| |
The lunch bell rang at the same time Clara’s phone buzzed against the metal pencil tray in her desk drawer.
She’d forced herself to keep her focus on her classes. She’d forced herself to ignore the background drama of the estate.
Now, it seemed, she’d get some news.
Mercy Hennings was dawdling at her desk, and Clara hated to shoo the nervous little thing out, but she had to answer the call.
“Mercy,” she began, her phone crooked at the ready in her hand, “are you staying in here for lunch... or?”
“Oh, no, Miss Hannigan. I just wanted to let you know that my dad said thanks for meeting him in the parking lot yesterday. And, well, I suppose I wanted to say thanks, too.”
“It was no problem. We just happened to bump into each other is all,” Clara replied warmly as the incoming phone call went to voicemail. “Well, have a nice lunch, Mercy.”
“Thanks. You too.” The child smiled sadly, and Clara’s teacher instinct kicked into overdrive.
“Mercy, is everything okay?”
The girl turned on her heel and bit her lower lip. “Oh, yeah. Kind of.” She kept her eyes on the hardwood planks of the classroom floor.
“Oh, sweetheart, come here. Sit down. What’s bothering you?” Clara waved a hand to the student chair next to her desk, and Mercy eased down into it, her backpack sliding off her shoulder.
Clara eyed the backpack, then her phone and asked Mercy for a moment to send a text. She quickly wrote to Kate explaining she’d be in touch in five minutes. Just five minutes to solve the problems of the world for a middle-schooler. Guilt tugged at Clara’s heart.
“It’s just that high school is coming up, and I’m scared.”
Relaxing into her own seat, Clara smiled. “What are you scared about, Mercy?”
“The other kids, mostly.” Mercy fell into a hunch and crossed her arms over her chest.
Clara replied with some confusion. “What do you mean? You know almost everyone who will be in your freshman class.”
Mercy sighed a deep, adolescent sigh, her upper lip catching briefly on her braces.
Clara suppressed a grin.
“I mean the private school kids from the island.”
Nodding knowingly, Clara answered with a wise, “Ahh. Yes.” On Heirloom Island, just southeast of the house Clara had grown up in, stretched a small water-locked chunk of earth, complete with its own private school. An island with a private school made for special circumstances. Of those children who lived on the island, there were two types who opted out of St. Mary's: too poor to stay and pay for the Catholic school or too heathen to have any interest in applying for a scholarship. And as for those children who lived on the mainland, there were also two types of children: normal and just heathen enough to beg off the ferry ride to school or Catholic and rich enough to afford and even enjoy the exclusive day trip to get an education on an island.
But that trouble only lasted through eighth grade. So far, the Catholic school on the island didn’t offer grades nine through twelve. This meant that all those little private school teens would flood Birch Harbor High.
“I get it,” Clara went on. And she did. “Tell you what, Mercy. If you get to ninth grade and start having friend trouble, you come tell me. I’ll help, okay?”
Mercy nodded gratefully and collected her backpack. Problem solved.
“Okay, Miss Hannigan. Thank you.”
The girl hesitated at the door, just as Clara was about to hit CALL on Kate’s contact details. “Yes, Mercy?”
Mercy ran her tongue over her lower lip, freeing it from another catch on her braces. “My dad said you’re really pretty.”
***
Amelia answered Kate’s phone. “Hey,” she said, her voice betraying some sense that things were not going according to plan.
“Hey,” Clara echoed. “How’s it going?”
“Well, we aren’t at Michael’s office.”
“Oh?” Clara asked, a pit growing in the bottom of her stomach and washing away a smile from the compliment she'd just received.
Amelia cleared her throat and waited a beat before answering. “Everything is totally fine, though. Something came up, but it’s actually okay. Seriously.”
Clara felt flushed, and she stood to pace the rows of student desks as she pressed Amelia for details. “What did the lawyer say? Do we have grounds to contest still? We do, right?”
“Like I said, Clara. Something came up. The appeal... ah... well, we are shifting direction.”
“Can I talk to Kate?” Clara asked, her voice pinched as she held her breath, waiting for her oldest sister, her most grown-up one.
“Hi, Clara,” Kate’s voice came on the phone, smooth and reassuring. “Listen, we can’t contest the will anymore. But we’re all here talking and we realize that we do need to get some clarification on what we can do with mom’s property. Everything is going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry, but let’s plan to meet at the house on the harbor after you’re done with school. I’ll have Matt order a pizza, okay?”
Clara frowned. “Matt? Matt who?”
“Oh, right,” Kate answered, murmuring something away from the line before coming back on. “Matt Fiorillo. Um, he’s here, too.”
Before Clara could ask why, Kate had passed the phone off to Megan like they were playing a long-distance game of hot potato.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Clara asked Megan, her tone revealing her anxiety and impatience. She felt so left out and in the dark. It was like their childhood all over again. Clara so much younger, so much different, so much apart from her older sisters. Part of her wished Mercy had stayed behind to have lunch in the classroom. Then, at least, Clara wouldn’t feel so lonely.
“All I can say,” Megan answered, “is that Kate is fighting for you.”
Clara figured Megan meant it as a kindness, that Kate was “fighting” for her. But then, did it also imply that Amelia and Megan... were not?