From the moment she walks into the church, all she can hear are voices. No words, just sounds in different tones and pitches bouncing off one another and the high ceiling. All she can see is the long black box sitting on the stage.
'He's not supposed to be there.' She thinks as the minister makes a speech.
It's not until her uncle grasps her shoulder halfway through the ceremony that Angie focuses on anything other than the casket.
"Angie, sweetheart, are you okay?" Uncle Mark's face swims in front of her and Angie feels her wet face in confusion. She didn't notice she was crying.
"I'm okay Uncle Mark." She responds in a distant voice. They both know she isn't and he isn't and they won't be for a long time, but for now false reassurance will have to do.
After everything is put away and Angie's done wiping her face for the millionth time, Uncle Mark gives her everything.
Everything that matters that is. She is now the proud owner of a guitar and a shoebox.
"I thought dead relatives meant money and cars." She says dryly wile strumming absently on the guitar. She owns her own, but no one says anything about the protective manner she holds her fathers.
Maureen gives her a light shove, "Show some respect munchkin." Joanne rolls her eyes and mumbles something about the appropriate time and place. Uncle Mark smiles as much as he can and goes to set up a film. It's become a tradition with a death in the little family.
Angie smiles and knows this is how he'd want the after party to be.
"I suggest opening the shoebox when you're alone." Benny says in her ear when Joanne and Maureen begin to argue.
Inside the box are sheet music and a notebook. She doesn't know what to do with the former, or why he'd leave it to her, so Angie plays each sheet of music about half way.
Most are tunes she knows. Some his, some not. There are about four copies of Musetta's Waltz, only one entitled such, but she knows the notes by heart and knows the others are the same piece. Maybe he wrote them down after having the song stuck in his head? Angie never understood the connection he had with the music.
Finally there's only one left, Your Eyes. She stares at it for a moment before putting it back in the shoebox. No one can play the song like him, and she can't bring herself to try.
Finally the notebook is picked up and opened carefully. Written on the first page is the title The Santa Fe Café. Flipping through the pages, Angie realizes the book is plans for a restaurant. She never knew her father wanted this and it isn't until she reads further that she learns he didn't.
The plans are written by one Thomas Collins.
The last page gives her all the answers.
Angie-
Collins gave this to me before he died in hopes I could carry out the dream he shared with Angel. I couldn't do, but I know you can. Bring a little Santa Fe to New York.
Love, Dad
7 years later, 23 year old Angie Davis stands outside the Santa Fe Café with her Uncle Mark and Benny.
Marks hand is on her shoulder and there are tears in his eyes. "Your parents would have been proud." He promises.
"Collins and Angel too?" She asks with a small smile already knowing the answer.
"Of course."
"Well I wouldn't have been able to do it without the anonymous donation from 'Evita'." She says with a slight smile at Benny who whistles innocently.
"We've got to get going to pick Maureen and Joanne up at the airport on time." He says.
Mark nods and the two head to the car. Angie begins to follow before a light breeze blows picking up her hair with it. She stops and smiles at the sky, "Thanks Dad."
And if Angie didn't know better, she might say that she heard the laughter of Roger Davis following her to the car.
A/N- Good lord this is sappy for a RENT fic. I don't know how OOC the characters are, but I know they are. But that's what you get for a story written at 2 AM
I'm sort of ashamed this is my first uploaded RENT fic