“I’d bet you would.” He smiles. “Always a poon hound from what I remember. That’s your problem… Makes it hard for you to get paid.”
“What the hell does that matter?”
“It matters because that’s all your grandparents—your grandmother, particularly—ever wanted… Was to see you married, I’m sure you know that.”
I snort. “Yeah, sure. Cutting me off from the family’s finances was sure a helluva way for my grandfather to communicate that. As for my grandmother, she was the only one who gave a shit and that’s why I’m here. So, if you don’t have anything else to talk about then I have a meeting with Ma’s funeral director. Unless you want me to pass a message to my sister, Hannah—who couldn’t seem to give two shits.”
“You’ll be able to give it to herself…if you agree to see her this weekend. Seems you’ve already been beat to the punch. Your sister,” he pauses for effect, “is getting married.”
I swallow. “Which one?”
“Hannah. She’s the blonde, if I remember. With that wide smile.” He smiles as if he’s imagining her—making me want to punch out his teeth.
My sisters have been always really beautiful. Both of them.
But where Hannah was fair and serious faced, my younger sister Sabrina was a brunette ball of energy. At least, that’s what they used to be.
From what I remember…
I’d been cut off from the Fletcher family, and that had its own consequences.
Of course, you lost your access to most of the finances, but you also lost your safety net, your seat at the table…
Your connection to your siblings was the last to go—the final thread to cut to make sure that no one dared crossed the line of the family name. That you didn’t dare step out of your space…
Or else your spot would be next.
I hadn’t drawn my siblings into the drama between my grandfather and me. I couldn’t do that to them.
Not to Hannah or Bri.
We’d already lost enough.
I nod at Frank—nod as if hearing Hannah’s nuptials news is the most natural conclusion on earth, and I slide back in my seat, heart beating, shoulders shrugging as I do my best to pretend I don’t give a shit.
Even when the word comes out full of heat—strangled and full of sand. “So?”
“So…?” Frank prompts, eyes pinched on my face from not getting the reaction he wanted. He guffaws like a child—a tantrum on the tip of his tongue. “I’m trying to tell you that you’re invited. Well, if you want to be, of course. I can’t very well make you go.”
“And I’m sure you’d break something, if you tried.”
“But” he interjects, “if you do go, I want you to know that there’s a nice little paycheck in it. For you and for me. Most importantly, for me.” He smiles at his own joke. “Turns out your grandmother—sly minx that she was—had updated her trust. Seems she was using another attorney outside of the family. And that lawyer had her own copy of your grandmother’s latest trust.” His blue eyes flash. “I, on the other hand, didn’t get this copy.”
“Gee, I wonder why. Maybe it had to do with your choice of aftershave. Ma was never too keen on the scent of ‘vulture.’”
Frank clears his throat, trying to ignore me. “Be that as it may… I hear this new trust involves you. Thing is: The trust briefing won’t be until after the wedding. Your grandmother’s new attorney,” he almost spits with disgust, “says it’ll be easier this way. All the family will be together and will be able to read what’s in their estate. And that includes you…but you’d have to return to your grandmother’s property.”
“In Connecticut. I have to be in Connecticut? To listen to the details of who gets what from her estate?”
The lawyer shrugs. “It’s the way she wanted it. The way she asked. The way she stipulated. Anyone who doesn’t attend at the reading will get cut out. I had explicit instructions to contact you. To inform you of the wedding. To make sure you were prepared.”
I frown. “Prepared for what?”
But the question hangs in the air. Because my cell phone picks now to start going off.
I wonder if it’s an alarm—some timer I forgot I set.
Until I look down and notice Nancy texting me for the second time today—this message even more urgent than the last.
I read the screen.
Hell-beast: Meet me in the bar in an hour.
It’s unlike her to text me twice in one day, though she’s definitely done it before.
The double texting has become more frequent in the last seven days, and I don’t pretend not to know why.
To know the very reason why she’s been so on edge with me lately.
But the Andrew I know today? He’s at his wit’s end.
And I type back so fast my fingers hurt, every ounce of my body taut like a string that Frank is taking pleasure in thrumming, my nerves almost standing on edge.
I reply fast, a lie forming just a little too damned easy.
Me: Too late. I’m there now.
I glance back up at Frank, shaking my head.
I know I’m pushing it. I’ve been pushing Nancy’s buttons all week.
But right now, I can’t muster up the urge to play nice.
Not with her. Or anyone.
“Sorry.” I glance up at Frank. “Boss is on my ass.” I clear my throat. “You were saying?”
“I was saying…” he starts. But my phone goes off again, chirping out loud.
I grab it.
“Do you need a moment?” Frank asks.
“No. No, I don’t,” I
