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 looks directly at Ash.