At twenty past two, I was napping in my zero-gravity chair with my e-reader on my chest. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Donna, still dressed in her work clothes, came up the stairs to the deck. I got out of my chair and guided her inside. She asked for a shot of vodka, guzzled that and held her glass out for another. I raised my eyebrow and said, “Wow. This must be one hell of a story.” I put the bottle of Grey Goose on the bar and pushed it toward her. She poured her own. I pulled a bar stool around to the kitchen side of the bar and Donna sat down on a stool on the dining room side.
Braced by the two shots of vodka, she started into her story: “Let me start from the beginning. My family is a big part of the history of this town. My great-great-grandfather started a business that became the primary employer around the area. The business was passed down to my great grandfather and then to my grandfather who built the home I live in now. As I told you last night, when they died they willed the house to Sylvia and I equally. They were very disappointed in their only child, my mother, because of her several unsuccessful marriages to guys who were, in their eyes, only interested in the money.”
Donna poured a third shot and sipped on it. She continued, “What I didn’t tell you is that more than a hundred and fifty million dollars came with the house. They took care of their daughter too but only from a trust that doled the funds out slowly so she wouldn’t just blow it all.” She chugged the rest of her shot and poured another and just held it in her hand as she steeled herself for the rest of the story. “There was a caveat in their will though. My grandfather was very concerned with family legacy and his will required that either Sylvi or I provide a blood heir to pass the family fortune down to. If not, the money goes to a collection of their favorite charities. Sylvi and I keep the house but we wouldn’t be able to afford the taxes and would be forced to sell it and it would be near impossible to sell a house like that out here in the boonies for anything close to what it’s worth.”
Donna’s story was beginning to clarify what I had suspected. I was a sperm donor after all. I listened and didn’t ask any questions and Donna continued, “Sylvi was thirty when the will was read. I was twenty-five. Neither of us was married but I was soon to become engaged and the solution to our dilemma seemed to be found. I would get pregnant and Sylvi was free to fuck herself silly with any random guy that interested her at the moment, which was all she wanted to do, without the encumbrances of children, which she didn’t want. She apparently got most of her genes from our mother. Then she was diagnosed with uterine cancer which resulted in a hysterectomy and it was all on me. It turned out that Jerry, my husband, had inactive sperm and I couldn’t get pregnant. We saw specialists all over the country. The doctors would recommend things for Jerry to do and medications to take but Jerry wouldn’t accept that his sperm was the problem. He was certain that it was my fault. He saw the money slipping away and he grew abusive and I grew withdrawn. He filed for divorce and tried to get as much of grandfather’s money as he could but he didn’t get much.