Page 61 of Fight Or Flight

She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut. “I’d rather you just tell me now.”

He didn’t know what was happening. Who would call her with terrible news? Maybe her boss to tell her she’d been fired and should stay in Mapleton forever?

Nah.

He’d never get that lucky.

“Fine. Bye.” She stabbed the red button on the screen, then tossed her phone on the table.

“Who was that?”

She didn’t move. Only stared at the wall across from her as if she wanted to punch it. “Speeler.”

“What did he say?”

She twisted her head toward him slowly, as if it weighed fifty pounds, then stared into his eyes as if she didn’t believe what she was about to say.

“Anne and Emily are contesting the will.”

thirteen

Natalie woke up Tuesday morning, after a night of spotty sleep, and got dressed. Speeler had been annoyingly brief the night before, insisting on discussing the ramifications of Anne and Emily’s legal action in person. At least he’d scheduled their appointment for eight a.m., so she could get it over with quickly and figure out how to deal with it.

Hopefully, before her flight that night.

She went to the barn, pulled out Elizabeth’s old bike, and started for Speeler’s office. When she arrived, she saw Ethan right away waiting patiently in front of Speeler’s door and wearing navy pants and a button-down shirt.

He was so calm, so patient.

She leaned the bike against the red-brick wall and walked to him. She wanted to walk right into his arms, press her face against his chest, but she knew it would be an overstep of the boundary they’d laid. They’d had one day and one day only to do whatever felt good before she left.

And shewasleaving.

“Good morning,” she said to him.

He took a step toward her, then paused, and finally retreated. “Morning.”

Just then, Chelsea’s little car pulled up and stopped. She got out and walked up the sidewalk, wearing baggy jean overall shorts covered in floral graffiti over a white crop top, with Timberland boots on her feet. She looked like a nineties flower child rapper .

Somehow, she pulled it off perfectly.

“So,” she said, stopping in front of them. “Anne’s pissed off she lost the election and decided she’d like to take it out on us?”

Speeler’s crusty throat cleared behind her, making Natalie jump. She turned to find him standing in the doorway. “It would appear so, Ms. Davenport.”

He turned and stepped inside, then barked over his shoulder, “Don’t just stand there.”

Natalie, Ethan, and Chelsea trotted behind him, through the lobby, down the hall, and into the godforsaken conference room where this whole mess had begun two weeks earlier.

He sat at the top of the table, took a drink of coffee, shuffled some papers, and then cleared his throat again.

She wanted to scream at him to get on with it. The rising dread was filling her ears with a rushing noise she could no longer ignore.

“So, as you all know, Anne’s hare-brained lawyer called last night to tell me she is proceeding with legal action to contest the will.”

“Can she do that?” Chelsea asked.

“Anyone can contest a will. The question is, will she succeed?”

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