Page 43 of This Is How It Started
Brooke drops her gaze to the floor. “He left me this house, which has a mortgage.”
A mortgage? My parents owned the Victorian free and clear. My father paid off the loan when my safta died with the money from his inheritance. “I thought it was paid off.”
“How do you think your father bought out your mother’s share when they got divorced, Rachel?” Brooke is looking at me like I live in la-la land. “He had to take out a second.”
I feel the sudden urge to remind her that he wouldn’t have had to if she hadn’t come along and inserted herself into my mother and father’s marriage. But that isn’t really fair. My father was just as much to blame as Brooke. As the cliché goes: it takes two to tango.
“You’re a real estate agent, Rachel. I’m sure you have a fairly good idea how much this house is worth. Now divide that by two.” She waits as if she’s letting me do the math. “Your father didn’t have that kind of cash.”
“What about his half of the practice?” It was probably worth more than even the house and a cash cow to boot.
“What about it?”
“You could sell it to his partners. I’m sure they wouldn’t pass up a chance to buy.”
Again that look. “Your father’s piece of the business went to your mother when he died. It was part of your parents’ divorce settlement, as was the bulk of his investments.”
I’d never spoken to my parents about how they had gone about dividing up more than thirty years of a life together. I was too busy mourning the loss of my broken family. My mother, however, was entitled to every cent. It may have been my father’s money that bought this house, but it was my mother who made it a home. It was my mother who raised his children. And my mother who made sure my father lived in the lap of comfort. And his thanks was to run off with another woman.
Maybe it was hearing the condescension in Brooke’s voice or finding Josh’s love letters that makes me throw whatever loose hold I have on tact right out the window. “You must’ve known California was a community property state when you got involved with my father in the first place.”
She shoots me a look, then, in a voice I can only describe as facetious, says, “I had hoped he was so rich it wouldn’t matter.”
I don’t know what to make of this woman. I’ve only ever been rude to her, and yet she lets me live here and is even nice about it. The revelation that she’s part of a grief group could’ve knocked me over with a feather. And here she is willing to give up her house and wait on a group of rich writers for...okay, it’s a lot of cash. But still.
“Brooke, why don’t you just sell the house? You said it yourself. It’s worth a fortune.” Take your ill-gotten gains and run.
She squints at me. “The hell I will. Your father loved this house. He wanted it for you guys. If you ever needed a place to land.” She emphasizes that last part, her meaning clear.Like now.“Eventually, I’ll pass it on to the three of you. That was his fervent wish, his legacy.” Her eyes mist, and I look away, having nothing to add.
It seems that Brooke, my father’s child bride, has won this round.
Chapter 17
Who is Beth Hardesty?
I forgot to set my alarm and, as I stare at the Kitty Cat Klock, realize I have exactly forty minutes to meet Campbell and Jessica at the house on Liberty.
Shit, shit, shit.
I get out of bed so fast I get tangled in the blankets and nearly fall into the desk where Josh’s laptop still sits. I don’t have time to think about that now. Later.
I take the shortest shower known to mankind, throw on a pair of black pants, a white sweater and suede booties, then rush down the stairs. As much as I don’t want to, I force myself to drive. The problem is that Kyle’s work truck is parked behind me in the driveway. I don’t have time for this.
I march to the pool house, where I find him up on the roof.
“Hey, Kyle, you’re blocking me,” I call up to him and motion that he needs to move his truck.
“Give me a sec,” he yells down.
I don’t have a sec, but I wait anyway, my anxiety building over having to get behind the wheel. This time of the morning, there will be traffic. Even on a non-traffic day it could take fifteen minutes, and I’m up against the clock as it is.
Kyle finally comes down the ladder, stops to scoop his coffee thermos off the ground and saunters over to his pickup like he’s got all the time in the world.
By the time I make it down the driveway and onto Vallejo, I’m a bundle of nerves. Thankfully, Divisadero is light today, and I manage to arrive at the Craftsman unscathed with four minutes to spare. I’m still shaking when I snag a parking space a block away and use the extra time to collect myself.
Campbell and Jess are waiting for me on the sidewalk in the front of the house. Jess is nauseatingly adorable as usual. She’s in a winter-white fitted knit cowl-neck dress and a pair of gorgeous suede boots. Campbell says she has a meeting at noon at the Serena & Lily campus in Sausalito, so we don’t have time to waste. She’s been working for the furniture company for two years, and except for the commute to Marin County every day, Campbell says she loves it.
Jess greets me with a giant hug. “Hey, stranger. How are you?” She rubs my arms, steps back and assesses me. “You look great,” she says in a way that lets me know that I don’t. “You okay?”
