“What’s going on?”
Brad pointed at a sheaf of papers sitting on top of a manila envelope on the plywood countertop. “Just look,” he said.
She picked up the papers. She gasped, not at the words “Last Will and Testament,” but at her father’s block-print handwriting spelling out his own name, Edward Gordon, just before the words “of sound and disposing mind and memory…”
“I told you to look in the freezer,” Brad said. “That’s where everyone keeps their wills. It’s been here the whole time.”
Poppy looked at the old refrigerator, the door swinging open. “That old thing hasn’t worked in years. I totally forgot about it. I mean, it didn’t even occur to me, but of course it was here.”
Poppy tore through the pages, reading and rereading the fine print, barely able to focus, tears of relief running down her face. She’d sent her intentions to the universe just yesterday, and already the universe answered.
Noah said, “I can’t wait to tell my mom when she gets here.”
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Poppy asked, remembering what Carol had said: You’re the only person in your family who can fix this. “Can you let me tell her?”
Noah seemed to deflate, but just a little. “Why? Look what it says!”
“I know, I know. But just trust me, OK? I think we need to handle this carefully. Maybe this afternoon when she gets here you two can get lost. Go kayaking or something.” Poppy shoved the papers into the envelope and tucked it into her coat. “I think it would be best if she heard about this from me.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Ann
Ann walked through the door without knocking—why should she knock? Soon the home would be hers, all hers!
Poppy was in the living room, shoving wood into the big fireplace. She startled when she turned and saw Ann.
“Where’s Noah?” Ann asked.
“Hello to you, too.”
“Sorry. Hello. Do you know where my son is?”
“He took Brad kayaking.”
“Fun!” Ann tried to seem bright. She forced herself to smile, but deep down, she was still seething with anger over what Poppy had done to her on Friday night. Kayaking on a cold spring day didn’t sound fun at all to Ann, but it was just as well: she needed to talk to her sister about the house now that she had a plan. “How about we go to Wicked Oyster?” Ann said. “Get something to eat. Talk. Catch up.”
“I’m sorry about what happened. It seemed like a good idea.”
“It’s OK.” It wasn’t OK, and it was hard to lie about it. Ann had tossed and turned the whole night, wondering what Poppy knew. Had Michael told her that he’d intended to sue them? Did she know he wanted to force the sale? Was she in on it? What else did Michael tell her? Whose side was Poppy on? What was Ann up against? Whatever it was, she felt certain she had the upper hand now.
“Let’s just stay here,” Poppy said. “The fire is finally going, and I’ve got leftovers. Brad’s a great cook. There’s still an open bottle of wine.”
Ann looked around. The place really was inviting. Clean, even. The beds were made, and the sink was free of dirty dishes. More than that, the house felt like it had … what? Life. It smelled of food and showers and smoke from the fireplace.
“About Michael—” Poppy said.
“Let’s not talk about that.” Ann forced herself to smile. “I want to hear about you.”
“What about me?” Poppy seemed suspicious—or at least leery. Sure, time had gone by. Not so much that Ann couldn’t read her sister’s skepticism. “What do you want to know?”
“Just, you know, normal catching-up stuff.” Ann tried hard to sound bright, although she knew she probably sounded more like she was trying to give a bad performance review to an employee she liked. “So, where all have you lived? How’ve you been?”
“How’ve I been? Let’s see: Good. Bad. Confused. What the fuck? I don’t have a SparkNotes version of my life prepared for you. God, I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore, Ann. You’re so mad all the time, and I don’t know why.” Poppy pushed her hair away from her face and tied it into a ponytail, a practiced move. She looked especially lovely, and Ann wished she could say so. “I’ve been learning things, Ann. About you. About Michael. About Noah. About the house. I thought we could work things out if we all had a chance to sit down together. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or piss you off. All I wanted to do was talk, and you shut me down. I’m your sister, not your enemy. All you care about anymore is … real estate.”
Ann thought of something a friend had told her when she’d left for Milwaukee shortly after her parents had died. “Everyone grieves differently,” she’d said. “The grief can come out in all different ways, like anger.” Was that what was happening to Ann? Maybe Poppy was right: maybe she was hiding her grief behind the houses. And now, thanks to Maureen, Ann had a lovely solution for what, for so long, had seemed like an insurmountable problem.
But before she could say anything about her plan, before she could apologize and try to marshal Poppy’s support, Poppy leaned close to her and said, “Michael isn’t Noah’s father. Is that true?”
Ann was so shocked she didn’t respond.
“Is it?”
Ann shook her head. “Yes. That is the truth.”
There it was, the same relief she’d felt when she’d told her father—if only her younger self had known how cathartic the truth was.
“If he’s not the dad, why do you hate him so much?”
“I don’t hate him,” Ann said, and realized this was true. What an inconvenient revelation!
Poppy bent down for a second, letting herself hang in one of those Raggedy Ann yoga poses with her hands on her elbows, her ponytail scraping the wide floorboards. Ann had taken a few classes over the years but her hamstrings were so tight from running that she felt like she had steel rods in the backs of her legs. Without looking up, Poppy said, “Does Noah know that Michael isn’t his dad?”
“Now he does. I told him after … well, I told him when I needed to.”
“How come you never told me?” Poppy spoke in barely a whisper.
“What was I supposed to do, Poppy? Should I have sent you a text? An email? A vibe?”
“Ann, please. You’ve got to stop making fun of me. It hurts. It’s always hurt.”
Ann collapsed onto the couch and felt something against her back. She pulled out a needlepoint throw pillow that read, OLD TEACHERS NEVER DIE, THEY JUST LOSE THEIR CLASS. Poppy and Ann had chipped in to buy it as a birthday present for their mom back when they were in what—first and second grade? They’d bought it at the Christmas Tree Shops, the Cape’s knickknacky version of a dollar store. “It’s not the sort of thing that just comes up. ‘Oh hey, the weather here has been cool and overcast and by the way, my kid’s dad isn’t who I said he was.’” Ann threw the pillow across the room in frustration.
Poppy sat next to her, in the spot where her mother always used to sit. She was careful to leave a safe distance between them. “Will you tell me who is?” Her chin quivered. “I know we haven’t been close, but we’ve only got each other now. Tell me. Talk to me.”
Ann took a deep breath and put her hand on Poppy’s leg as if to attach a rope line to a buoy. “I had this … this thing with the father of the family I babysat for.”
“Mr. Shaw?” Poppy cringed. “The golf shirt guy?”
Ann felt so embarrassed and ashamed—that look, that was what she’d wanted to avoid all these years, and especially when she was younger. Sure, he’d forced himself on her, and he’d threatened her. She blamed him, she did. But Ann was proud. Too proud. She couldn’t stand to think she’d let her guard down, couldn’t forgive herself for getting into that situation, even if, on the deepest level, she knew it wasn’t her fault.
“It seemed exciting at the time. We flirted. I thought it was fun. Harmless. I was actually into it at first. Then he took me swimming one night. It was hot, and nobody else was there.”
&
nbsp; “Wait, where? Where did he take you?”
Ann swallowed hard. “Duck Pond.”
Some of the best moments from their childhood had happened there. An old-fashioned slideshow of images flickered through her mind: the blueberries, handstands in the shallow end, tadpoles, her parents resting on beach blankets in a free spot on the narrow beach, the pine trees lining the path. “Things went too far. Not in a way I wanted them to.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” Poppy said, and Ann wondered if maybe Poppy had stories of her own, stories Ann wasn’t around to hear. “That fucker.”
“He said I was asking for it,” Ann said.
“Sure he did. That’s what they all say.”
“I said no, I did. I said no.”
“I believe you, Annie. I need you to know that.” Poppy could have been twelve years old at that moment, so loyal and true to Ann the way she’d once been, her eyes big and focused like laser beams.
“He didn’t listen. I said no.” Ann’s whole body shook. Her hair swayed over her face. She felt like she was telling her story for the first time. “No, no, no! And then, wouldn’t you know, that first time, I end up getting pregnant. Just my luck. I couldn’t believe it.”
Poppy put her arm around Ann’s shoulders and drew her closer to her. “You don’t need to convince me. He was wrong to do what he did. He should have known better.”
Ann stood up, walked into the bathroom, and returned with a box of Kleenex. She offered Poppy a tissue and sat on the edge of the couch, wiping her eyes. “You know that house on Duck Pond, the only house on the far shore? The one we used to swim to? We’d make up stories about the people who lived there, and what we wanted them to be like?”
Poppy nodded.
“I used to think that house was so perfect and peaceful, almost like a dream. But when … when it was happening … I looked at it. I looked at it the whole time—you know, like when they tell you to stare at one spot in yoga?”
“A drishti.”
“A drishti. And now I see that house in my head every time I close my eyes. I want to see it the way I used to see it. To see everything the way I used to.” Ann started to cry again.
“It’s OK.”
“I wanted to tell you, I did. You were the first person I went to when I got home, but you were gone, so I went upstairs to talk to Michael. I couldn’t say it—I couldn’t even talk, the words just didn’t come. I just wanted to be with him. He was my other best friend. I didn’t want to be alone.”
Poppy started to put it all together. “That’s when Dad saw you guys and freaked out.”
“And you came home, high out of your mind. You thought the books were dancing in the bookcase. You called Mom Britney Spears.”
Poppy laughed, but grew serious. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“But you were getting into your own kind of trouble, and I guess I wasn’t there for you, either. That was one hell of a summer.”
“It sure was.”
They lapsed into a warm silence. The fire snapped and flickered, and the rain fell against the windows. Ann looked up, her eyes red. “He’s dead now. Anthony.”
“Well, good riddance. I hope you killed him.”
Ann winced.
“What?”
“I feel like I did. He killed himself while I was there. I think I pushed him over the edge. I saw him die, Poppy. It was horrible, worse than in the movies. The smell, the way his eyes stopped, you know, they stopped looking. I know he did a terrible thing. I’m not condoning it. But he was a person, and he had a family, you know? Everyone’s so haunted by him, including me. I feel like it’s my fault.” Ann’s voice broke. “Everything is always my fault. I handle things so badly.”
“Oh, Ann,” Poppy said. “I know it’s been hard for you.”
“I’m OK. I am. I feel like I’m getting better at least. One thing about dealing with all this stuff—it’s made me stronger.”
“And you know there are good guys out there, right?”
“You mean guys like Brad?” Ann said, smiling. “Swear to God, as soon as I saw you guys together I had this feeling that Dad sent him to you, like he’s part of a master plan.”
Poppy got the chills. She’d thought the same thing. “I guess we’re a good fit.” She expertly steered the conversation away from Brad. “Dad, he was the best. And look at how sweet Noah is.” Poppy hesitated. “… And Michael? I don’t know what to think about him. He’s the part of this story that still doesn’t make sense. I was so happy to see him, but I still can’t figure out why he lied.”
“Oh, Poppy. It was such a mess. He overheard me say I was pregnant. He contacted Anthony and told him he’d say the baby was his if Anthony paid him off—and paid me off, too. Michael set up an account, and for a while, I got some of the money Anthony gave him. And then the rest of it was just gone. He spent it. He benefited from my situation.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“He sure would. I’ve got checks in Michael’s name to prove it. All these years I’ve been putting myself through school, eating tuna out of a can for every meal, never going out, barely able to pay rent much less cover the cost of Noah’s school supplies. That’s why I freaked out when you pounced him on me the other night, and why I don’t want him to have the house. Poppy,” Ann said, “you can’t let Michael have this house. Promise me.”
Poppy drew back. “I can’t do anything about that. Did you know he’s already filed to remove you as executor? He wants to force the sale. And Ann, it’s bad. Carol told me—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Ann said. “Michael says he can buy me out, but I think he’s bluffing.” Ann sprang from the couch, bright, energized. “I know you don’t want the house to leave the family, and even though I thought I wanted to sell, I just can’t stand the thought of giving it up anymore, but I couldn’t afford it on my own. But then Maureen, Anthony’s wife, well, his widow I guess—anyway, we’re close now. We were both there when he—” Ann made a gun with her index finger and thumb and pretended to put it in her mouth.
“Oh, Ann. I’m so sorry you saw that.”
Now that the truth was coming out, Ann felt impatient to tell her sister everything. “But I was racking my brain trying to think of a way to keep this place, and when I told Maureen, she said her house here was totally destroyed this winter. She got some insurance money, and she wants to buy another one. She said she’d front me the money and we could go in on this place. Isn’t it horrible, having to buy your own house? But do you see? Thanks to Maureen, we can buy Michael out. The house can be ours!”
It was perfect, so why did Poppy seem so hesitant?
“What?” Ann asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, Brad is totally obsessed with Dad’s old tools.”
“He can have them! Oh my God, is that what you’re worried about? He can have every last one of those rusty hunks of metal. I made sure Noah had a tetanus shot at his last appointment.”
“No, listen…”
“Or he can sell them on eBay. I’ll bet he could get some good money for the spokeshaves and bevels. Some we should actually keep though, like Dad’s first hammer and…”
“No. Ann. Would you stop and just listen?”
Ann put her hands on her hips.
“Remember the refrigerator in the barn?”
“What about it? Oh God, Brad can have it, too. It hasn’t worked since I can remember. Some people turn those old refrigerators into coolers, bookcases, couches. I’ll bet Brad could…”
“Ann!”
What was going on? “What’s your problem?”
“Freezers are where people hide their wills. You know, so they won’t burn up in a fire.” Poppy walked over to the desk and pulled out a legal-sized manila envelope. “This is what we found.”
“A will? You found it?”
“Brad did. And Noah.”
“I can’t believe Noah didn’t tell me sooner.”
“It happened just this mor
ning, before you got here. We know what Mom and Dad wanted now. Ann, we don’t have to fight over the house anymore. Michael can’t force the sale. The evil developer can’t buy the property and build a road.”
“What evil developer?”
“Carol told me about some guy who wanted to put a road through the property.”
“No way. Are you kidding me? What does the will say? I’ve looked everywhere for this.”
Ann greedily ripped the large envelope out of Poppy’s hands and pulled the papers out. Her eyes wildly scanned the pages. “Wait a minute,” Ann said. “The house is in a trust.”
“Right. We can’t even sell it or buy it from each other or whatever. It’s set up to skip generations.”
The logistics began to sink in. “We don’t inherit it. The grandchildren do.” Ann set the envelope on her lap and smiled, elated. “So, that means the house belongs to Noah now! Michael can’t have it. Oh my God, that’s the best news ever!” Ann started dancing around the room, so relieved she thought she might cry. She reached for Poppy’s arms, trying to pull her up to join her in her celebration, but Poppy wouldn’t budge. “What’s your problem? Don’t you see? I don’t even need Maureen. Michael can’t get his dirty hands on this place. How perfect!”
“Ann, there’s something—”
“Does Noah understand what this means for him? He must have been out of his mind. I need to call him.”
“Wait!” Poppy said. “Slow down. Please.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Poppy took a deep breath. “Ann, Michael has a kid.”
“He has a what?” She was sure she had misheard.
“Avery. She’s eleven or twelve. She looks just like him. I saw her picture in his office the other day.”
“That could be someone else’s kid. Are you sure it’s his?”
“I’m sure.”
Ann rolled the envelope around the pages and walked over to the fireplace. “Let’s forget we ever found this.”
The Second Home Page 30