The offer was innocuous, but it felt almost sensual, and I couldn’t tell if my brain was short-circuiting from stress. Maybe it was his white suit with its intricate embroidery, his accent, or his long, darklashes that most women would kill for. One thing I knew was that I could not let this man touch me. I wasn’t sure if it was for his sake or my own.
“No, that’s unnecessary. It will be fine.” I rushed out of the bathroom feeling my heart pound.
What the hell was that?
The hallway felt like a cavern as I stumbled through it searching, feeling exhausted and confused, before finally finding a door with a sign that read,George and Harriet King, Will Reading.
My plan was to sneak in and seat myself at the back of the room, but the loud creak of the door and the man seated at the front of the room—who I assumed was William J. McReedy, Esq., my grandparents’ lawyer—had other plans.
The man with dark brown skin, salt-and-pepper hair, and a thick mustache beckoned me to the front of the room and indicated that I should occupy one of the two empty ornate wooden chairs in front of the desk where he was seated.
I made my way through the aisle separating the room full of aluminum folding chairs while dozens of pairs of eyes followed me to the front of the room accompanied by hushed whispers.
“That’s the grandbaby.”
“She ain’t no baby anymore.”
“Looks just like her mother. Don’t she?”
I caught the eyes of one woman my age, sitting next to a little girl who couldn’t have been more than ten. The little girl smiled at me. Her mother didn’t. Not having any idea what I could have done to a woman I’d never met, I instead focused on making it to the front of the room, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.
I didn’t have to wonder long about the occupant of the other wooden chair because the door to the room opened again and the man in white with the sexy accent entered the room and made his way to the front. No one whispered about him. He greeted and shook hands with a few people before lowering himself into the opposite seat. I also noticed the woman who had nothing but disdain for me smiled at him.
“Emmaline, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mr. McReedy gave me a sympathetic smile as I did my best to make myself comfortable in the chair. It felt so odd that everyone seemed to know exactly who I was without me having to introduce myself.
“Thank you.” My voice came out as a strained whisper, and I cleared my throat and spoke again. “Thank you, and I prefer to be called Emma.”
“Emma, huh?” Mr. McReedy smiled genially, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed like he wanted to say something else to me, but instead he addressed the room. “I wish I had a better reason to bring us all together like this, but unfortunately, it’s been more than thirty days since George and Harriet’s deaths, and I’m here to read their last will and testament and carry out their requests contained therein.”
I chanced a glance at the man in the other seat. He was all wit and sarcasm in the bathroom, but in this room, he looked absolutely bereft. His body was almost slumped in the chair, and he seemed to be staring off into space. There was a balled-up handkerchief in the hand he was using to cover his mouth and his eyes. His beautiful eyes—focus, Emma—were rimmed with red. Real grief was etched into his expression, and I felt guilty thinking about how attractivehe was—not to mention that I’d been dating the same man for much of my adult life. I should have been focusing on the subject at hand, not men who weren’t Teddy. It was also probably a bad idea to objectify someone so obviously in pain at a will reading.
This man was so close to my grandparents that he was visibly mourning their loss, while I was their flesh-and-blood granddaughter and felt nothing but curiosity and confusion because I barely knew them. A pang of irrational jealousy made my chest clench.
Who was this man?
Why was he so close to my grandparents?
Why did he get to sit in one of the two fancy chairs in the office?
Mr. McReedy’s voice broke my chain of thought and I focused on the front of the room.
“Before we get started, I’d like to invite Pastor Freeman to lead us in a short prayer. Sister Harriet and Brother George are sitting at the right hand of the Father—”
“Mm-hmm.” A chorus of agreement and a few claps erupted from behind me.
“—and I know they wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity to give thanks to the Almighty while we are all gathered here together.”
“That’s right!” a woman shouted as Pastor Freeman took his place in front of the desk, a few feet away from me and sexy British bathr—I mean, the man from the bathroom.
Pastor Freeman wasted no time in piggybacking off Mr. McReedy’s statement that my grandparents were sitting at the right hand of the Father. In fact, the pastor gave a rather lengthy monologue about how my grandparents had “elevated the town’s spirit” and “lifted it to new heights.” I looked around the room to find most of the occupantsnodding with coy smiles and I wondered if there was some meaning to his words that I was missing. It became harder to focus as the pastor became more animated as he described how our Lord and Savior was the “high you could never come down from.” Before I could wrap my head around Pastor Freeman’s obsession with heavenly metaphors, a woman behind me began humming a vaguely familiar tune. She was soon joined by others. I looked to the man in the chair beside me to see if he was as confused as me, but he was still mired in grief.
“‘In the Upper Room’!” Pastor Freeman shouted, startling me, and I realized what the tune was. He invited the ladies to join him in front of the desk and the next ten minutes involved the loudest and longest rendition of Mahalia Jackson’s classic I’d ever heard.
“Danesh Pednekar,” Mr. McReedy said, almost as if he were answering my earlier questions. He was reading from the will: “Farm manager and grandson we never had. We hope you will be running the farm long after we’re gone, but we know that if you’re reading this, that is out of our control. So we’re leaving you two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” I felt my mouth drop open, and when I looked at Danesh, his mouth had dropped open, too. “We know what you’re thinking—it’s not too much and you can and will accept it. If Green Acres is not in your future, it will be enough to get you set up someplace else and help you continue your research. We’re also leaving you George’s F-150 and his antique watch that you always admired.” Mr. McReedy placed the watch on the desk. Danesh slowly retrieved it and held it in his hands, turning it over and over.
“Emmaline, our beloved grandchild. You wouldn’t know this because we haven’t seen each other in so long, but we are so proud ofthe woman you’ve become. We’ve followed your achievements from afar and hoped one day we would be able to tell you in person. But things don’t always work out that way.” I felt a lump form in my throat and swallowed it down, blinking rapidly.
“I don’t know if our stubborn-as-a-mule daughter ever told you this, but you were named Emmaline after your great-grandmother. When your great-grandfather and half the men in town went off to fight in World War II, she and the women of this town kept the farm going until the war was over and for years after. Your grandfather and I followed in that tradition, in hopes that we could pass it on to your mother. But since I can’t imagine your mama ever setting foot in this town again, we’re leaving it to you. You are free to do whatever you want with it, but we hope that you’ll consider carrying on the family tradition. Green Acres is a very special place to many people, and it is our fondest wish and dearest hope that it becomes a special place to you. There is also…”
