The Life List Read Online Free Page A

after class. As soon as they leave, Midar closes the door. When it shuts, it’s so silent I can hear the swish of blood as it races past my temples. He returns to his seat at the head of the table, so that we form a right angle. His face is smooth and tan, and his brown eyes softly incongruent with his angular features.
    “You doing all right?” he asks me, as if he actually wants an answer. We must be paying him by the hour.
    “I’m fine,” I tell him. Poor, motherless, and humiliated, but fine. Just fine .
    “Your mother worried that today would be especially hard on you.”
    “Really?” I say with a bitter little cackle. “She thought it might upset me to be written out of her will?”
    He pats my hand. “That’s not entirely true.”
    “Her only daughter, and I get nothing. Nada. Not even a token piece of furniture. I’m her daughter, damn it.”
    I yank my hand from his and bury it on my lap. When I lower my gaze, it lands on my emerald ring, meanders up to my Rolex watch, and eventually falls on my Cartier Trinity bracelet. I look up and see something resembling disgust darken Mr. Midar’s lovely face.
    “I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m selfish and spoiled. You think this is about money, or power.” My throat tightens. “The thing is, yesterday all I wanted was her bed. That’s it. I just wanted her old antique …” I rub the knot in my throat. “Bed … so I could curl up and feel her …”
    To my horror, I begin to weep. Dainty at first, my whimpers turn into misshapen, blustery sobs. Midar races to his desk in search of tissues. He hands me one and pats my back while I fight to regain my composure. “I’m sorry,” I croak. “This is all … very hard for me.”
    “I understand.” The shadow that crosses his face makes me think he really might.
    I dab my eyes on the tissue. One deep breath. Now another . “Okay,” I say, teetering on the edge of composure. “You said you had some business to discuss.”
    He pulls a second manila file from a leather portfolio and places it on the table before me. “Elizabeth had something different in mind for you.”
    He opens the file and hands me a piece of yellowed notebook paper. I stare at it. The mosaic creases tell me it had once been wadded into a tight little ball. “What’s this?”
    “A life list,” he tells me. “ Your life list.”
    It takes several seconds before I recognize that this is, indeed, my handwriting. My flowery, fourteen-year-old handwriting. Apparently I’d written a life list, though I have no recollection of it. Beside certain goals, I spy my mother’s handwritten commentary.
    MY LIFE GOALS
*1. Have a baby, maybe two
2. Kiss Nick Nicol
3. Make the cheerleading squad Congratulations. Was that so important?
4. Earn straight A’s Perfection is overrated .
5. Ski the Alps What fun we had!
*6. Get a dog
7. Answer correctly when Sister Rose calls on me and I’m talking to Carrie
8. Go to Paris Ah, the memories we made!
*9. Stay friends with Carrie Newsome forever !
10. Go to Northwestern I’m so proud of my Wildcat!
11. Be super friendly and nice Way to go!
*12. Help poor people
*13. Have a really cool house
*14. Buy a horse
15. Run with the bulls Don’t even think about it .
16. Learn French Très bien!
*17. Fall in love
*18. Perform live, on a super big stage
*19. Have a good relationship with my dad
*20. Be an awesome teacher!
    “Huh,” I say, scanning the list. “Kiss Nick Nicol. Be a cheerleader.” I smile and slide the list back to him. “Cute. Where’d you get this?”
    “Elizabeth. She kept it all these years.”
    I cock my head. “So … what? She’s willed me my old life list? Is that it?”
    Mr. Midar doesn’t smile. “Well, sort of.”
    “What’s going on?”
    He scoots his chair closer to mine. “Okay, here’s the deal. Elizabeth fished this list out of the trash years ago. Over the years, every time you accomplished one of your goals, she’d scratch it off.” He