Page 17 of Things We Left Behind

“Your dad told me a lot about you and your sister,” he said, bobbing his head and swallowing hard. “I probably should have called first, but I had an exam I couldn’t miss and drove straight here afterward. I feel terrible for missing the funeral.” He shoved a hand through those short curls.

I stared dumbly at him. “Do I know you?”

“Uh, no. You don’t. I’m Allen. Allen Upshaw.”

“Were you a friend of my father’s?”

“No. I mean, I like to think we would have been. He was actually a mentor. The reason I got into law school…” Allen trailed off, looking about as miserable as I felt.

I took pity on him. “Would you like to come in? I was just going to make some coffee or tea.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

I led the way down the hall, through the atrium, and past the dining room to the cavernous kitchen. The previous owners had combined the main kitchen and catering kitchen into one huge room with more cabinets and countertops than I would ever know what to do with. The walls were papered in an old-­fashioned but charming plaid and adorned with solemn gold-­framed still lifes of food.

“It looks the same but different,” he observed. “I was here a few years ago before your parents moved to DC.”

“None of us was ready to let go of the house so I moved in,” I explained, turning on the coffee maker. I gestured for him to take a seat at the turquoise breakfast nook table my sister and I had helped my mom paint one summer weekend a thousand years ago.

Allen shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I mean, I feel bad feeling bad when you must feel a thousand times worse. But he was such an important part of my life these past few years.”

“It makes me feel better knowing that he mattered to so many people,” I assured him. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Both, please. Is Mrs. Walton here?”

“She’s spending the night with friends.” I put a mug that saidI Put the Lit in Literatureunder the spout and opened the fridge.

He blew out a breath. “I’ll catch up with her next week. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” He winced. “Sorry. I feel like I’m appropriating your grief.”

“It’s our grief,” I assured him, putting his coffee in front of him and making one of my own even though I didn’t really want it.

“I don’t know if you know, but he came into my life when I needed him most.”

“How did he do that?” I asked as the coffee maker spit out another cup.

“I used to want to be an architect, and then when I hit fifteen, I did some dumb stuff,” he said, cupping the mug with both hands.

“We all do dumb things as teenagers,” I assured him, taking the chair across from him. I had done a few spectacularly stupid things myself.

His lips quirked. “That’s what your dad said too. But my dumb stuff had consequences. Consequences my mom paid for. That’s when I decided I was going to be a lawyer.”

“Good for you,” I commended.

“I met your dad at a community job fair. I was on my own after high school, sleeping in my aunt’s basement, and was working two jobs trying to save up for law school. Simon made me feel like it was possible, that I could do it. He gave me his card and told me to give him a call if I needed any help. I called him that night.” Allen paused and smiled wryly.

My heart squeezed.

“I blurted it all out. How I’d screwed up, how my mom paid the price, how I wanted to make it right. Simon listened to my story and didn’t judge me. Not once. And when I got done telling him why I was such a mess, he told me he could help me. And he did.”

It was so exactly like my father. The lump in my throat was back. I took a sip of coffee to loosen it. “Wow,” I said.

Allen rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Yeah. He changed my life. He invested hours in me. Helping with scholarship and grant applications. He introduced me to his favorite professor at Georgetown. He was the first person I called when I got accepted. And when I still came up short, after my savings and all those grants and scholarships, your dad made up the difference for the first year.” He stopped, his eyes going damp.

Pride filled my chest, wrapping itself around the pieces of my broken heart. My father wasn’t just a good man. He was the best. “When do you graduate?” I asked.

“May,” Allen said proudly. Then his face fell. “Since my mom couldn’t be there, your parents were going to go.”

My heart hurt for him.