Chapter 2

It was one-thirty in the afternoon when I arrived outside Hartwell Law Group, early.

The building sat downtown, its glass doors polished bright enough to catch a reflection.

Before going in, I stopped at the convenience store next door for a bottle of water. I tried twice and couldn't get it open. The cap wasn't too tight. My hands just wouldn't stop shaking.

Ryan got there ten minutes after me.

He was dressed all in black, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept all night.

When he saw me, he stubbed out his cigarette first, then said, "Aunt Eleanor."

I nodded, but my eyes kept drifting back to his face.

Since Richard died, the hardest Ryan had cried was at the moment of the cremation.

A man in his forties, one hand braced against the wall, crying so hard he couldn't get a full sentence out.

In that moment I truly believed that however distant this boy had been, he was still Richard's own son.

But ever since the $1.24 million landed in my account, I couldn't help reading something into every look he gave me.

"I got the money," I said first.

"Mm." Ryan lowered his head and pressed the elevator button.

"Was this... something you all agreed on?"

His finger paused.

"It wasn't her idea."

I knew exactly who "her" meant.

The elevator doors slid shut, and the cramped space filled with a cold scent, something like disinfectant.

I stared at the floor numbers ticking upward, and asked anyway:

"Ryan, tell me the truth. Is this money for my living expenses, something your dad left me? Or did you all decide that these fifteen years of mine... deserved some kind of settlement?"

That last part was hard to get out.

Ryan turned to look at me. His lips moved as if he wanted to explain, then he swallowed it back.

"Let's just go up first."

The way he acted made my heart sink even further.

On the sixteenth floor, the doors opened, and the first person I saw was Vanessa.

She was sitting on a leather sofa in the reception area, clutching her purse, and she didn't look good.

When she saw Ryan and me come in together, she stood up, barely holding on to a polite expression.

"Aunt Eleanor."

Before I could answer, she went on, "Don't read too much into the money. Dad's gone. Feelings are one thing, reality is another. You looked after Dad all these years, and our family isn't unreasonable."

The moment those words came out, my ears started ringing.

So I was right.

My throat tightened. I stared at her. "So the $1.24 million is compensation you all worked out?"

Vanessa hesitated, but she didn't deny it.

"We can't have you doing all that work for nothing."

For nothing.

Those words hit me like a slap, square across the face.

For a moment I couldn't even catch my breath.

It wasn't because the money was too little, or too much. It was that fifteen years of early mornings and late nights, the smell of medicine and urine, the lines at the hospital, getting up three or four times a night, wiping his forehead with a towel over and over when he ran a fever... and in her mouth, it had all become "work."

As if I weren't the woman who'd shared his life, only someone who'd finished a hard job for the Whitakers.

"Vanessa!" Ryan's brows drew together.

"What did I say wrong?" Vanessa's voice rose too. "Shouldn't we make things clear up front? Dad's gone. The house, the savings, the funeral arrangements, doesn't all of it need to be sorted out? We can't let an outsider get a hand in, can we?"

A legal assistant was just bringing over tea. At the word "outsider," her steps slowed.

I stood where I was, my palms ice-cold.

Ryan's face darkened. "Say less."

Vanessa wasn't having it. "What good would saying less do? You know as well as I do that Dad always favored her. That bank card of his was in her hands the whole time he was in the hospital. What if the accounts don't add up? Sending her $1.24 million now is already more than decent."

"Enough," I finally said.

My voice was badly hoarse, but calmer than she'd expected.

"I won't touch a single cent of that money. If the reason you brought me here today is to tell me to my face that these fifteen years can be cashed out, then we don't need a lawyer. I'll close that account right now, go home, write you a receipt, and send the money back the way it came."

Vanessa clearly hadn't expected me to stand my ground like that. She froze for a second.

"Aunt Eleanor, that's not what I meant..."

"That's exactly what you meant." I looked at her.

"In your eyes, I took care of your father-in-law just to wait for this day. But don't forget, of the eleven times he was hospitalized, how many times did you come?

When he coughed up blood in the middle of the night, how many nights did you sit with him?

Now you sit here in an air-conditioned room and toss off 'we can't have you doing all that work for nothing' like it's nothing. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

The reception area went silent.

Even the typing at the front desk stopped for a moment.

Vanessa's face flushed bright red. She opened her mouth to fire back.

Just then, the door to the inner office opened, and a middle-aged man in gold-rimmed glasses stepped out.

"Ms. Hayes, Mr. Whitaker, Mrs. Whitaker, you can come in now."

It was the lawyer.

The three of us had no choice but to fall silent, and we filed in one after another.

As soon as I sat down, the lawyer drew several documents from a file folder and laid them out in neat order.

"Eight months ago, Mr. Richard Whitaker executed a notarized will at our firm, along with a supplementary statement and designated arrangements for its execution. We've asked you here today for the formal reading."

Eight months ago.

My heart clenched.

That was exactly when he'd first been hospitalized and they found his lungs had gotten worse.

So it turned out that, even back then, he'd already been preparing.