by Jenny Hale
When the train had docked and they’d gotten off, the three kids ran down the sidewalk toward the chocolatier, Leah, Roz, and Louise hurrying along behind them until they reached the towering glass doors. Roz grabbed the brass handle and pulled, releasing the glorious scent of chocolate into the air. They’d taken the kids before, so they knew what to do. They walked carefully through the tables that were piled high with golden Christmas boxes of candy in every size until they reached the store-long glass chocolate counter.
Leah stopped beside Sadie at the first display and peered in at what seemed like miles of truffles. Double chocolate raspberry, carrot cake, tiramisu, chocolate éclair—the list went on and on.
One of the clerks came over and smiled at them. “Lots of choices,” she said brightly. “See any that you’d like?”
“I’ll have the strawberry cream,” Sadie said, bouncing slightly on her toes, her little sneakers squeaking slightly on the shiny white tiled floor. “What are you going to have, Mama?”
“I’ve narrowed it down to a few hundred,” she teased. “Let me see…”
“Wait! I’ll bet I can guess which one you’re going to get. I’ve already seen one I know you’ll love.” Sadie cupped her hand at the side of her mouth to allow the clerk to see what she was saying but keeping her guess hidden from Leah.
“I’ll take the butterscotch walnut truffle,” she said with a laugh.
“Your daughter was right!” the clerk said, surprise on her face. “She knows you well.”
Sadie smiled that big playful smile of hers that always made Leah laugh. They paid for their truffles and joined the others on the edge of the shop. Leah handed the golden foil bag to Sadie and sat down at a small, round table.
“Remember we were going to bring Nan here?” Sadie asked. “I wish we could’ve.”
“Me too,” Leah said. “What kind of truffle do you think she’d have gotten?”
“Maybe cookie dough because she liked to bake cookies.” Sadie looked thoughtful as she took a bite of her own truffle.
They sat for a minute enjoying their candy—just Leah and Sadie at their two-person table, the others behind them at their own little bistro tables, chattering.
“Did you find out about Nan’s house?” Sadie asked. “Are we going to live there?”
“I’m working on it,” she said with a gentle smile.
* * *
Leah punched the numbers on her calculator and wrote down the amount of what she guessed it would cost for her to run the business on a scratch pad on her lap as she sat in the dim light of the living room. She’d tried all kinds of scenarios: limiting the business to outside events; having events in only part of the house; opening the grounds during a specific season and closing it the rest of the time. Maybe she could get David to understand.
Sadie had gone to sleep early, exhausted, and Leah had some time to think through her plan. Leah was going to Evergreen Hill and she’d finally decided that Roz was right. She wasn’t going to budge until David surrendered the property, even if it took years. She knew she was legally liable for half the house bills, and if she couldn’t pay, he could take her to court. But once she’d finished her degree, she could get a better job and maybe she could take out a loan until her earnings increased.
She’d cancelled a few of her shifts at the restaurant, finding replacements for them. For the rest, she would commute, as they were during evening hours.
With everything in place, Leah called David, and he picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Leah.”
“Yes, I know…” He was silent for a moment and it was as if he wanted to say something; she could almost feel it through the line.
“I have a proposition for you,” she said. “You can live in one part of Evergreen Hill and I’ll live in another part. I’ll run my side as a business and pay you rent on the rooms of the house that I’ll occupy.”
“Leah…” he said. “I don’t want to be quarantined in half of my home. I don’t want a business like that running in my home at all. It’s a headache that I don’t want to deal with. I hate to think of strangers lurking around the grounds.”
“Don’t you think Nan would have wanted us to find a compromise?”
“Maybe, but that won’t work for me. I can’t have busy events going on, hordes of kids, cars parked outside.”
“Why not? I’m trying here.”
David sighed down the phone. “My mother’s not doing so well at the moment. To get better, she needs peace and quiet.”
Leah’s heart lurched at that news. She didn’t want to put any unnecessary burden on June. But they both still had good points. “I’m coming to stay until Christmas. We were supposed to have family Christmas there anyway, and no one has changed that plan,” she blurted. “I’ll be there the day after tomorrow.” She wasn’t asking him; she was telling him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to share his house. It was half hers, so she could live there if she wanted to. “We can talk about reopening the house when I get there.”
David took in a frustrated breath big enough that she could hear it on her end of the line.
* * *
“As you know, your grandmother wrote a holographic will,” a man named Tim Campbell said as he flipped through the paperwork. Roz had suggested she see a lawyer to find out where she stood. She’d found an attorney who would see her this morning before work. Then, armed with the knowledge he provided, she’d drive the two hours tomorrow to the plantation. Leah had literally called every name in the book until she found the only person who fell for her story and agreed to consult for free, on the basis he’d get the work if it went to court. She clasped her hands together nervously as she sat in the cold leather-backed chair across from him, his desk meticulously tidy, nothing between them but a gold pen set.
“That’s a will that is entirely written by hand, in her own handwriting. In this will, she’s named both you and David Forester as the beneficiaries.” He shuffled a few more papers around and clipped the stack together.
“She already had a will drawn up. She’d always said she was going to give Evergreen Hill to me.”
“That was prior to the handwritten will.” Mr. Campbell tapped the date on the paperwork Leah had given him to review.
“Is that definitely legal?”
“In Virginia, yes.” He smiled a half smile, his face focused and businesslike. He was older than Leah, with round glasses and a bow tie.
She took in a tense breath. It wasn’t like Nan to put anyone through an ordeal like this. “So, what can we do?” she asked.
“We could contest the will.”
Leah felt the swell of hope, and she shifted forward in her seat.
“Tell me about your grandmother. Was she on any medications, or did she have an illness that would’ve caused her to be not of sound mind when drawing up the will?”
“She was totally fine. Then she called one day with what sounded like the flu. The next thing I knew, she’d passed away.” Her voice broke a little and she cleared her throat. “I think she was worse off than she let anyone know. She had to have been to rewrite her will so quickly,” she said quietly, her unable to rein in her thoughts. Nan’s friend Muriel had mentioned at the funeral that Nan had known something about her health but hadn’t shared the full scope of it all. That was typical of Nan.
He nodded politely. “How about any undue influence by another person?”
A cold knot formed in her chest, sending prickles up her neck. If David had manipulated Nan, Leah would never, ever forgive him. Even though it was highly unlikely, given what she knew about David, just thinking it made her anxious. “David Forester might have been staying with her at the time that she wrote the will. I’m not sure definitively if he influenced her in any way, but could his presence have persuaded her?”
Mr. Campbell pressed his lips into a straight line, his gaze falling back onto the paperwork. “Contesting a will requires a lot of hours in court, and it c
an carry a hefty price tag. We’d have to prove that your grandmother did not know what she was doing when she wrote that will. You have to be sure because there is a presumption that anyone who sits down and writes out a will by themselves is competent.” He looked back up at her, his face showing pity.
Leah’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Dual-owner properties can be difficult. Essentially, both parties must consent to the terms before any changes can be made. I’m certain that Mr. Forester’s lawyers have worked through this with him as well. Can you think of any circumstances under which he might be persuaded to sell?”
She fixed her eyes on the shiny leaves of the philodendron sitting on a bookshelf in the corner of the room behind him. It had a green pot with a red Christmas bow. The window next to it offered a view of the city street: a lone person walking past with his bike, his breath billowing into the cold air; and a streetlight with the city’s celebratory holiday banner attached at the top.
She wouldn’t be able to afford to buy him out. “Not at the moment,” she said finally.
“You can force him to sell,” he said more directly, “by filing a partition suit. But the court will appoint commissioners to recheck the title and place all the property up for sale. The only problem with this is that anyone can bid on it, so you never know what can happen. And property can go for more or less than appraised value. You wouldn’t want to put yourself in a position where someone else outbids you.”
“I don’t want to do that,” she said, her heart up in her throat.
“All right. You’re sure there isn’t anything you can propose that will make it impossible for him to say no when you suggest single ownership?”
She didn’t have money to hold in front of him, nor did she know if it would change his mind. She could hardly rearrange her finances to hire a lawyer.
She shook her head.
Mr. Campbell reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file folder, placing the paperwork inside. “I’ll just get someone to make a copy, if that’s okay with you, and then we’ll have to think about it. My best suggestion would be to have another talk with Mr. Forester to see if you can change his mind. If you’d like me to talk to his lawyer, I can, but we’ll need something to offer first.”
Mr. Campbell stood up, so Leah followed suit. He held out his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said. “I’ll walk you out to the lobby and we’ll get this paperwork copied on the way. Take it home, think it over, and call me if you think I can help.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling deflated.
* * *
“I wonder if he’s just trying to swindle you out of everything,” Roz said, as she took a handful of red roses and shimmied them into a vase. “Would you give me that baby’s breath, please? He’s a con artist.”
“I don’t know…” Leah passed the clump of little white flowers her way. She pulled the end of a red velvet ribbon, its spool spinning wildly on the dowel. She snipped it off and tied it around the vase Roz had been working on. “I’d wondered about his motives myself, but he really seems like an honest guy. He seems… nice.” She thought about the mock-serious expression he’d had as he’d recited Bill Murray’s lines during the donut and coffee scenes in Groundhog Day, and she had to suppress her smile.
“They always do!” Roz got up and helped herself to a complimentary peppermint from the dish on the counter. “I wouldn’t trust him.”
Her expression made Leah laugh. “You’re being protective. You’re always paranoid when it comes to your friends. His motives really aren’t much different than mine.”
“You’re doing it again. Don’t let him convince you that he’s anything other than a bump in your road to Evergreen Hill. You can’t let yourself become friendly with him. You’re too nice, too forgiving. You don’t want your heart involved when you’re making this kind of decision. You have to be on your game. This is your whole entire future we’re talking about—and Sadie’s.”
She sat there, silent, chewing her thumbnail. “You’re right.” Leah thought back, and she wondered now if being at Evergreen Hill had idealized the night for her, and maybe he wasn’t as nice as she’d originally thought. There was something about that place that made people happy. The snowy woods, the burning fires, the fresh evergreens at Christmas—she’d had it all. But, when it came down to it, she and David would probably be facing each other across a stark boardroom table sometime soon, not that she could afford it, and all those warm feelings would be stripped away. She needed to keep her focus.
“Did the lawyer help?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. For starters, I’m doing what you said—moving in and having family Christmas.” She smiled at Roz. Louise always attended Leah’s family Christmas—she wouldn’t have it any other way—and this year she’d convinced Roz to come too. “I’m taking Sadie and we’re leaving tomorrow, but it’s a long commute to work from there.”
“Could you find a job that’s closer to your nan’s?” Roz asked as she set the vase of roses in a box with five others, preparing for the delivery van.
Leah cupped her hand, dragged the broken petals and bits of leaves to the edge of the table, and threw them away. “I’m going to have to. But it’s not like I can get one immediately. I’ll start looking as soon as possible. The taxes alone on that house are going to kill me, and I’m still paying rent in Richmond. Even if there’s a miracle, I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
“You know I’m here if you need me.”
That was the great thing about Richmond: Roz would be there whenever she needed her. There weren’t many people on whom Leah relied; she handled most things herself. But Roz and Louise were the two people who always came through for her. She knew neither of them could afford to help her with the bills, but they’d be there for her, emotionally, and in the end that was more important. Somehow, with their help, Leah would get through this. One way or another.
* * *
“I don’t understand how to do this,” Sadie said, frustrated. She was sitting at the kitchen table, doing her homework, the eraser on the end of her pencil chewed flat.
“Let me see,” Leah said, walking over. Her hands were covered in hamburger from preparing the patties for dinner. “Ah, well you can’t take seven away from four, so you have to borrow from the tens.”
“What do you mean?”
“The three is in the tens place. You’ll need to borrow from that.”
Sadie’s confusion was obvious, her lips set in a frown, the space between her brows creased. “I don’t think my teacher told us about how to borrow. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hang on. Let me wash my hands and I’ll show you.” She went over and turned on the sink.
“I don’t think that’s right,” Sadie said from the table.
“Yes, it is. Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”
“I’m getting confused. I don’t think that’s how she taught us.”
Leah finished scrubbing her hands and rinsed them at the sink. She grabbed a paper towel, and with a deep breath, she looked down at Sadie’s homework. There were ten problems on the page. Sadie had rubbed a hole under number one. She’d been getting extra math tutoring at school, but the tutor quit, and the teacher was overloaded with too many kids in the class. Leah started to explain again; this time, more slowly, showing her with light pencil marks on the page.
Sadie looked up at her, her face guilty and worried. “I’m sorry I’m so slow,” she said. She picked up the other pencil that was on the table and brushed away the eraser dust she’d created on the page, trying to focus on what her mother had written, her pencil poised to write—but the stillness of her hand told Leah that Sadie still didn’t understand what to do next.
Leah felt awful looking at her daughter. She wanted to make it all better. “You’ll get it,” she said and offered her most reassuring smile in an attempt
to ease Sadie’s fears. The more she struggled with math, the more she withdrew from practicing it, and practice was the only thing Leah thought might help her. “Why don’t you take a break?” She feared Sadie was getting lost in the crowd. She needed to get her daughter out of that school and into a better one—something smaller with fewer kids per teacher and more resources.
She finished cooking the burgers, turning them to low on the stove. Then she poured a cup of milk, put one of Louise’s Christmas cookies on a small plate, and went to Sadie’s room. When no one answered after a knock, she pushed the door open. Sadie was face down on her purple bedspread, her daisy pillow balled up under her.
Leah set the glass of milk on the bedside table and lowered herself down beside her on the bed. “Sadie,” she said, tracing her daughter’s face to push the hair off of it. “Would a cookie help?”
Sadie shook her head, sending the hair back over her face.
“It’s Louise’s,” she said, trying to persuade her.
When Sadie didn’t move, Leah sat there beside her and looked around at her tiny room. They’d done the best with what they had, and every week, Leah brought home a bouquet from work that she would make with unused flowers from that day. Sadie always had a fresh bouquet next to her bed.
“Why don’t we have dinner and then we can make ice cream sundaes for dessert? Are you hungry?”
Sadie sat up slowly. “I can’t do that math,” she said, her face full of worry.
“I’ll write a note on it for your teacher.” Leah had written a note on the last three homework assignments, and every time she did, she knew that the teacher would barely have enough time to get around to her. Sadie hadn’t progressed at all since the last reporting period. “Maybe after we eat, and you feel better, I can show you how I do the math.”
“I don’t think it’s the way my teacher does it.”
Leah didn’t want to speak badly of the teacher. She’d never do that. But she wanted to tell Sadie that it didn’t matter what her teacher said, Leah could show her, and she’d know how to do it for the rest of her life. “Perhaps we could tell your teacher that we did it my way instead. I’m sure she’d be fine with that.”