Page 8 of Until Summer Ends

“Hey.”

She passes me, not even stopping for a greeting. “Let’s get this over with.”

And hello to you, too.

I follow her inside, feeling like a grounded kid who makes sure to stay as silent as possible so as not to trigger their parent even more.The office is old-school, with massive, natural wood furniture and dark walls. It feels like stepping out of a beach town and into a high-end Connecticut office.

“We’re here for Mr. Burton,” Keira tells the young receptionist with an ice-cold tone. Apparently, she’s decided she’s being rude with everyone today.

“Sure thing,” the receptionist says, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears. “Take a seat.”

I sit in one of the chairs she pointed to, but Keira remains standing, her arms crossed, looking everywhere except in my direction. Low, instrumental music is the only thing occupying the space between us. The absence of words when we have so much to catch up on is so strange, it feels surreal. She’s angry I wasn’t there, but now that I am, she’d rather I disappear again.

I hang my hands between my knees, then say, “Is Xavier in daycare today?”

Finally, she meets my gaze, but only answers with a curt nod.

After another long moment of silence, she says, “Have you gone to see Mom?”

And we’re off to a great start.

I scratch my jaw. “Not yet. I might go this afternoon.”

“Right.”

Actually, it’ll probably be better if I just shut up while we wait. She seems to think the same, and after what feels like twenty lifetimes but was probably a minute, an older black man with gray hair and an expensive-looking suit comes out of the door behind the front desk, smiling.

“Mrs. McIntyre, Ms. Taylor?”

Crap.

Keira’s head snaps in my direction so fast, I fear she might break something. “So, you’re even too good for our last name now?” She snickers with a shake of her head. “You’ll never cease to amaze me.” Then, she walks forward to shake the lawyer’s hand, not giving me the time to answer.

My knuckles crack as I tighten my fists. I want to run after her and shake her by the shoulders, ask her howshecan bear to live with that name, but I know it’s useless. It never bothered her like it did me.

I knew our family name was synonymous to an insult in town before I was old enough to understand why. When my father would cause mayhem and end up being arrested once more, it wasn’t even the actions themselves I minded. I was used to them, used to the shame that inhabited our house like a fifth member of the family. What truly hurt was the way I was perceived because of them. Every time I’d think we’d gotten over the past crisis, and I was able to play with other kids without their parents telling them to stay away from “that McIntyre girl”, when I could be just Cassie to them, he’d do another reckless thing, and we’d be back to squareone. Eventually, there was no going back, and I remained Mac’s daughter 365 days a year.

So yes, the moment I was able to, I changed my last name to my middle name, which was also Ruth’s. Even if no one in New York knew who my father was,Idid, and I wanted to be rid of that burden.

But this is not the time to have this conversation, especially with her simmering anger so palpable, so I ignore her comment and greet Ruth’s lawyer as well, then follow him inside his office, where he invites us to sit and offers us each a glass of sparkling water.

“Thank you for meeting me today,” the man says as he tucks his tie down and sits. “I’m Stephen Nelson, Ruth’s lawyer.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say. We spoke on the phone twice, but always briefly, to settle things before today’s meeting.

“First off, I want to offer my deepest condolences again. Ruth was a good friend of mine, and she was a great woman.”

“Thank you,” Keira says. I feel like if I say something about our grandmother, she’ll bite my head off again, so I settle on a nod.

“Now, I’d like to know if she ever talked to either of you about what she wanted to have done after her passing?”

I shake my head but turn to Keira. While I didn’t know Ruth suffered from heart failure, if she still saw Keira regularly, there’s no way she hid it from her, so maybe they had the discussion at some point. I hate that Ruth decided to keep it all from me, even though I’m not surprised in the slightest. She was the proudest woman I knew. Never would have dared leave her house without a full face of makeup and a vintage, well-curated outfit.

“Not really, no,” Keira says. At least there’s that.

“All right, so let’s start from the beginning.” Mr. Nelson pulls two brown files out of his desk and hands one to each of us. Keira doesn’t wait to open it, so I do the same. There must be around sixty pages in there, all written in legal jargon. I put the file down and glance back at Ruth’s lawyer.

“Ruth was very specific in her post-mortem demands,” he says, then scrolls on his computer before turning the screen in our direction so we can see the page he settled on. “First, she was adamant that her will be executed by both of you. If one hadn’t shown up, she didn’t want me to deal with only the other.”

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