like a car commercial played in reverse, driving away with a clunker and leaving their excellent sedan behind.
So for Aiden, for all of them, he went to meet the guy, the millionaire, who actually seemed like a decent sort. Drew swore up and down that he’d pay it back. Every bit. Every penny. And he meant it, though how he ever would was a problem that seemed small compared with everything else he was facing.
When the guy wrote him the check, as easy as pie, Drew felt tears prickle behind his eyes. Tears of gratitude. Of envy at how easy some people had it.
“It’ll make a huge difference,” Drew said, clutching the check to his chest like a talisman. “This will make all the difference.” But at the same time he knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Chapter Eight
So where did all the money go?
The dolphin, of course. A share in a helicopter that we used twice. A custom RV that my parents sold after three years for a fraction of what they bought it for. A boat that Eddie trashed with some college buddies. Another one that slowly rusted in the marina. This stupid house and all its troubles. I did my share too. I begged for an iPad on the day they came out. Took an amazing cruise with my parents to the Galápagos for my thirteenth birthday (I dropped hints for a month to avoid a repeat of the twelfth-birthday disaster). The RV was my idea, too; I had visions of touring all the national parks during one epic summer road trip. The most we ever did, though, was drive it to Disney and “camp” for a week.
There were investments too. A failed sushi bar in Ocala. Condominiums in Tampa. A resort, or mall, or something like that, in Costa Rica (that one I tried to talk them out of). A lot of the money disappeared in foolish attempts to make more from investments that were a sure thing.
Then there were all those second cousins once removed. Old high school buddies, looking to reconnect after all these years. And…well, they could use a helping hand. They all needed help. Some of them were jerks, looking for a handout, but some of them really did need help. One of them had a very sick child and horrid insurance that wouldn’t pay for a vital operation. One of them was struggling to make it through college, loaded down with two jobs and insane loans, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to graduate. One of them had lost his job, had three young kids, and the bank was threatening foreclosure. And couldn’t my parents help?
Hardly anyone paid them back. At a rough guess, my parents “lent” a couple of million. All those heartfelt promises to repay were usually empty promises in the end. After the first few times, my parents understood that when they wrote someone a check, they called it a loan when actually it was a gift.
It pisses me off that my folks wasted so much money on the stupid house, the flower arrangements, the trips and clothes and parties, a freaking mall in the rain forest, and I feel sick about my part in the whole fiasco. But when I think of all the people my parents helped, really and truly saved, even if the people themselves no longer felt a debt of gratitude, then I know my parents were on the right track.
So I start with charities. There are people out there who deserve what we landed a lot more than us. Find a few of them and I’m good to go. I type in a few keywords, and worthy candidates fill my screen. There are programs for wounded veterans. Foster kids. Urban gardens. Sending children to science summer camp. Protecting sea grass in the bay. Restoring oyster beds in the Chesapeake. Providing clean water in the developing world. Promoting literacy. Preventing child abuse. If nothing else, it cheers me up to see that so many people are trying to make the world a better place. But after an hour of surfing websites and testimonials, I’ve found nothing that really feels right. Nothing sends a shiver of recognition down my spine. This is going to take more than picking a
So for Aiden, for all of them, he went to meet the guy, the millionaire, who actually seemed like a decent sort. Drew swore up and down that he’d pay it back. Every bit. Every penny. And he meant it, though how he ever would was a problem that seemed small compared with everything else he was facing.
When the guy wrote him the check, as easy as pie, Drew felt tears prickle behind his eyes. Tears of gratitude. Of envy at how easy some people had it.
“It’ll make a huge difference,” Drew said, clutching the check to his chest like a talisman. “This will make all the difference.” But at the same time he knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Chapter Eight
So where did all the money go?
The dolphin, of course. A share in a helicopter that we used twice. A custom RV that my parents sold after three years for a fraction of what they bought it for. A boat that Eddie trashed with some college buddies. Another one that slowly rusted in the marina. This stupid house and all its troubles. I did my share too. I begged for an iPad on the day they came out. Took an amazing cruise with my parents to the Galápagos for my thirteenth birthday (I dropped hints for a month to avoid a repeat of the twelfth-birthday disaster). The RV was my idea, too; I had visions of touring all the national parks during one epic summer road trip. The most we ever did, though, was drive it to Disney and “camp” for a week.
There were investments too. A failed sushi bar in Ocala. Condominiums in Tampa. A resort, or mall, or something like that, in Costa Rica (that one I tried to talk them out of). A lot of the money disappeared in foolish attempts to make more from investments that were a sure thing.
Then there were all those second cousins once removed. Old high school buddies, looking to reconnect after all these years. And…well, they could use a helping hand. They all needed help. Some of them were jerks, looking for a handout, but some of them really did need help. One of them had a very sick child and horrid insurance that wouldn’t pay for a vital operation. One of them was struggling to make it through college, loaded down with two jobs and insane loans, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to graduate. One of them had lost his job, had three young kids, and the bank was threatening foreclosure. And couldn’t my parents help?
Hardly anyone paid them back. At a rough guess, my parents “lent” a couple of million. All those heartfelt promises to repay were usually empty promises in the end. After the first few times, my parents understood that when they wrote someone a check, they called it a loan when actually it was a gift.
It pisses me off that my folks wasted so much money on the stupid house, the flower arrangements, the trips and clothes and parties, a freaking mall in the rain forest, and I feel sick about my part in the whole fiasco. But when I think of all the people my parents helped, really and truly saved, even if the people themselves no longer felt a debt of gratitude, then I know my parents were on the right track.
So I start with charities. There are people out there who deserve what we landed a lot more than us. Find a few of them and I’m good to go. I type in a few keywords, and worthy candidates fill my screen. There are programs for wounded veterans. Foster kids. Urban gardens. Sending children to science summer camp. Protecting sea grass in the bay. Restoring oyster beds in the Chesapeake. Providing clean water in the developing world. Promoting literacy. Preventing child abuse. If nothing else, it cheers me up to see that so many people are trying to make the world a better place. But after an hour of surfing websites and testimonials, I’ve found nothing that really feels right. Nothing sends a shiver of recognition down my spine. This is going to take more than picking a
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