I end up at Lionel’s office on Monday morning, ostensibly to sign some insurance paperwork, but mostly because sitting alone at Pierce Acres makes me feel like I’m waiting for something. At least here I’m taking action.
Lionel’s office hasn’t changed since my first visit. I’m not sure why I thought he might tidy up the stacks of yellowed paperwork heaped on the floor. He waves me into the chair across from his desk and starts shuffling through a drawer.
“Insurance forms, insurance forms…” he mutters to himself, pushing aside folders that look like they haven’t been touched since the Reagan administration. “I had them right here. Unless Baabara got to them. She ransacked the place after Eugene passed, rest his soul. Ate half my filing system before Ethan came to collect her.”
I smile despite myself. “Baabara has a taste for paperwork?”
“Baabara has a taste for mayhem.” Lionel produces a slim folder and slides it across the desk. “Here we are. Sign where I’ve marked, and we’ll have the Pierce Acres estate done and dusted.”
I flip through the pages, initialing where indicated, but my mind keeps drifting. To Asher. To my sisters. To the photo of June at the Sap Festival, still propped on my kitchen windowsill. “Lionel,” I hear myself say. “Can I ask you something?”
He looks up, owl-eyed behind his glasses. “Of course.”
“My father…” The word feels strange in my mouth. “Did you ever meet him?”
Lionel goes very still.
“I know he inherited the property before me,” I continue. “And I know he never did anything with it. But I don’t know… I don’t know anything about him, really. What he was like. Why he never came home.”
Lionel removes his glasses and polishes them slowly with his tie. “I knew him once,” he says. “He grew up here, but… he left.” Lionel replaces his glasses and regards me with sympathy. “Drove up from the city one weekend about fifteen years ago. Called ahead, very professional. Said he wanted to see the property… understand what he was working with.”
“And?”
“He walked the land for hours. Asked me detailed questions about the value. Seemed genuinely interested.” Lionel pauses. “He reminded me of June, actually. Same energy. Same way of looking at things, like he could see what they might become, not just what they were.”
My throat tightens. “What happened?”
“I don’t entirely know. We were supposed to meet the following Monday to begin the transfer paperwork. He never showed.” Lionel shrugs, but there’s weight behind it. “I called. Left messages. Eventually, the number was disconnected. I assumed he’d decided the property was too much trouble. Too far from his life. Some people look at a fixer-upper and see possibilities. Others just see work.”
“But you said he seemed interested.”
“Very much so.” Lionel hesitates, then opens another drawer and rummages through it with less purpose than before. “He left something behind, actually. Some notes about his finances and such. I hung on to it in case he came back to deal with his responsibility with the estate…” He trails off, still searching. “It might be gone,” he admits. “Like I said, Baabara did a number on this place after Eugene’s funeral. Ate client folders and soiled my carpet.” Lionel sighs, closing the drawer. “I’m sorry, Eva. It may be lost. But I can tell you what I observed, if that helps.”
“Please.”
Lionel settles in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Your father struck me as a man at war with himself. He wanted Pierce Acres—I could see it in his face. But there was something holding him back. Fear, maybe. Or something heavier.”
“Fear of what?”
“Of failing, I’d guess. Of not being enough.” Lionel meets my eyes. “He grew up without much family. I think Walter was the best of the bunch in that family, if I’m honest. Edgar had parents who weren’t present, no siblings to speak of. He said he’d spent his whole life running from responsibility because he didn’t trust himself to handle it. Said inheriting Pierce Acres felt like a test he was destined to fail.”
The words land like stones in my chest. “He told you all that?”
“We had dinner at Lick Your Fork, wandered over to Tiddy’s. He’d had a few beers, and I think he was lonely. People tell me things.” Lionel smiles slightly. “Hazard of being the only lawyer in a small town. You become part confessor.”
I sit with the spreading sting of recognition that my father was here and then left because he didn’t have the support to stay. He had no one to hold him accountable.
“He ran,” I say quietly. “Instead of trying, he just… ran.”
“He did.” Lionel’s voice is gentle. “And he kept running, from what I understand. Year after year, I’d send notices about the property taxes and the maintenance issues. He’d pay just enough to keep the place from being seized, but he never came back. Never engaged.”
“Until he died.”
“Until he died and left it all to you.”
I think about the certified mail I ignored for months. The way I’ve spent my adult life making myself useful to my sisters instead of building something of my own. The comfortable smallness of being the baby, the helper, the one who supports everyone else’s dreams. I think about how easy it would have been to sell Pierce Acres to Ginny and go back to that life. To run like he did.
“Lionel,” I say slowly. “If you find that file?—”
