Page 54 of Old Fashioned
“It’s my dad’s journal.”
The tension between her brows released, her eyes widening. “Your… your dad’sjournal?”
I nodded, pointing to the hard drive plugged into the side of my laptop. “It’s a long story, but… well, essentially, Logan and Mallory found this old, burned up, useless computer when they were tasked to clean out a storage closet at the distillery. He managed to get the hard drive out of it, and used this external hard drive,” I said, tapping the large silver square. “To host it, I guess. It pulled up dad’s computer as if we were logging onto it, but the problem was… it was password protected.”
Sydney listened intently, her eyes ever-widening.
“Mikey’s girlfriend — well, she was his friend at the time, but that’s another story — she’s smart, and has always had a fascination with coding and such. So, the two of them worked on trying to break into it. One day… they did.”
“Whoa…” Sydney looked back at the screen. “And they found this?”
“Among other things. It was mostly work files and emails and such, when they first started looking, but then Mikey found the journal. And see,” I said, reaching over to scroll on the mousepad until the beginning entries were on the screen. “At first, it’s just a normal journal — and really, it’s more like a daily log. Boring stuff. Him going to meetings, notes on what he needs to accomplish that week, random reminders. But then, something strange happens.”
“He starts writing in Latin,” Sydney finishes for me, scrolling down to the first entry in the old language.
“He starts writing in Latin,” I echo. “My brothers were confused, but I remember when Dad got on this kick about how so many of our words are based in the Latin language, and how he read an article that if you learn Latin, it’s a gateway to learn pretty much any other language in the world. I remember him listening to the tapes and studying this giant book he’d bought on it. And I got into it, too,” I added with a shrug. “It was kind of fun. Challenging. And it was time with my dad, you know?”
Sydney’s mouth pulled to one side, and she reached over, grabbing my hand.
“Anyway, I told my brother’s that with some time and some online translation tools, I thought I could go through and figure out what he was writing… see if it was anything important.”
“That’s what I guess I’m missing here,” she said, glancing at the screen and back at me. “I mean, I think it’s cool that you found your dad’s journal, but you’re just… reading it? Kind of seems like an invasion of privacy. Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it feels good to be close to him in a way again, and have access to what he was thinking each day, but…”
“It’s not about that,” I explained. “Think about it, Sydney. When Logan found the laptop, it was in a box that had been stuffed in a corner, covered by other tubs and boxes, in an old storage room thatno onetouchedfor almost ten years. And in that same box, there were charred things from my dad’s desk — a picture of our family at the lake, a paper weight with a favorite quote of his, and some other things.”
“Well…” Sydney looked like she was afraid to say her next words. “I mean, that makes sense, doesn’t it? With the fire…”
“The fire was in Robert J. Scooter’s old office. Why would my dad’s things be burnt, if they were inhisoffice? And why, when the Scooters cleaned out my dad’s office, did they not give any of the things in that box to our family?”
Sydney’s expression went blank, and she gripped the edges of the laptop harder as she sat back on the couch. “You think you’ll find answers in the journal.”
“Honestly, I don’t,” I confessed. “But… I guess there’s a part of all of us that hopes.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
I chewed my lip, taking the laptop from her long enough to pull up the entry where dad had mentioned he’d found Robert J. Scooter’s Last Will and Testament. I turned the screen back to Sydney, watching as she read over what I’d translated.
“Jesus Christ…” Her eyes found mine. “I thought there wasn’t a Will. I thought…” She shook her head, glancing at the screen and back at me. “There wasn’t a Will. That’s what the Scooters always said. I remember my dad telling me the story of the distillery when we moved here, and telling me about Patrick Scooter and his father and how he died from a random infection on a seemingly harmless injury and… and…there wasn’t a Will.”
I cocked one brow on a sigh. “Well, it seems therewasa Will… which leads me to believe that maybe there is something to be found in this journal, after all.”
Sydney stared at the laptop for a long pause. “Does your mom know?”
“No one knows except me and my brothers,” I said. “Maybe their significant others, at least Michael’s girlfriend, Kylie, for sure. And, now… you.”
She looked at me then, her almond eyes wide and glossy, lips parted, chin quivering.
Anxiety flickered like a lantern in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, shutting the laptop. “Was that too much? God, you probably think we’re crazy, all the conspiracy theory bullshit—”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said quickly, turning to face me completely once the laptop was on my coffee table. Her eyes were sincere, her hands slipping into mine. “I think you’re right.”
I squeezed her hands in mine.
“Thank you, Jordan,” she whispered, gaze searching mine. “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me.”
I nodded, heart pounding slow like a fist was wrapped around it as she crawled into my arms. She kissed my neck, my chin, my jaw, all over until our lips fastened together and I pulled her tighter into my chest.
In that moment, I felt it — our hearts fusing together, our souls opening the door to each other’s, finding a room, making it home.
