The population of Caper doubled overnight as people flew in to pay their respects. Old friends. His literary agent. Perfect strangers connected by one man, sharing stories and drinking over memories.
The only guests who shocked me were the pair who arrived in a sleek black car, draped in dark coats that reminded me of crows. My grandparents preened and squawked like birds—about the wildflowers at the service and the plot in the far corner of the cemetery under a willow. Their complaints grated at me more than the weather. If it bothered them so much, they should have planned it instead of showing up after George took care of everything.
“I guess you don’t have much notice for these things and there aren’t many options in a place like this,” Ivy, my grandmother, said, picking at the fraying lace trim on one of my drooping bell sleeves.
“Ivy, is your room at the inn up to your standard?” George faked a smile as she protectively wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “If not, I could get a guest room made up for you.”
“It will do. We won’t be here long. I should probably check with Nolan to make sure he told our pilot when we’ll be flying back to Connecticut after the reading of the will tomorrow.” Ivy gave a tight-lipped smile as she excused herself.
George leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s my favorite magic trick, making her disappear. You should have seen our college graduation.” The memory caught in her throat coming out hoarse. “She tried so hard to get a picture without me in it. The woman hates me, but I take great pride in it.”
“Is it because you convinced Dad to drop out of business school?” I asked, recalling our final conversation.
“I didn’t realize he told you about that.” She sighed, the weight of the last few days bearing down on her shoulders. “That’s part of it. They’re very…” She paused. “Aware of their reputation.”
“They can care about their reputation somewhere else,” I said. As far as I was concerned, I had two family members left and both of them lived here in Caper.
The reception was at George and Wes’s house. Frozen appetizers were arranged on disposable trays and people drank cheap coffee from paper cups. The afternoon blurred into stranger after stranger telling me how good of a man my dad was, as if I didn’t already know. As if him being good meant anything. It didn’t make him any less gone.
I could only take so much.
“I was wondering how long you’d last,” Wes said, climbing up onto the roof next to me.
“Are people downstairs still?”
“A few. I’ll ask them to leave if you want.”
I shook my head. “They seem to need this.” My eyes fixed on the tree line. “What do you think is in his will?”
“Well, his books. Some money. He’ll probably say that you have to stay with Mom until you’re eighteen.”
“I never taught him how to play guitar. I promised him I would—” My voice cracked. Whatever words I had left died as sobs quaked through me.
Wes held me to his chest, his cotton shirt blocking out the world.
We had to drive a town over to meet Dad’s lawyer, Walker Jenkins, at his drab office. He sat at the head of a speckled gray conference table with my grandparents on one side and George, Wes, and I on the other.
“And for my daughter, I bequeath a sum of fifteen million in the form of a trust that she may access on her twenty-fifthbirthday, or if the circumstance arises, if she marries, so she is able to remain financially secure in the next chapter of her life,” Walker said, in the same monotone voice he’d used to read the rest of the will. It wasn’t long. In addition to some assets, there was money for the rest of George’s medical bills and a college fund for Wes.
“Fifteen million?” I gasped, my stomach bottoming out at the number.
“That is our money,” Nolan protested, a vein in his neck bulging.
“Wasyour money,” George snapped. “And though you insist on ignoring it, your son was very successful without you. Sure as hell did more than you both, inheriting someone else’s work.”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “The money will go to Ms. Avery Sloane. And if I may continue, there is the matter of custody. Avery will be seventeen for ten more months. During this time, she will be in the care of Ivy and Nolan Sloane.”
“No!” I said. “I’m not living with them. I’m staying with George. That’s what he would want.”
“As of August 21, 2004, Hudson Sloane indicated that this is what he intended.”
“But that was before George went into remission. He didn’t update it. There has to be something we can do.” I grasped at any shred of hope. I couldn’t go with these people who treated Dad’s funeral like some inconvenient obligation. I was supposed to stay with George and Wes in the only place I’d ever learned to think of as home.
“Ivy, Nolan, let me take care of her. You don’t need to relocate her after everything that’s happened,” George offered, her voice cool and coaxing.
It felt like we were walking on the same tightrope with no net to catch up. One wrong move, and we’d all tumble.
“It would be easier,” Nolan suggested, eager to wash his hands of me.
