Chapter Thirty-Seven

Michaela

 

Mr. Howell stood next to the TV holding a remote.

I sat in the last empty chair in front. That left the rest to move to the back.

“I have assembled you all for the reading of Harrison Blackwell’s will,” the lawyer began with all the gravitas he thought he should possess for the occasion. “Rather, Harry’s wishes. He recorded a video at my suggestion to make his wants clear.” The screen turned on, revealing Harry’s image and a time stamp of a little over a year ago.

Mr. Howell pressed a button on the remote.

“Can you hear me okay?” Harry said. The lawyer said yes off screen. By the background, they were in Howell’s office. “If you’re watching this, I’m dead. I hope it was quick. Abby, if you had to find me, I’m sorry. Forgive my rotten timing.”

She giggled from the back, then sniffed.

Mother rolled her eyes under her veil.

“Here’s where you share your wishes,” the off-screen voice prompted.

“Right,” Harry continued. “I, Harry Blackwell, being of sound body and mind, give my will and testament this day, December first. My lawyer, Mr. Howell, has the proper documents, but this is the Cliff Notes. First, to Abigail Adams, my property manager, and Thomas, I leave you a full year’s salary to figure out what you do next. Thomas, you also get the T-bucket roadster if you want it. You put more hours into building it than I did, so it might as well be your baby now.

“For Donald Torrance, my best friend since our first ship, I leave my yacht. Silly word for a little sailing boat, but the lawyer says I have to call it a yacht when it has a sleeping cabin, so here we are. You have as many hours in her as I do and she always preferred you at the helm. I also leave you the condo in Florida. Maybe you’ll finally retire and give your old lungs a break in the winter, eh?

“William, you get the country club membership. You’ve salivated over it since we first started doing business together, so have fun. I’m sure you’ll network the hell out of your golf games.”

“Thank you, sir, that’s very generous,” Mr. Howell said behind the camera.

“Let me continue with this list,” Harry continued. I held my breath. My relatives leaned forward in their seats in anticipation. “The rest of my estate goes to my niece Michaela Simon.” Gasps filled the room. “Michaela is my only blood kin who has never asked for anything from me but love and that makes her the most deserving to shepherd my estate into its next era. Michaela…” Harry made direct eye contact with the camera. “We didn’t see each other as often as we wanted, but I saved every letter and card you sent. I’m proud of the life you built following your music, sharing that big heart with all that will listen. Do what you think is right. You can’t disappoint me. I love you. Now—no more tears.” He shook his finger and scowled at the camera before grinning, then the video ended.

“You cut him off,” Mother accused Mr. Howell.

“Madam, the video has ended.”

She stood. “Any recording can be edited!”

The cousins rallied around her point.

As I knew would happen.

Mr. Howell whistled loudly. “Decorum, please. In the event of any doubts, there is a copy of the will for all of you.” He held up a stack of papers.

The vultures snatched the copies from his hands. Smug about his prowess, he would’ve dotted every I and crossed every T, notarizing every copy, so this was all theater.

I stood to ask Thomas to take me home.

“You!” Mother shrieked. She rushed me, veil tossed back so I’d see the hardness in her eyes. “You little bitch,” she hissed. “You manipulated Harry somehow. How did you do it? What did you say? He barely knew you, so there’s no way he’d forsake his only sister unless you poisoned him against me.”

“You’re going to watch your tone,” Lincoln said dangerously, suddenly next to me.

I touched his arm, then stepped forward into my mother’s space. “I didn’t have to do a thing. You poisoned that well yourself. This is exactly why Harry was done with you. All of you. Thomas, please grab the box of envelopes I brought with me.”

“Yes, miss.” With the foresight of a right-hand-man, he approached with it.

“Your names are on them,” I said, pushing the box into Mother’s hands. “You’re not leaving empty-handed, though it’s more than you deserve after this display.”

Then, with my head held high, I left the room. Retrieved my coat, purse, and Harry’s ashes, and escaped before they realized what was up.

Thomas’ Town Car was outside the chapel. “Are you psychic?” I asked him.

“Prepared, Miss Simon. In you go.” He opened the door.

Lincoln slid in after me.

“You never cease to impress me, Michaela.”

The car rolled down the driveway. “So much for being on the down-low.”

“I’m serious.” He stroked my temple and caressed my cheek. “You handled yourself with a lot of grace today. When you told your mother off, I’m sure Harry cheered in Heaven.”

Sighing, I slumped on the seat. “It’s not even one o’clock and I’m tired.”

“Did you eat this morning?”

“Couple pieces of toast.”

“Michaela…”

“I was too nervous.”

He laced his fingers with mine and lifted my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “One morning without me and you turn into a worrywart. Thank goodness you’re in better hands now.”

I shook my head at his teasing. The mischief in his pretty green eyes. “Saving me from myself?”

“No.” He kissed my lips. “Merely reminding you there’s a soft place to fall.”

I appreciated that he said soft versus safe. There was nothing safe about us.

“Harry wants to be scattered in the creek.”

“Will he mind if we do it after lunch?”

Shaking my head, I chuckled. “No…lunch was his favorite meal.”

He produced his phone with his free hand and started typing a text. “I’m letting Mom know we’re going to cook first.”

When we reached the manor, I asked Thomas if he could change the gate code or lock the gate once Abby and Donald arrived. I wouldn’t put it past Mother to storm the castle.

Lincoln snatched my coat and clutch, leaving me the wooden box. Leaving it to me to carry Harry’s ashes inside with reverence. I smiled at his forethought and sensitivity.

Then unlocked the manor door.

“We’re home,” I murmured to my uncle.

Where to put you until we’re ready?

The mantle. Wouldn’t you know, they were the same wood.

You crafty dog.

“I didn’t get a chance to say you look beautiful,” Lincoln said behind me. He turned me toward him. “Whatever you need today, okay?”

Rising on my toes, I pressed my lips to his. Gratitude without wrecking my lipstick. We only had seconds of sharing a look before the door opened for the rest of our party.

I stepped back and turned on hostess mode. “Welcome to Blackwell Manor,” I said to Professor Adams and Mr. Torrance. “Harry’s last wish is to be dispersed in the creek at the back of the property.”

“But we’re going to have lunch first,” Abby said.

“Right. My uncle never had people over without being an excellent host.”

“Then we have to grill,” Donald said.

I snapped my fingers. “Yes. Perfect.”

“Follow me,” Abby said.

Thomas came inside. “We’re secured, Miss Simon.”

“When will you only call me Michaela?”

He smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Lunch became steak and veggie kabobs. Abby and Donald handled the meat while Lincoln and I chopped onions, red bell peppers, mushrooms, and zucchini. Cherry tomatoes would complete the skewers.

Professor Adams sat in the breakfast nook, having nothing to do, staying out of the way.

He was probably used to giving Abby space in the kitchen unless she asked for help. Though he also gave off a traditional vibe that said he was happy to let his wife cook.

With it being too cold on the patio, we ate in the dining room, which felt fitting, anyway. The service was for mourning. This was celebrating Harry’s life. Abby poured any alcoholic beverage preferred and we toasted my uncle, then Donald regaled us with hilarious stories from their youth. They double-dated a lot before Donald married his now-deceased wife and let’s just say young sailors weren’t as discerning as they should be when they sailed into port.

Abby and Thomas had lots of their own memories, of course, and even Lincoln shared his fondness for the company parties for Harry’s employees’ families back in the day.

I was grateful to learn more about my uncle and sad I missed so much.

Such was grief for someone with a full life.

When plates were scraped clean and glasses empty, it was time to trek to the creek.

I put on my coat, then picked up the wooden box. Jackets and coats on the others, then we stepped outside. The slight breeze was chilly, the temp dropping with the fading light. For some reason, they formed a processional behind me, walking in a line past the covered pool, gardens, and to the trail between the trees that led to the water.

Trees that protected the property from the view of passing boats. This part of Virginia had lots of squiggles of water, most of them eventually leading to the James River. This stream fed into the wider College Creek. Blackwell Manor had a boat landing suitable for launching canoes, kayaks, and tying up small fishing boats—or fishing off of.

It was here Harry would return to the elements that made him.

“There’s a poem I like,” Mr. Torrance began. “Do not stand at my grave and weep;

“I am not there, I do not sleep.

“I am a thousand winds that blow.

“I am the diamond glints on snow.

“I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

“I am the gentle autumn rain.

“When you awaken in the morning’s hush

“I am the swift uplifting rush

“Of quiet birds in circled flight.

“I am the soft stars that shine at night.

“Do not stand at my grave and cry;

“I am not there, I did not die.”

I offered him the box. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He nodded.

Despite the clouds, there was enough light to glint off the water. The gentle breeze stirred it into tiny waves, making it glisten. He carefully removed the lid of the box and lifted a plastic bag holding the ashes. I took the box back so he could approach the water.

“Until we meet again, old friend.”

My breath shuddered. Abby dabbed her eyes. Thomas’ jaw was so tense his face vibrated with the effort to control his emotions. Professor Martin put his arm around his wife.

A subtle bump to my right hand, then Lincoln’s palm was in mine. Supporting again.

Donald poured the ashes carefully, so it took a few seconds.

And then it was done.

He saluted, coming to full attention, then sagged, his shoulders bowing. I couldn’t imagine the depth of his feeling. If Moira went first? I shivered.

He returned the bag to the box.

“Thank you,” I said, my eyes watery.

It was what, three? Four? Yet I felt drained.

The wooden box returned to the mantle, with no better place for it now. Maybe I’d take it with me, or maybe it deserved to stay until there was a decision on the house. Maybe we’d bury it somewhere on the property.

But all those were decisions for another day.

“I have some cheesecake,” Abby offered. Food for what ailed you.

“That might be nice,” Mr. Torrance said, and she smiled gratefully.

The others followed into the kitchen, except Lincoln.

He wrapped his arms around me in this moment alone. “It’s okay to send everyone home now, you know. Go to bed early, or call Moira.”

I let him hold up some of my weight. “I know. But being alone won’t feel any easier, I think. Today wasn’t as hard as I feared, honestly. Jonny’s…”

“Understandably different.”

“Yes. But so long. So many steps. First, the dignified transfer at Dover. Then a visitation vigil, a Catholic mass, the burial, and then the wake. And then praying for him every night for nine days. They expected me to attend all of it when all I wanted to do was never leave my bed. I’d never slight anyone’s customs, but it was torture for me.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Then I love Harry even more.”

It made me chuckle for some reason, and I tilted my face up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Kids?” Abby called.

“Yeah, Mom,” he called back. “Okay to rejoin the group?”

“Yes.”

Six pieces finished off the cheesecake. Abby had also put on coffee.

The sun set outside. We loaded the dishwasher together, then everyone but Thomas was going home, since he lived above the garage. I hugged Abby and Donald.

Professor Adams had walked out to get the car.

Lincoln hugged me next, whispering, “I’ll return,” in my ear. I nodded.

No matter what time tonight, I didn’t want to be alone.

But in the time I was, I called my best friend.

“Michaela, thank goodness. I’ve been on pins and needles.”

“Sorry, Mo.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s just hard to not be with you on a day like this. How did it go?”

I sat with my phone in Harry’s desk chair, letting the scent of leather and him envelope me in comfort like he wasn’t completely gone, yet. “Okay. Good, actually, except for the brief family freak-out.”

“The will? What happened?”

“Mother made a scene as expected. She accused me of manipulating Harry and poisoning him against her. I told her she did it all herself and left the room.”

“High five! No surprise she’s even more delusional than ten years ago.”

“Mo, she showed up wearing a black hat with a veil.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was so ridiculous. She came in like a soap opera widow.”

“But the service worked out?”

“Short and sweet. And we scattered Harry’s ashes this afternoon.”

“I’m hugging you right now, Mic.”

I smiled. “I know.” Knew by every intonation of her voice what expression was on her face. The moves she made with her hands or arms.

Ding-dong.

“Hang on, someone’s ringing the bell.” I left the office and peered out the peephole in the front door. Mr. Howell. “Hey, Mo, can I put you on hold or call you back?”

“Take your time.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call, then opened the door. “Mr. Howell. What can I do for you?”

“Miss Simon, I’m sorry to intrude. I only came to give you this.” A standard letter envelope. “Your relatives left once they realized there would be nothing to gain and I don’t think there will be further problems.” He stepped inside the foyer.

“What is this?” It only felt like paper was inside.

“Harry’s last instructions now you’re officially his beneficiary.”

I opened the envelope and found one sheet. Unfolded it to see Harry’s handwriting.

Michaela, here’s the combination for the safe.

“Ah. Thank you for coming out here tonight, Mr. Howell.”

He smiled. Professionally. “Of course, it will take time for various transfers to complete, so I will keep you updated and send documents as they come. It is my fiduciary obligation to assure a quick and smooth transfer of assets to you. All written communication from me will state me as ‘trustee’ and you as ‘beneficiary’. Administering Harry’s trust will be faster than the probate process you witnessed for your grandmother’s estate. Moreover, it is private.”

“Privacy is definitely preferred.”

He nodded. “Harry wanted to protect you as much as possible and we’ve done all the law allows.”

“What does ‘quick transfer’ translate into in lawyer speak?”

“May we sit?”

“Of course.” I led him into the living room.

We arranged ourselves on the sofas facing each other.

“Legally, a ‘reasonable’ time frame for distribution of all assets from a trust is twelve to eighteen months.”

“Oh.”

“But that timeframe is given for putting assets for sale on behalf of the beneficiaries. If everyone plans to keep what they have been designated...” He wiggled his hand. “For example, the trustee can pay out cash from the estate pretty quickly. For Abby and Thomas, we decided to pay them the year’s salary as they normally receive it until or unless the house is sold, then they will get a lump sum of the remainder. Do you know what you will do with the property?”

“Actually, I plan to research turning it into a B&B. I don’t think I have the heart to sell it now.”

“Ah. I can do the legal research for that if you prefer.”

“That would be helpful. I don’t yet know where to begin besides looking up the city’s rules.”

He tapped on his phone. “I’ll make a note to start on that next week. Does the process make sense so far?”

“I think so.”

He stood from the sofa. “Then I will bid you goodnight. Processes were started as soon as I had you sign those forms that first day, so this should be painless.”

I stood to see him out. “Unless?”

A slight wince. “Unless one of your relatives files suit to dispute the trust. But I don’t expect a sophisticated attack from them.”

“You don’t know my mother’s greed.”

He smirked. “Oh, Harry was quite explicit in the need to protect you from her. I wouldn’t worry, though, Miss Simon. She can’t afford the legal battle that would entail.”

My eyes widened. “She’s broke? You looked into her finances?”

“’Broke’ is a bit too strong a word. She lacks the liquidity to hire an attorney of enough quality to be a problem. If she tries any tactic in the future, I would expect it to be begging on your doorstep with some overly-dramatic and desperate sob story.”

I shuddered. “A good reason to never let her know where I live.”

We returned to the door. “I don’t expect to see you before Sunday morning, Miss Simon, so have a pleasant flight home to L.A.” We shook hands.

“Thank you, Mr. Howell. Goodnight.” I opened the door and he stepped out.

Lincoln’s Charger rental was coming up the driveway. He reached the circle and veered toward the garage to park in his recently-chosen spot. Mr. Howell got in a Mercedes in front of me. I waved goodbye, then closed the door without locking it.

This dress wasn’t made for temps in the forties.

A minute later, Lincoln stepped inside carrying a backpack.

“Come for a study date, Mr. Adams?”

“If that means a study of your body, yes.” He approached me with a smile and dropped the pack on the first step. “Are we alone?”

“Yes.”

He pulled me into his arms. “You were so strong today. Let me take the burden tonight.”