Irene is adjusting to their new circumstances better than Huck expected. She’s now sleeping in Maia’s room. They have developed a routine. Irene worries about money, he knows, but guess what—so does everyone else in the world.
Irene’s attorney in Iowa City calls and leaves a message while they’re out on a charter. Her mother-in-law’s estate is through probate and Milly Steele has left behind “assets,” though in the message, the attorney doesn’t say what kind.
“Do you think it’s money?” Irene asks Huck. “Do you think it’s a lot of money? Do you think Russ used Milly’s account as a place to hide cash? Do you think Milly knew what Russ was doing? Was she in on it?”
Most of these questions sound rhetorical, so Huck just answers the first. “Assets could mean money,” Huck says. “Or it could mean a pile of crocheted afghans and used bingo cards.”
“You’re making an old-lady joke,” Irene says. “By definition, assets are worth something. Maybe Milly owned real estate I don’t know about?” Her voice is hopeful, then, sounding defeated, she says, “I’m actually hoping that Russ hid money with his ninety-seven-year-old mother and that now it will be mine and somehow the FBI won’t find out.”
“And you won’t tell them?”
“I’m not sure,” Irene says. She fiddles with the end of her chestnut braid, worrying the band that keeps it together, which is something Huck has noticed her doing a lot recently. This gives Huck hope that Irene Steele is just a regular gal after all and not some kind of superhuman who elegantly copes with whatever life throws at her. “I hate to say it, but I might be tempted to keep it.” She honks out a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s probably afghans. Or her cane. Or a fifty-percent-off coupon for an order of wings at the Wig and Pen.”
Two days later, Huck sees the Jeep with the tinted windows parked outside the minimart in front of Rhumb Lines just as someone is climbing into the front seat. The “someone” appears to be a white female, small in stature. Huck chuckles. Probably just some local concerned about the sun. Although…if it were a local, he would have seen the Jeep before. Maybe she just bought it. It’s not impossible.
Irene gets hold of her Iowa City attorney, Ed Sorley. The assets are a collection of blue-chip stocks that Milly has apparently had for decades; converted to cash, they will net Irene one hundred and seventeen thousand dollars.
Irene is jubilant. “The assets are clean!” she says. “They were investments Russ’s father made years and years ago that Milly never touched.”
“And she left it all to you?” Huck says. “You’re rich!”
“It’s breathing room,” Irene says. “I’m going to split it four ways—me, Cash, Baker, and Maia.”
“Maia?”
“For her education.”
“AC…”
“Just let me do it, please,” Irene says. “She’s Russ’s daughter, Milly’s granddaughter. I’m not arguing with you about it.”
“Okay,” Huck says. “Should we celebrate? Maia is with Ayers tonight, so it’s just the two of us.”
“Shambles?” Irene says.
Huck chuckles. Shambles is Irene’s new obsession. It’s a brightly painted local bar at mile marker two on the Centerline Road that overlooks the Paradise Lumberyard and a mechanic’s car-strewn lot. The place puts the loca in local, which is maybe what Irene likes about it, along with the drinks. The first time they went, the bartender, Nathan, made Irene a rum punch that she claimed was “magic” (or maybe just strong). The food is better than it needs to be; it’s downright delicious.
Huck and Irene grab two bar stools, then order a couple of rum punches and pulled pork sandwiches with fries and slaw. They chat with the mechanic and his wife and a couple visiting from Toronto. Nathan slips Irene a second rum punch and, Huck suspects, maybe even a third, because by the time they’re ready to leave, Irene has talked the couple from Toronto into booking a fishing charter.
“Ha!” Irene says as they climb into the truck. “That was fun. And I made it rain! We have a full-day charter on Friday.”
“Good job, AC,” Huck says. When he pulls into the driveway at home, he turns off the ignition but he stays in the truck, and Irene stays in the truck, and it feels for all the world like he’s taking her home after a date. Should he kiss her? He promised to let her make the first move.
She places her hand on his thigh. She takes off her seat belt and scoots closer to him. She raises her face to his cheek; he can smell the rum and fruit on her breath. How magic were those rum punches? he wonders.
“AC,” he says. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
He warns her they’ll be difficult to read.
“It’s the story of their relationship,” he says. “Start to finish. I can give you the CliffsNotes version, if you’d rather?”
Irene shakes her head, clutching the journals to her chest. Instantly, he wants to snatch them back. Rosie never intended those journals for Huck’s eyes and she definitely never intended them for Irene’s eyes.
“When I found out about Rosie and Russ, I told myself that I would find a way to forgive them,” Irene says. “Maybe understanding how it all unfolded will make that easier.”
No, Huck thinks. It won’t. “Maybe,” he says.
She’s standing in front of her bedroom door. The air between them is charged—yes? Maia is away overnight for the first time since Irene moved in.
“I appreciate you giving these to me,” Irene says. “I’m sure it was a hard decision.”
“Torturous,”
