There were books and books on art, fictional novels, biographies and more. Ava read many genres of literature, even politics and religion.

This room was like a womb. Her safe haven. Anytime she had to tackle a difficult problem she sat in here. These books were her family. They gave her strength when she couldn’t muster up much of her own.

Ava sat down in her reading chair and dialed Brent Atwell’s cell phone number first. He was probably weathering the elements on a day like today, either out sailing on the lake or on some golf course with his cronies. After all weren’t these the recreational activities all lawyers went in for? Sports designed for business networking?

“Hello, Brent Atwell,” came a clipped voice sounding faintly English.

“Mr. Atwell, this is Ava Land.” There was a pause. “I rec’d your Special Delivery letter this morning?”

“Yes, oh yes, Miss Land. Thank-you so much for calling me right away. I’d like to clear up the last of Christian Graber’s estate and you are my final stumbling block” said Brent Atwell. “Didn’t you receive any of my phone messages?”

“I - I’ve been away,” Ava lied. Well no, she had been away, still was, hiding away deep inside herself.

There was a long pause.

“I have your address right in front of me Miss Land. You live in the Third Ward which is only blocks from my office. That’s where I am at the present.” Ava was surprised. “Could you come over or I could come to you.”

“Can’t we take care of whatever this is over the phone?” asked Ava.

“I wish we could but its impossible.”

There was a long pause.

“Well can you at least tell me what this is about Mr. Atwell? I really don’t know why you would possibly have to meet with me.”

“There’s no mystery really, I just have some….” and then he paused, Ava could here paper rustling, “paperwork to go over with you. Please Miss Land, it shouldn’t take more than a half hour.”

“Alright,”  said Ava. She didn’t want this hanging over her head. “I can come in to your office right now if that’s convenient.”

” Yes! Terrific! I’m in Suite 310,” said Brent Atwell and he hung up.. Ava looked at the phone and wondered if Brent Atwell always hung up on people like that?

Ava stepped out of her building and pulled her London Fog trench coat tight around her. The wind was blowing hard. She slipped on her sunglasses despite the gray. Ava felt bad for the 9 to 5-ers who’d slaved all week long counting on good weather for the weekend. Ava suspected a lot of people living in the Third Ward would be going to afternoon matinees at the movie theater just around the corner from her own building.

She zigzagged her way back and forth across the streets trying to avoid the wind and now sleet that was stinging her face. Less than fifteen minutes later she was pulling open the heavy glass door of Brent Atwell’s office building. Stepping into the massive marble everywhere lobby a chill gripped Ava - she shivered. Ava wished she had stopped for a cup of coffee to go along the way.

The elevator stopped on the third floor, Ava stepped out. “Miss Land I presume,” came that English accent tinged voice, booming this time. Ava’s first sight of Brent Atwell was of his head popping through the doorway at the far end of the hallway. “Hold on - I’m back here making coffee!”

Ava inhaled the rich aroma of the Columbian brew steaming in the mug Brent Atwell had just handed her. As they walked side-by-side down the corridor to his office Ava marveled over how Brent Atwell didn’t look like his voice sounded.

Where his voice was refined, physically Brent Atwell was stocky with a low center of gravity, rugby player or wrestler came to mind. And he was no taller than Ava. He had a big, powerful presence however which Ava supposed served him well especially during legal negotiations.

“Right in here, please,” he said opening the door to his office. Ava sat down in a red leather chair while Brent circled his massive desk to sit opposite her. They each took a sip of their coffee. Atwell snuck a furtive glance at his wristwatch. “Right. Shall we  get  down to business then?”

“I’d like that,” said Ava setting her mug on the desk. Brent Atwell held up a cream vellum envelope. “Have you ever seen this before?” he asked. Ava’s vocal chords constricted. She couldn’t speak. All she could do was nod her head while trying to swallow the lump in her throat.