Page 55 of Give Me Strength

I blink, staring at the papers in shock. “Co-owner? But why?”

He takes a deep breath, his expression thoughtful. “Because real estate works in funny ways.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. You can’t just give me a house.”

“I can and I will. And this house is not just any house. It’s a home, filled with memories, both for me and for you. Making you a co-owner is my way of showing you that this is your home too. You’re not just a guest or someone under my care. You are so much more than that. You’ve always have been, to me, to Rachel.” His voice cracks. “You and I, we are family now. I want to make sure you have stability and a sense of belonging. A home base, so to speak. A place to come home to, no matter where life takes you.”

His words touch me deeply, and I swallow around the lump that forms. “But this is your house, unless… did Bonnie put you up to this?”

“She didn’t,” he deadpans, his voice kind but firm. “She brought it up, though. All I’m doing is setting things right, something I should have done years ago. And, umm, it’s what Rachel would’ve wanted.”

I look at the papers again, the legal language blurring as tears well up in my eyes. “I… I just can’t…” I pause, taking a deep breath as I consider my next words carefully. “You really don’t have to do this for me, Gilbert. I don’t deserve it.”

I don’t deserve you either, I almost add. The hurt that barrels through me at the thought almost has me taking it back.

Almost.

Because, like it or not — Rachel’s husband or not — I don’t have it in me to give him up.

Gilbert reaches out, gently placing a hand on mine. “You deserve this, and so much more,” he says softly. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere. This is our house now.” At my stunned expression, he quickly adds, “This place is as much yours as it is mine. I don’t just mean that sentimentally, I mean legally too. I want you to feel that sense of ownership. I know it’s a lot, so I’ll go over each document with you. Although, technically, I’m not giving it to you, not yet. We’re going to co-own it for a few years while I untangle the legal stuff. That’ll take a few years, give or take. In the meantime, you decide what you want to do with it.”

We sit together in the shared area, the twilight deepening into night as he patiently explains each document. And… it’s not just about the house.

It would’ve been simpler if it were just that. But no, it’s everything Rachel owned.

Or rather, everything Rachel and Mom owned.

Loaded doesn’t even come close in describing their combined net worth.

When Gilbert said he was setting things right because it’s what Rachel wanted, he meant that quite literally. Rachel had been in the process of getting Mom legally added to her assets before she died. It is a lot. After we finish with the legalities of the house, he goes through their financial investments — all of Rachel’s reverted to him as her husband — and I get cross-eyed at the numbers, simply signing as he explains what is what.

Even though I can’t touch any of it until I turn twenty-five — or after the settlement from Clement Blackwell expires, whichever happens first — Gilbert insists he would rather do this now because he knows all too well just how short life is. And also that, in the event something happened to him, he doesn’t want to take any chances that everything he and Rachel built in the last two decades will fall into the wrong hands.

That cryptic statement makes sense once we get to the paperwork adding me to the corporation that houses all of their combined real estate and miscellaneous businesses. Aspen Groove Psychiatry is the only business tied directly to Gilbert. Just as Rachel’s online choreography business was the only one tied directly to her. The rest fall under the corporation, and he explains that they did it that way to ensure anonymity, and a degree of separation between their personal and professional lives. Once I see the properties on the list, it makes sense.

There are the usuals one would expect: commercial real estate, apartment buildings, etc. But what surprises me the most is the fact that Rachel owned Brookfield Performing Arts Academy, plus around thirty other dance studios across the country. Only a handful are as recognizable as Brookfield, and the rest small-name studios that have produced incredible talent over the years. That was her thing — not so much collecting studios, more reviving them.

And Gilbert is just adding me to all of them, like it’s no big deal. So I stop questioning it, I just sign. And afterward, I’ll have a ton of questions for him. Starting with that has been weighing heavily on my mind. The one everyone keeps tiptoeing around, because they either think I didn’t know or didn’t understand. Namely, why did Dad punch him at the funeral? How could he hate Gilbert so much, when their wives were best friends? More than best friends? Dare I say, soulmates?

I might have been thirteen years old at the time, but I wasn’t blind.

And now, like a moth to a flame, I can’t keep my eyes off my dead teacher’s husband.

When we’re done, he packs it all up. The papers, that is. He’s saying something as he does so, something about Mr. Greenfield and more lawyers, and accountants and the like. I don’t say anything, just offer the occasional hum in acquiescence, so he knows I’m following along. Which I am. Mostly.

The weight of the evening settles on me, the significance of it all registers as the dots connecting. He didn’t just have me move into the other primary bedroom next to him, and he isn’t just adding me to all of their stuff. It’s more than that. It’s the significance of it all. He doesn’t just want me close to him, he’s putting us on a level playing field.

So I do just that. I simply look at Gilbert, really look at him, and something flutters in my chest.

It’s warm. Foreign.

Refreshing.

Familiar.

Is this what it feels like? Happiness?

My throat feels thick with emotion. My heart ricochets in my chest.

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