by Kate White
“Yes, it’s in my pocket.” She slowly closes her eyes. “Thanks, Summer. I appreciate it.”
“Take care.” I wish I had better words of comfort to offer.
I head from the porch into the house and toward the back stairs. Though I’ve always been comfortable in every part of the Keatons’ property, I can’t help but feel a little sheepish about going up to the guest suite now, particularly after Hannah found me outside her room. Once I’m at the top of the stairs, I hurry to the far end of the hall and rap lightly on the bedroom door.
I hear footsteps drawing close, and soon Marcus swings open the door, wearing only a pair of dark slacks. “Hey,” he says, frowning. “Everything okay?”
“Yup. I was just hoping to talk for a second.”
The sitting area behind him, I notice, looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers spread about, shirts tossed over chairs, and through the open door to the galley kitchen, I can see a plate piled with orange rinds on the counter along with a couple of stained wineglasses.
“Ignore the mess,” Marcus says. “I told Bonnie not to bother tidying up while we’re here. What did you want to talk about?”
I’ve only been able to come up with one bad excuse for instigating a conversation. “The thing this morning.”
“Now? We’ve got the meeting with the lawyer coming up.”
“I know, but this won’t take long.”
“Okay, let’s do it someplace else, though. Keira’s napping in the bedroom.”
He retreats back into the sitting area, grabs his shirt from a chair arm, and throws it on as we descend the stairs. When I mention that Wendy is resting on the screened porch, Marcus points to the door on the side of the house, and we exit there, ending up not far from the garage and the potting shed. There isn’t a soul in sight.
“Is there some new development since this morning? I heard Jillian took off a while ago.”
“No, nothing new. But I was wondering if you’d had a chance to speak to your father yet?”
He straightens, his expression darkening. “Summer, you’re kidding. Was I supposed to have raised the topic before my mother’s memorial service?”
I can hardly blame him for being irritated. It was a stupid excuse for asking to see him, I know. Time to switch gears.
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just hate keeping secrets from Gabe. And . . . there’s other crap going on here, too.”
“Like what?”
“That poem Hannah read? That was the one I was planning on reading. I had to come up with my remarks as I walked to the front.”
“Christ, Summer, that’s crazy. You pulled it off, though.”
“Thanks, but I’m still reeling a little . . . . What do you really think of her, Marcus?”
“Who?”
“Who? Hannah.”
He gives a shrug that smacks of studied nonchalance. “As I told you before, I hardly know the woman.”
“But you dated her. Do you think she could be dangerous for Nick?”
“You mean is she a massive bitch? A gold digger? I have no idea. Nick will have to figure that one out for himself.”
Had I really thought that he’d suddenly share his honest feelings with me?
“Okay, sorry to bother you. See you at the meeting.”
“Sure.” He touches my arm as I turn to go. “Summer, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so abrupt. But I’ve been going over the same ground again and again with Keira. Hannah and I dated for a couple forgettable weeks, ages ago, and there was nothing to it.”
“Got it,” I say, feeling deflated from the complete waste of time and energy—and the fact that there’s no one in the world I can count on for support right now.
By the time I detour to the kitchen to speak with Bonnie and then return to the cottage, it’s way later than I’d realized, but Gabe doesn’t seem to notice. As we’re walking over to the house together, with Henry trudging behind us, I’m tempted to slip my hand into my husband’s and give it a squeeze, but I don’t. Though I want to be in sync with him again, want to comfort him, it’s hard to forget how dismissive he was an hour ago.
After dropping Henry in the kitchen, we make our way to the living room, right on time but the last to arrive. Like Gabe, his brothers are still in their clothes from the service, as if preferring not to look too casual. I take a seat on the sofa next to Wendy, who’s gotten the color back in her cheeks, and Gabe settles next to me on the other side.
“How are you doing?” I whisper to Wendy. I’m a little surprised she felt up to attending the meeting.
“Still no bleeding, so I think I’m okay,” she whispers back.
Before I can respond, Ash crosses to the doorway of the study, pokes his head in, and announces, “We’re ready.”
Based on my sense of estate lawyers, I’m expecting some avuncular-type male with white hair and a barrel chest, but the person who emerges is female, Black, and probably in her midforties.
“Everyone, meet Letena Smith,” Ash says. “Letena’s been helping with our estate planning for a number of years now.”
After setting a folder down on the card table, Letena moves around the room, graciously introducing herself to us one by one. Her hair is short and wavy, and she’s wearing a killer navy pantsuit that I assume is Armani, but I hardly have the firsthand experience to know for sure.
“Let me begin by saying how sorry I am for your loss,” Letena says, returning to where Ash is standing. “Claire was an amazing, accomplished woman as well as a devoted wife and mother, and I know it’s tough for you to be doing this so soon after her passing. But Ash felt we should get the proceedings out of the way so life could go on.
“This will be brief,” she continues. “And it’s all very straightforward.” She takes a moment to step back toward the table and withdraw a sheet of paper from the folder, then scans it quickly. “The bulk of your mother’s half of your parents’ financial assets will be held in trust for your father. As you’ve been informed in the past, upon your father’s death, the assets in that trust will go to you—Blake, Gabriel, Marcus, and Nicolas—along with your father’s share of assets. But a few months ago, your mother decided to update the will with a new provision in case she predeceased your father. She wanted to leave each of you an immediate financial gift to be used however you wish.”
She pauses. People straighten in surprise. I have no clue where this is going.
“Claire,” she says, “bequeathed each of you the sum of one million dollars.”
19
It takes a few extra seconds for my brain cells to process the words, and when they finally do, my jaw nearly hits the floor. I feel as if I’m on some kind of game show and we’re about to watch a dozen women in low-cut dresses and stilettos emerge from the study with numbered silver suitcases. Or maybe the host—the Armani-clad lawyer—is going to ask if we’d like to try to double our money.
But it’s not a game show. It’s really happening. Though we’d all assumed that Claire’s half of the estate would be going to Ash, Gabe and his brothers are getting a chunk of it. Even with estate taxes and legal fees, my husband and I are about to receive a lot of money.
I steal a glance at Gabe, but his face is a total blank. I know this is as big a shock to him as it is to me, and it must also be horribly bittersweet. The only reason we’re receiving this windfall is a tragic one. But still, this means funds to put aside for the baby we hope to have, to help Gabe deal with the mess at work, to finally redo the grungy second bathroom in our loft.
Trying not to seem obvious, I inch my gaze over toward Ash. His arms are folded over his chest, in a tight, almost protective way, but nothing about his demeanor suggests this news has caught him off guard.
Letena shares a few quick details about how and when the money will be distributed and asks if there are any questions. At first no one says a word or even moves a muscle, but then Blake rises, his hands on the waist of his perfectly pressed black pants. Clearing his throat, he l
ooks directly at Ash.
“Dad, are you really okay with this?” he asks.
“Of course,” Ash says. “Your mother and I worked it out together.”
“But when you and Mom had the estate discussion with us a few years ago, this wasn’t the plan.”
“I know, Blake, but we decided to shift things around a little.” Ash’s arms still guard his torso. “Your mother certainly wasn’t expecting to die at seventy-two, but she decided that if she passed away relatively young, there ought to be money for you each to use right now. Toward a new home, artwork, investments. It’s your call. And I have all the money I need.”
A few heads nod, Gabe’s included. Still, there’s a weird, almost palpable tension in the room. Keira’s hand is resting on Marcus’s arm, but his eyes are glued to the rug. This has to be so emotionally charged for all Claire’s sons.
“No more questions?” the lawyer asks, glancing from one brother to the next.
Before anyone can speak, Ash steps forward. “Letena, I’m sure there’ll be questions once everyone has a chance to digest this. Why don’t you give each of the boys a card, and they’ll contact you next week? Can I have our housekeeper fix you a plate of food before you head back to the city?”
“I appreciate that, Ash, but it’s not necessary,” she says, obviously knowing how to follow a cue. She slides a small silver case from her purse, withdraws several cards, and passes them around the room.
Ash tells us he’ll see everyone outside for dinner shortly since he’s asked Bonnie to serve the meal early tonight. As we file out of the room, he lingers behind to speak to Letena, who’s slipping the folder into a soft leather briefcase.
“Honey, this must be such a shock,” I say to Gabe. We’re alone in the dining room now, the others having scattered in different directions.
“That’s for sure.”
“Your dad didn’t warn you this was happening today?”
“No, not a word.”
“That was wonderful of your mother. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got plenty of ways to spend it now . . . . Look, I’m going to see how Henry’s doing. He doesn’t seem like himself today.”
I nod, feeling a pinch of guilt. I’ve been going through the motions a little with Henry over the last two days. “Why don’t the three of us watch a movie together tonight? We can probably commandeer the TV in the den, right?”
“Sure. There are a million old DVDs in there, and I’m sure we can find something he’ll like.”
“I’ll meet you outside in two minutes. I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
As Gabe enters the kitchen, I retrace my steps through the dining room, and right before I enter the front hall, I catch a glimpse of Keira and Marcus through the window. They’re standing in the side yard, at this end of the boxwood grove, and from Keira’s pinched expression I can tell their conversation isn’t a pleasant one. Marcus has his back to me, the sleeves of his pale blue shirt rolled to his elbows, and as he gestures in what looks like frustration, I think of what he said earlier, about covering the same ground with Keira again and again. Based on the moment I witnessed between him and Hannah, his reassurances are bullshit, though. Feeling like I shouldn’t be watching them any longer, I move on.
I’m about to turn the handle on the powder room door when Wendy emerges from inside. I glance up and down the corridor, making sure we have the area to ourselves.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“I think I’m okay,” she says, though I can almost see the worry pulsing from inside her. “I left a message for my OB, and I’ll see what she says.”
“So, for now, you and Blake will be staying out here?”
“Yes, at least for the burial, though I’d love to be anywhere else on the planet. This is all just too much to take. And what a slap in the face that announcement was to Ash.”
Her comment takes me aback.
“But Ash said he knew about it,” I say, lowering my voice further.
Wendy rolls her pale blue eyes. “He knew about it, sure, but that doesn’t mean he liked it. We see this in my business, too. A spouse suddenly changing the will to leave some of the artwork to the kids.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Not the gesture itself, but sometimes the motives behind it are. The person who makes the change is often worried that when he or she dies, the spouse will marry someone who has designs on the money and then when he dies, he’ll leave everything to the new squeeze and the kids won’t get a bloody dime.”
“But it’s hard to believe—” An image of Jillian and Ash’s embrace pops in my mind. “Wait, do you think Claire had reason to be concerned about something like that?”
Wendy shrugs. “I don’t know. But it seems like she was trying to make a point—and take Ash down a notch. Look, if you don’t mind, I should find Blake. I want to fill him in on the cramping now that things don’t look so dire.”
“Of course,” I say, still a bit stunned by her comments. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Once I’m in the powder room, I lower the toilet seat and settle on it, my eyes closed and my hands over my face. Like Wendy said, the events of the past few days now seem overwhelming. That Claire is dead. That a million dollars has weirdly been dropped into our laps. That Ash might have been cheating on Claire. That Gabe and I have had a real breakdown in communication. That Claire was likely poisoned by Hannah. And that if I don’t figure out a way to expose her, she could get away with it.
Hannah. She’s on the patio mingling with all the others when I emerge from the house. Right away, I sense her attempting to catch my gaze, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. Instead, I glue myself to Henry’s side, telling him we’re thinking of watching a movie later and he’ll have a ton of choices to pick from.
The dinner’s already been laid on the sideboard, some leftovers Bonnie’s doctored from the luncheon along with a fresh green salad, and the various Keatons begin to load up their plates. I linger by the sideboard, waiting for Hannah to take her seat, and once she does, I choose one at the opposite end of the table and urge Henry to park himself next to me. Before any of us can take a bite, Ash rises from his seat and clears his throat.
“It’s hard to believe we’re sitting at this table without our dearest Claire here,” he says. “She was so proud of you boys, and I only wish she could have heard your terrific tributes to her today. We’ll go on, because we must, because what would make her happiest is knowing we’ll embrace our lives as fully as she did her own. What was it you said, Summer? Relish being the flower. And Henry, a special thank you for being here. Gee loved you with all her heart.”
Ash is a polished speaker, in the way supremely confident men are even if it’s not part of their day-to-day jobs, and he could probably offer a loving and seemingly authentic tribute to the yard crew if he had to. So is his grief genuine? Or is he eager to rush into another woman’s arms?
“Beautifully put, Dad,” Blake says, and the rest of us murmur in assent, except for Marcus who stares ahead, looking particularly glum. As I study him, a thought stirs in me, but before I can grab hold of it, it flutters away.
Nearly in unison, we all tuck into our food, and people make a decent attempt at conversation. Next to me Henry indifferently stabs at a piece of lettuce with his fork.
“I know today’s been hard,” I say quietly to him. “But see how good it’s made Grandpa feel to have you here?”
“Where’s Gee now? Is anyone watching her?”
“For the time being, she’s in what’s called a funeral home. After she’s buried near the woods, we can pay our respects to her whenever we’re walking there.”
“But it gets so dark down there at night.”
I have to fight the urge to wince, my heart aching over his concern. I, too, hate to think of her being in those dark, dark woods. “Don’t worry, honey. When you die, you don’t feel pain or fear anymore, so Gee won’t be scared.�
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A listless nod. Henry’s floundering, and what we need is to burrow into the den tonight and watch something outrageously funny. I’m relieved when Jake finally passes around slices from the remains of the carrot cake, and I reach across Henry to touch Gabe’s arm. “Movie now?” I ask.
After making our excuses and grabbing fresh drinks for ourselves, Gabe, Henry, and I head down the back corridor to the small, comfy den, with Ginger and Bella choosing to join us. For the first time all day, the dogs seem to perk up and they leap onto the couch, perhaps in anticipation of Claire, who used to snuggle in here with them after dinner. Henry and Gabe drop to the floor and begin fishing through the rows of DVDs lining the lower shelves on each side of the fireplace. I’m hoping the next couple of hours will not only help boost Henry’s spirits, but also ease the tension between Gabe and me.
“Hey, you know what we could use?” I announce. “Popcorn. Why don’t I nuke some while you guys decide on a movie?”
“With butter, pretty please,” Henry calls out as I leave.
I follow the hallway toward the kitchen, where I can hear the sounds of chatter and splashing water from Bonnie and Jake, but most of the house is still. The rest of the family must have retired for the night.
Bonnie looks fairly bushed, but happily helps me locate popcorn. Once I’ve made it, I thank her and Jake again for their efforts today, wish them good night, and, bowl in hand, retrace my steps to the den. Someone, maybe Ash, has flicked off the corridor light since I was here a few minutes ago, but I can see well enough. As I’m about to open the door, I sense someone behind me, and spin around to see who it is.
I nearly jump back in shock. Hannah is standing three feet away from me.
“What’s up?” I say, trying to keep my tone casual over the drumbeat of my heart.
“I wanted to speak to you for a minute.”
“What about?”
Even in the dimness of the corridor, I see her lips turn up in a tiny smile. “I think I owe you an apology.”
Ha. For putting a foxglove in my drawer? For killing my mother-in-law? I wait to see what she’ll say next.