“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought it was about jewelry or family photographs.
You know how Evelyn gets about inheritance.”
Yes.
I did.
Grandma Opal had not been extremely wealthy.
At least we had never believed she was.
She owned a modest but beautiful brick house, some investment accounts, and a collection of antique jewelry inherited from her own mother.
After her death, my father said most of the estate had gone toward taxes, medical costs, and charitable gifts.
Marisa received Grandma’s pearl earrings.
My mother took the silver tea service.
Dad inherited the house and sold it six months later.
I received an old wooden writing desk.
That was all.
I had loved it anyway.
Grandma had used that desk for forty years.
“What exactly did Mom say?”
I asked.
Cora lowered her voice.
“She said, ‘If Opal gave Sylvie anything before she died, I need to know.’”
My heartbeat changed.
“Need?”
“That was the word.”
I looked once more at the second row.
Then I said goodbye.
I did not call my mother.
I did not call my father.
And I did not drive home.
Instead, I drove directly to the neighborhood where my parents lived.
Their house stood on a tree-lined street outside Boston, large enough that my mother called it “comfortable” despite having six bedrooms.
I parked across the road at a small coffee shop.
Through the front windows, I could see workers unloading party equipment.
White tent panels.
Cases of wine.
Floral arrangements.
A sign reading:
MARISA’S GOLDEN YEAR
Whatever that meant.
I ordered black coffee and took a corner table.
Then I opened my laptop.
I had twenty-three unread work emails.
I was deleting spam when one subject line caught my attention.
Confidential — Wexford Lane Group Executive Recruitment
I nearly deleted it.
Wexford Lane Group was enormous.
