Page 22 of I Can't Even

Mr. Loren checked his notes on the table. “She requested that you keep her on the sill of the main bay window—for the view.” He gestured to the large window that overlooked the side yard, the neighbors’ houses, the town below, and the sea. “She said this is non-negotiable and failure to keep her on the windowsill at all times would be considered breaking the terms of the will.”

“Seriously?” I gestured at the urn. “What if there’s an earthquake and she gets knocked off the window sill?”

“If I were you I’d put her back as soon as it’s over,” Mr. Loren answered. A cackle sounded from the other side of the table. I glanced at my cousin who looked positively giddy.

“What?” I snapped.

“This is just delicious. You have three months of babysitting Mommy Dearest’s ashes and if you don’t, all of this and the millions in the bank all become mine.” Paisley held her arms out wide to encompass the house and all that was in it.

“That’s not true, is it?” I asked Mr. Loren. “We can leave the house, can’t we?”

He nodded. “Yes, but there are limits. Your mother was very specific. You can work, attend functions, live your lives, but every night you are to be here in this home, as are your sisters.”

Like we were wayward teens or something. Talk about conditional love.

“I. Can’t. Even.” I raised my hands in surrender and leaned back in my seat, as if I could push away this bonkers final request from Babs.

Soph and Em reentered the room. Em was puffy eyed and red nosed as if she’d been crying while Soph looked exhausted. Well, this parting gift from Mom would likely perk them right up. Not.

I picked up the urn. It weighed about four pounds, sort of like hefting a sack of flour. I glanced at my sisters and said, “You’re just in time. Babs and I were just going to see Paisley out.”

Chapter Eight

Of course, Paisley refused to leave as easily as that, but I tried. She was very concerned with how she would know we were following the dictates of the will. Mr. Loren suggested that trust would be involved. Yeah, Paisley, didn’t take that sitting down.

“I think there should be some way to check in,” Paisley said. “Maybe we could put a tracking device on the urn and on all of you so that I know you are tucked in right and tight where you’re supposed to be, you know, some sort of app or even better a body cam.”

“Don’t you mean ash cam,” Em said. She delivered it without even a hint of sarcasm, and I had to turn away before I laughed out loud.

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Soph said. Clearly, she was not in a joking mood. “Mom couldn’t expect us to just give up our lives. I mean that’s crazy, right? And there will be no tracking device or app. End of discussion.”

Paisley planted a hand on her hip and tipped her chin up in full argument mode. “No, it isn’t. There needs to be transparency as I intend to carry out my beloved aunt’s wishes to the letter.”

Em made a low growling noise in her throat. I looped my arm through hers just in case she made a diving tackle at Paisley. It seemed I wasn’t the only one that Paisley brought out the best in.

“Whatever you decide to do to monitor the situation is up to you, Ms. Lawson.” Mr. Loren scanned the room as if just realizing that he was outnumbered, four women to one man, and the women were getting agitated. “But I can assure you the two dictates of the will are simply that you sleep in your own beds at night and that her urn remains on the window sill for a period of three months.” He sighed. “I tried to talk her out of this, but...the will is air tight. There is no wiggle room.”

“But I live in New York and have pets,” I cried at the same time Soph said, “What about my children?”

“I know and I’m sorry.” Mr. Loren looked genuinely aggrieved. He turned to Paisley and in a voice that brooked no dissent, said, “Now if you’ll excuse us, Ms. Lawson, there are some matters I need to discuss with Barbara’s daughters in private.”

Paisley looked like she’d argue so I made a preemptive strike. Circling the table, I caught her by the elbow and hauled her out of her seat. I pulled her toward the door, barely opening it before I shoved her outside. She tottered on her spike heels for a moment, but I didn’t pause to see if she keeled over. I gave her a jaunty finger wave and slammed the door.

I returned to the dining room table to find Mr. Loren alone. I glanced around for my sisters, but they were gone. Interpreting my confusion, Mr. Loren said, “What I have to share next is just for you, so I took the liberty of asking Sophie and Emily to step out of the room for a moment. Would you mind closing the door?”

My inner alarm system was clanging really loud. I couldn’t imagine why Mr. Loren would want to talk to me alone. All right, I could imagine why but none of it was good. Given our difficult relationship, perhaps Babs had cut me out of the will. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to say so in front of the others. I supposed I should be relieved because then I could get back to my life, but instead I felt the hurt bubbling up inside of me, making me feel vulnerable and on the edge of tears.

I shook it off. I was not going to cry. I would accept whatever horrible thing my mother had done as just another twist of the knife in wounds that would likely never scar over. I closed the door and took my seat. I folded my hands on the table and waited.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m ready for whatever Babs has cooked up next.” Lies, but I hoped if I said it often enough, I’d start to believe it.

“This isn’t from your mother,” Mr. Loren said. “It’s from your father.”

I blinked and sat up. “Dad? But he’s been gone for seventeen years. Why now?”

“When he gave me this twenty years ago, he instructed me that should he die before your mother, I was to wait until she passed before giving it to you,” the attorney said. He took a large manila envelope out of his briefcase and handed it to me.

I studied it and then glanced at him. Howard Loren had been my parents’ attorney since forever. He and Dad were golf buddies back in the day and he kept Babs’s affairs in order after Dad passed. I had known him my whole life and never had I seen him appear ill at ease. Until now.

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