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“‘Regarding 131 Harbor Avenue, the property and land situated on Heirloom Cove and the private beach included in said parcel,’” Michael read, his voice clear and even, as though whatever might be wrapped up in their mother’s written words needed a stable platform, a firm channel. Kate felt her breaths grow quick and shallow. She glanced at her sisters, each on the edge of her seat. “‘Upon my death, I leave the deed to be transferred to Katherine Nora Hannigan, Amelia Ann Hannigan, and Megan Beth Stevenson.’”
Kate gasped.
Their mother’s language was crisp and precise. The content of her final wish relevant and painfully recent. As recent as Megan’s wedding, at the very least. As recent as Nora’s eventual acceptance that Megan chose to take Brian’s last name, in an inflammatory act of daughterly defiance.
Michael set the page down.
No one said a word.
The silence continued on for some moments. Uncomfortable and suffocating.
Clara was the next to emit a stifled sound. A soft sob.
Kate glanced at Amelia and Megan, who were dutifully confused. Respectfully quiet.
“Are you serious?” Amelia whispered to Michael.
He nodded.
Kate stood. “Let me see, please.” She stretched a hand out as Amelia and Megan reached over to their littlest sister.
Michael lowered his voice. “Kate,” he said, “it would be best if you and I meet privately. I have one more item for you to go over as the executor. But we need to look at it alone.” He glanced beyond her to the others.
Kate nodded and turned.
“Let’s take a break first,” she suggested, exhaustion pooling at the base of her neck. She pushed a finger to each temple.
The others rose and paused as if to thank Michael. But it was hard to show gratitude on the heels of bad news.
Michael stood to walk the ladies out of the office. He stopped in the hall when Kate turned to address him one last time for that morning.
“When should I come back?” she asked plainly.
“I have no obligations for the rest of the day. I knew the Hannigan Estate—your mother’s estate—would be... ”
“A challenge?” she finished his sentence.
Nodding gravely, he added, “All estates present obstacles. Death is hard. And handling the affairs of the deceased amplifies that. Nora, of course, had a lot to decide. That’s never easy. Not even for a sharp-witted, good woman like your mom.”
His words should have hit the right notes. They should have reassured her.
But Kate knew her own mother too well. She thanked Michael and followed her sisters outside into the warmth of the early summer sun.
Humidity hadn’t yet set in, or perhaps, hadn’t yet made its way to their position inland.
“What are we going to do?” Amelia asked, her face scrunched in fret.
Megan replied, “Do you mean about the will or—?”
“Of course I mean the will. What else?” the former snapped.
Clara shook her head sadly, blinking against the rays of late morning light that cut across the parking lot. Kate pulled her sunglasses from her handbag and took over. “Lunch. The Harbor Deli. We’ll talk there. In the meantime, just let it settle. Clara, why don’t you ride with me?”
“I drove them here,” Clara whined, hooking a thumb at Amelia and Megan as though they were aggravating teenagers to be trucked from activity to activity.
Kate considered the next best route. She’d have to return to Michael’s office and intended to do so sooner rather than later. But she didn’t want Amelia or Megan to get into Clara’s head.
Or, worse, spill any beans.
Lord knew there were plenty to spill.
Kate assumed that Nora had spent extra time at Michael’s because she was taking care to arrange her affairs tightly and without issue. The woman never once asked for help. She never once suggested anything would be... unexpected.
Yet there they were, four sisters. Four properties. But only three claims.
It was like a sick and twisted nursery rhyme. A riddle. One Kate couldn’t solve.
Or, more likely, refused to solve.
Because the only explanation was the truth.
And the truth, the Hannigan truth, would change everything.
***
Amelia and Megan ended up riding with Kate. Clara drove alone. They met at the deli and each ordered some version of a turkey sandwich. Iced teas all around.
The lake lapped up against the boats in the marina, just yards away from their bistro table on the patio. Kate wanted nothing more than to sit there and enjoy the view she’d given up years back, when she decided to become a suburban housewife. A mom with a backyard that was many miles away from the threat of an open body of water.
“What’s the deal?” Amelia asked, once they had all settled in with their sandwiches and clinking glasses of amber beverage.
Kate let out a deep sigh and leaned forward on her elbows. “The deal is that Mom obviously went senile earlier than we realized.”
Megan lifted a dark eyebrow and took a small bite of her lunch, covering her mouth with a napkin as she held Kate’s gaze.
“Right?” Kate asked. A heavy frown set on her mouth, pulling the skin of her cheeks with it. She propped her face in her hands and could feel her age, pooling there, where her jawline was starting to become jowls. She felt old. Old and stupid. And, alone. Even among her sisters.
Perhaps, especially among her sisters.
Megan looked away. Amelia kept quiet.
Kate felt her stomach clench, and she set her sandwich down. “Clara, what time do you have to get back to work?”
“I have a substitute until lunch. So, soon. Half an hour. Tops,” she replied, studying her wristwatch for an extra beat.
“Right, well. Here’s the plan.” Kate rubbed her fingertips into a clean paper napkin and took a sip of tea for courage. “I’ll go back to the office—Michael’s office—and see about filing an appeal, or whatever it is you do.
“To contest the will?” Megan chimed in.
“Yes, to contest the will. Do you all agree?”
Clara buried her face in her hands and nodded her head.
Amelia and Megan murmured their agreement.
“Good. It’s settled. This is clearly a case of a woman gone mad. I’m sure our biggest obstacle will be Michael, himself. Clearly he didn’t put two-and-two together sooner and guide Mom.”
“Woman gone mad,” Amelia muttered into the wind as she stared out across the water below them.
Just on the other side of the marina sat the house. Heirloom Cove, with its rocky shoreline and long shadows, stood darkly against the glimmering water. The small figure of the old house, its red paint glowing from between white birch trees, taunted them.
Kate looked at Clara, who was also staring at the house.
She spoke, at last. “I don’t know how I’ll ever go back there,” Clara whispered.
Megan snorted. “I don’t blame you.”
“Let’s just leave it be. Mom made a mistake. That much is clear.”
“No,” Clara replied. “I have a feeling she didn’t make a mistake. I think she made a point.”