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Tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, Amelia leaned in toward Michael, ready to devour every word.
Though there was nothing specific Amelia hoped to have earned from her mother’s estate, she was very interested in how things worked out. Who got what. As a middle child, she had always been acutely aware of discrepancies.
Inequities.
Imbalances.
Now, Amelia knew, those things would be revealed in full.
Her phone buzzed in her purse on the floor. Jimmy, no doubt. She’d told him they could meet for lunch in the Village, and it was his own fault if he couldn’t entertain himself in the meantime.
Although, Amelia figured he’d find something to do. Jimmy was that type. He made friends easily. Didn’t mind putting himself out there. He should have been a car salesman, probably, rather than a construction worker. He loved meeting new people and getting into trouble. Two things that had drawn Amelia to him to begin with.
The friendly bad boy, Megan had once dubbed Amelia’s “type.”
She pushed her bag with her toe to muffle the buzzing and returned her attention to the lawyer.
Michael cleared his throat. “We’ll begin with your mother’s personal effects. Then, I’ll share her wishes regarding real estate.” When no one reacted, he read on, quoting their mom. “‘To Katherine, I leave twenty-three flowerpots, my dining room table, the front hall runner, my wedding china, Wendell Acton’s wristwatch, and my Sunday wardrobe.’”
Amelia leaned back, studying her older sister’s face and then glancing to catch Megan and Clara’s reactions.
Kate’s throat bobbed in a swallow and her chest rose and fell.
Clara blinked and tucked her lips inside her teeth.
Megan shrugged.
Pausing, Michael lowered the page from which he read, perhaps waiting for the inevitable. An argument. A passive aggressive sigh. Anything.
“I didn’t know she named her clothes by the day of the week,” Kate answered softly.
A small giggle erupted among the girls. Amelia knew if their mom was there, she’d snap at them for making fun. But a little laughter was just what the doctor ordered. The whole affair had become too tense. Too awkward.
Amelia added, “I hope I get Saturday.”
Again, they laughed together in front of poor Michael, who appeared unsure how to react.
“Go ahead, keep reading,” Kate said at last, wiping away happy tears. Or maybe sad. Amelia couldn’t tell which anymore.
He held the paper back up to his face and answered, “That concludes Kate’s inheritance of Nora’s personal effects.”
Amelia blinked and raised her eyebrows at her older sister. But Kate simply smiled. “Right. I expected as much.”
Michael continued. “Shall I go on?”
All four sisters nodded urgently, and so he did.
“‘To Amelia,’” he began. Amelia leaned forward again and narrowed her eyes on Michael’s full lips behind the thick, white page. “‘I leave the upstairs chaise, my patio furniture, Wendell Acton’s Smith and Wesson snub nose, Aunt Ida’s tiger’s eye necklace, and... ’” Amelia sucked in a breath. “‘My furs.’”
“Furs?” Clara cried out.
Amelia sank back, oddly disappointed, though not necessarily in her mother’s fashion choices.
Michael stopped reading and set the page down.
Kate murmured that she didn’t know Nora had any furs and that she figured any guns were long gone.
Clara carried on about how they ought to donate any fur—if, in fact, Nora owned any real fur— to animal shelters to be used as beds. “Fur is beyond passé. It’s unethical,” she added, clicking her tongue in disgust.
Megan yawned.
“Donate them,” Amelia spat. “I don’t want fur coats. And why does she refer to Dad by his full name?” She crossed her arms and shook her head before adding, “I’m sorry, Michael. Go ahead with the will. I just—”
“You had different expectations,” he answered patiently. It’s understandable. Amelia bit her lower lip and glanced up at him to catch a look. An unreadable, un-lawyerly look.
“Yes. Silly, really. Just go ahead.”
The women sighed collectively, and he did as he was told.
“‘To Megan, I leave my silver Tiffany’s collection, my wedding band, Wendell Acton’s wedding band, the desktop computer, and our marital bed.’”
“I guess we know who the favorite is,” Amelia muttered, lifting a conspiratorial eyebrow to Clara, who ignored her.
“Her ‘desktop computer’?” Megan turned her head sharply to Amelia. “As in the ‘new’ one she got in 2000 once she was convinced Y2K ‘killed’ her old one?” Megan rolled her eyes.
Clara made a face. “What does she mean by marital bed?”
Michael offered a sympathetic smile, but it was Kate who answered. “Obviously the king bed that was in her bedroom.”
“Why did she have to use the word marital?” Clara asked again, but it was Amelia this time who added a dose of maturity.
“Mom was trying to be specific, no doubt. Go ahead, Michael.” Amelia bit down on her thumbnail, anxiety creeping in.
Michael lifted his eyebrows, waiting for permission to read. Amelia rolled her hand in a wide circle to get him going again.
“‘The balance of my personal possessions is to be divided evenly under the supervision of my eldest daughter, Katherine.’”
Four jaws dropped.
It was a bombshell.
An error.
An oversight.
Kate spoke immediately. “What about Clara?” she asked, glancing wildly from her sisters to Michael.
He shook his head. “No personal items were specifically designated to Clara Hannigan.”
“Is there more?” Amelia asked, trying to be helpful.
“Yes, her properties and a personal letter.”
“Okay, then go ahead,” Amelia prompted. Kate nodded her head, and Megan and Clara did the same, all four of them frowning deeply.
“All right,” he answered. “‘Real estate and land, including owned and leased properties, businesses, and accounts related thereto,’” Michael continued, holding a new page crisply between himself and the women. His eyes danced down to Nora’s own words, and he read, “‘As for my rental properties, including the Birch Creek Cottage, The Bungalows, and the undeveloped parcel inland, I would ask they be evenly divided between Katherine, Amelia, and Megan.’”
Amelia felt her stomach twist with stress.
She glanced over at Clara, expecting a fresh round of tears. Anger. The exact feelings that Amelia had felt many times over during the course of her own upbringing.
But Clara’s face was expressionless. Calm.
Clara and Kate exchanged their own glance, and that’s when Amelia realized why Clara wasn’t having a tantrum right then and there.
The house.
The house on the harbor.