“Yes,” her mother said softly. “He developed the habit a few years after Henry hired him at Sloane. He was struggling to keep up with the demands of the job, and cocaine was prettycommon among executives back then. High stress, long hours. It was almost expected.”
She looked down at her hands for a moment before continuing. “It took three heart attacks, the threat of divorce, and two rehab stays for him to finally stop. I think he started again after Tommy became CEO,” she added quietly, her gaze drifting toward the window, watching the rain fall. “But I never found any proof.”
“I think you’re right,” Evie said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “The temper tantrums, the paranoia, it all fits.”
She didn’t know much about cocaine or its effects, but she’d seen enough movies to recognize the pattern: the erratic moods, the spiral. It also explained why no one had ever told her about his earlier heart attacks. He wouldn’t have wanted her to know he was an addict.
“Yes,” Della agreed quietly. “That’s why I suspected he’d started again. The way he was acting was just like before.”
They sat together for a few more minutes before Evie finally sat up and stretched.
“I have to go meet Fred about Dad’s will and final wishes,” she said, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her mother’s ear. “Do you want to come and say hello?”
“No.” Della shook her head. “I’m no longer his wife, it would feel inappropriate. But I wouldn’t mind a ride to the church.” She glanced toward the window. “It’s really coming down.”
**********
When she walked in, Fred was waiting in the reception area and came over immediately, taking her raincoat andhanging it on the nearby coatrack before pulling her into a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry about Oscar, Evie.” He pulled back to look her over. “I know you two were estranged these last few years, but that didn’t diminish his love for you.”
Evie nodded, giving what she hoped was an appropriately sad smile, unsure what to say. She’d always felt Oscar’s love was fluid, something that shifted depending on the day and his mood. Fred seemed to understand, because he simply squeezed her hands and led her into his office, gesturing toward the small round table already set with folders bearing Oscar’s name.
Once she sat down, he offered her tea, which she gratefully accepted after the chill of the autumn rain. Fred was a bit of a tea-aholic, known for keeping several varieties from all over the world on hand, and he knew Evie preferred green or white teas made from whole leaves.
“You always liked the lighter teas,” Fred said, measuring out a few pale buds. “This one’s a Silver Needle, it’s soft and delicate. Perfect for sorting through heavy things.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Her smile was genuine this time. “Is it another one I’m going to get hooked on? Because the White Peony price made Tommy balk when I asked for some for my birthday after we set up Mom’s POA.”
Fred let out an amused snort. “Imagine Tommy Sloane balking at the price of tea when he’s got a fleet of European cars parked under the Tower.” He shook his head and handed Evie a delicate bone-China teacup.
Evie let out a soft chuckle. Fred always seemed to know exactly what to say to ease the tension. “I’m going to use that the next time he tells me something’s too expensive.”
The tea was pale and delicate, tasting faintly of honey and something green, like spring rain or new grass. “Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured, knowing she wasn’t doing it justice. “Just perfect.”
Fred smiled, clearly pleased, and pulled the folder toward him. “I’m glad you like it. Let’s get started, shall we?” He opened the folder and passed her a thick document.
“Your father had me draw up a new last will and testament after your parents divorced.” He paused, clearing his throat lightly. His already pink cheeks deepened in color, and Evie could imagine that meeting hadn’t been pleasant for him. “It’s very straightforward, though. He left everything to you.”
Evie took the will and flicked through it, shaking her head slightly. “You know, I’m not sure if this is an apology or a final F-you to Mom.”
“I think it might be both.” The corner of Fred’s mouth quirked up; he probably knew her father better than anyone, including her mother. “You’re also the executor of the estate.”
They sat together for close to three hours, Fred carefully walking her through each step of the process while Evie made notes on who she needed to contact, what she needed to start, and what he would handle on her behalf. Since Fred’s firm had represented Oscar while he was in prison, he already had everything she needed, records of debts and bill payments, as well as an itemized inventory of everything in Oscar’s storage locker, which he’d arranged after the sale of the house.
“I didn’t see anything about what he wanted done with his body,” she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly as they wrapped up. “Did he mention anything to you?”
“Cremation,” Fred replied, nodding as he helped her to her feet. “He didn’t like the idea of his body lying forgotten in a cemetery somewhere.”
Chapter Nineteen: The Other Wife
Oscar’s memorial was held two weeks after his death at the funeral home. It was quiet, simple, and small with only a handful of people attending. Oscar had never been good at keeping friends, so most of those present were friends and family of Evie and Della who came to support them. Father Garrett said a few words and offered a prayer, tactfully avoiding any mention of Oscar’s crimes or the fact that he’d died in prison. It was all over within an hour.
Evie was in the office with the funeral director, signing the last of the paperwork, when a commotion from the front of the building broke the stillness. The funeral director excused himself and stepped out to see what was happening, returning barely two minutes later to tell her she was needed up front.
When Evie left the office, she stopped short. Thorn stood in the doorway of the room where the memorial had been held, arms folded across his chest, a faintly disgusted look on his face. Della hovered behind him, peeking around his elbow. Tommy was in front of them, arguing with a peroxide-blonde woman in her fifties who was waving a sheet of paper in his face and demanding to be let into her husband’s memorial.
“What is going on here?” Exhaustion and irritation sharpened Evie’s tone as she joined Tommy, fixing the woman with a hard stare. “This is a funeral home! Have some respect for the grieving families. What is wrong with you?”
