“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.