Page 12 of Meet Me on Greenwood

The flight attendant passing our row caught the tail end of the melody and lit up as if she'd found a kindred spirit. Before I could intervene, she picked up the intercom and was encouraging the entire cabin to join in—and they did, with enthusiasm.

I was, as far as I could tell, the only person on the plane who didn't know the words, so it was no wonder I was not in a mood to see, Lyla, my father’s late wife holding a bouquet of sunflowers as soon as we entered baggage claim.

"Oh Gemini!" she squealed running to greet me. Lyla made my average height seem nonexistent as she bent to hug me. I caught a glimpse of her long, manicured nails, and her designer sunglasses, hiding her eyes. She was polished, and everything I was not. In fact, the only thing we had in common was our age.

I pushed my glasses back into place as I pulled away. "You didn’t have to…" I trailed off as I tried to hold the flowers and my bags at the same time. I did my best to smile, or at least not grimace of the gesture.

"Aww," she said. "I forget how shy you are. It is so darling. Who is your friend?"

Maise stuck out her hand to shake. "I am the best friend."

"Maisey!" Lyla exclaimed.

Maise and I shared a surprised glance.

"Alfred spoke of both of you often." She sniffled suddenly, lifting her sunglasses and blinking like a malfunctioning Barbie.

I cleared my throat. "Where is Bri?"

"You know your sister. She likes her parties. I’m certain she is sleeping it off." She waved her hand. "We should go. There is still a lot to be done before the funeral."

Tulsa was not a big town, especially compared to Minneapolis, but the way Lyla zipped through the highways in her Bentley made me forget that. She made traffic laws seem like suggestions as she honked her way through the cars that annoyed her.

"I wish you could have made it here for his birthday," she said suddenly. "He asked for you."

"I doubt that," I said, thinking it had been eight years since I’d been home for a reason, and that was when he married Lyla.

"Of course he did. You and your sister were all he would talk about—especially his beautiful daughter making it in the big city, Ivy League graduate, leader in her field…"

She sniffled again, and for a moment, I wondered if she actually missed the man. I’d always assumed their marriage was some kind of mutual arrangement. Father viewed all his relationships that way, even the ones he had with his daughters.

"I highly doubt he said all that."

It was out of character. The man barely had two words to say to me after Mama died, and I was only seventeen. He never talked about the fact that she went missing on a cruise, only to be found days later in the water from an apparent suicide. Her death was one of the reasons I pursued a doctorate in neuropsychology at the same time I was studying for my medical degree. An impossible task, I was told, but I’d made it happen.

My father was never warm, but after Mama died, I was lucky if his eyes even rose above his newspaper to acknowledge me.

The iron gates, wrought with a large "C" worked into the center like a signature, swung open as we cruised along the familiar winding driveway that led to the house. Even after all these years, the drive alone took several minutes. Oak trees arched overhead in an impressive canopy that gave the sense you were going back in time.

"We are here!" Lyla said, and I heard the small catch of Maise's breath she couldn't quite hide. It was one thing for her to see what our family was worth on paper, and another to see it in person.

The outside looked as if I'd never left it. Vines sprawled up the brick and limestone columns in a way that both appeared neglected and deliberate all at once. The estate looked like the picture perfect home one might find in a magazine. Lyla pulled the car to a stop in the circle drive, right by the fountain with the cherubs, its water catching the afternoon light and scattering it across the stone in a way that made the whole front of the house look like it was permanently glowing.

"This is where you grew up and you’re living on my couch?" Maise exclaimed from the backseat.

I gave her a look. It wasn’t mean, but whatever she saw on my face made her go quiet. Lyla, on the other hand, pretended not to hear as the butlers came to get our bags.

"We had your old room prepped," Lyla said. "Maise, can stay in our guest room down the way."

One of the butlers reached for the bag that held all my research equipment, and I stopped him.

"I’ll take this one myself, thank you," I said.

"As you wish ma’am."

After I pulled the equipment up the ramp, I stopped in the main hall, pausing at the foot of the marble staircase that descended in two directions. A large picture of Judge Cross hung above the spot where the staircases connected. It was exactly as I remembered. Exactly as it always was.

Then I saw her.