No one ever mentions how much harder everything is once the funeral is over, when everyone else goes back to living their lives and we’re stuck here, wading through years of memories and trapped in the relentless grip of grief. At thirteen everything is supposed to be fun and friends and what the hell you’re going to wear to school the next day, not packing up your parents’ things because they’re no longer alive.
The next morning I find my sister already in my parents’ room, sorting through our mother’s clothes. She has two piles, and they’re roughly the same size. I brew a coffee in the Keurig I purchased for them last Christmas. They were a lot better than me, using those recyclable pots that are a huge pain in the ass to clean.
When I return, my sister has moved on to my dad’s closet.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice still gravelly.
“Yeah.”
“You were pretty upset last night.”
She shrugs. “I had a day.”
It’s hard to argue with that, so I let it go and help her empty out my dad’s closet. Once the space is mostly clear, Emme tackles our mother’s shoe rack. My mom loved her shoes.
“You can’t wear heels until you’re eighteen,” I say when she comes strutting out in one of our mom’s very old sequin dresses and a pair of stilettos.
She props a fist on her hip. Her outfit, combined with her stance, makes her look like a young version of our mother. “That’s ridiculous. There are dances in eighth grade, and semiformals in high school.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not wearing those to a school dance, or that dress.”
“Why not?”
Because I will have to walk around with a baseball bat and threaten all the boys with it to keep them away from you. “Because you look like a foal, wobbling around. You want to wear heels, you pick ones you’re not going to topple over in, and only on special occasions. Heels aren’t even comfortable and they ruin your back.”
Emme disappears again inside our mother’s closet. “You sound exactly like Dad.”
I smile at that. I must be doing something right if I’m pissing her off and she’s compared me to our father.
Emme carts boxes of shoes to her room—who knows where in the world she’s planning to store them—while I start going through my mother’s dresser.
I’m halfway through cleaning out the sock drawer when I discover the thing no son ever wants to find. Tucked neatly behind two rows of socks, hidden well enough that they’re not noticeable at first but not so far back to make it difficult to access, are sex toys. Plural.
I search the dresser for something I can prod with, uncertain whether it’s just perverse curiosity ruling me at this point. Holy hell. It appears my parents were kinky motherfuckers based on the non-sock items taking up space in the drawer. There is a seriously vast array of lace and satin, and dear fucking God, there’s leather in here, too.
I find a pen and start poking around, appalled to discover my mother had—has—owned—several vibrators.
“What’s next?” Emme scares the crap out of me when she appears in the doorway.
I slam the drawer shut, smashing my thumb in the process. “Shit!” I shake it out, then put pressure on the nail, hoping it doesn’t go black. It’s hurts like hell, though.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“It’s fine. We’re good.” I inspect my thumb and see ice might be necessary. “I think we can be done for today.”
“Don’t you want to move your bed and stuff in here?”
“There’s no rush. Why don’t we grab some lunch?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
I push off the dresser, exhaling a relieved breath as I follow my sister down the hall. She’s already talking about what she wants to eat and where she wants to go.
Crisis averted. For now.
There are enough shitty things I’m going to have to discuss with her over the next several years; our mother’s collection of fake and vibrating dicks is not one of them.
Lunch with Emme is actually pleasant. She talks about what color she wants to paint my old bedroom and making it her “friend hangout room.” Mentally I cross all boys off the list of friends allowed up there.
My phone rings in the middle of our meal. I fully intend to ignore the call until the name Spear and Associates flashes across the screen. It’s the firm that Beverly at Whitman and Flood recommended. She mentioned it being a potential conflict of interest for her firm to work on the custody case when they were handling Emme’s trust. Family law seems significantly more complicated than entertainment law. I spoke to a woman named Trish immediately following my meeting with Kailyn over the trust. She already has a copy of my parents’ will, outlining the custody arrangement, and tomorrow morning we’re meeting to review everything.
“Sorry, kiddo, give me a second. I need to get this.” I give Emme an apologetic smile and bring my phone to my ear. “Hello, Daxton here.”
“Daxton, it’s Trish. I’m so sorry to call you on a Sunday, but I have bad news.”
A cold feeling trickles down my spine. “What kind of bad news?”
“Linda’s officially suing for custody.”
Chapter Six
Flip-Flop
Kailyn
In light of recent events, I’m appointing you as Emme Hughes’s conservator.”
I almost fall out of my chair. As it is, I drop the pen I was flipping between my fingers and it rolls under her desk. Dammit. I really liked that one. It had a funky swirl pattern on it. I wait for Beverly to crack a smile. She does not. “You’re kidding, right?”
Her foot bobs once. “Have I ever been a kidder, Kailyn?”
I search for some kind of facial tic, anything to indicate she will soon start laughing. But that does not happen. “You’re serious.”
My morning started out fine. Well, fine-ish. I arrived in the office at seven with the intention of briefing Beverly on the Hughes files—which came home with me this weekend. Instead, I’m being told his aunt is suing for custody. And she has an excellent lawyer. Hopefully Daxton has a better one.
“Who’s representing Daxton?”
“Trish Monroe.”
I almost heave a sigh of relief. She has an outstanding reputation for winning cases.
“What’s the purpose of appointing me as conservator?” I already know the answer to this question, so I’m not sure what the point of asking it is, other than I want to hear Beverly say it.
This time Beverly almost smiles, but manages to keep it to a semi-smirk. “While the custody case is being handled, Emme needs a neutral third party to look after her. Be her voice. You wrote up the trust. It’s logical for you to remain involved since your priority is to protect Emme and her finances. And once the court rules on who has custody, the legal guardian will take over control of the trust.”
She makes sense, which is frustrating. “Isn’t there another family member who can take on this role?”
“No one local. Besides, it will give you a chance to find out exactly what’s going on between Daxton and his aunt, and you’ll have contact with Emme. Plus, you’ll have an opportunity to warm Daxton up to the idea of coming on board here. It’s a win all the way around, Kailyn. You must see that.”