Page 1 of Middle Ground
CHAPTER 1
JACKSON
“Now,we just have the matter of Dog Days Inn.”
I simply blink at the lawyer sitting across from me. Turning to my parents, I find them equally as confused. Everything else in my grandmother’s will has been pretty standard, self-explanatory stuff. This, however, is not.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but what is Dog Days Inn?”
The lawyer’s brows furrow. He looks from the document in his hands, then up to my face. “It’s in a place called Fraisier Creek,” he supplies, as if that’s supposed to tell me anything.
I don’t even know where the hell Fraisier Creekis.
“And what does this have to do with my mother?” Dad asks from beside me.
“Well, she owned it,” the lawyer replies. “Half of it, anyway.”
Looking at the rest of my family, aunts and uncles and cousins, I can tell that no one has a clue what he’s talking about. Surely someone would know about this place if it were true.
I shake my head. “I think there might have been some kind of mistake. She didn’t own an inn.”
“It’s written here in her will,” he replies. He turns the paper around and points at a section. “And you, Jackson, stand to inherit her shares.”
“Me?”
I pull the paper across the desk. It isn’t like I expected the lawyer to flat out lie to my face, but seeing the proof for myself hardly makes it feel real. But there it is, in writing. My grandmother owned half of an inn.
Cherie, what the hell were you thinking?
She didn’t like being called Grandma or Nana or anything of the sort, but right now, thinking her name feels like a curse. Especially because I would have a few choice words for her if she were alive to hear them.
It’s been a month since her funeral, but I can still hear her voice—can still picture the way she would smile as I scolded her and then crack jokes to make me laugh off my frustration. The ache in my chest deepens.
“Dog Days Inn is in a small town a few hours north of here,” the lawyer continues. “I have the contact information for you.”
I hear the words he’s saying, but they hardly register.
Cherie Cheval did as she pleased and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about it. That’s what I loved about her most—her insistence in defying expectations and living life on her terms. Still, just because I loved her and her roundabout way of life didn’t mean that I approved of every decision she made. Buying into this random business, for instance, would not have been one of them.
It’s not at all uncommon for people with the kind of wealth my grandmother had amassed to invest some of it elsewhere. But it seems a waste to bankroll a small-time business like this—not when she could have easily bought a hockey team or half of the goddamn city.
The meeting carries on, the lawyer going over the rest of the will and laying out what everyone else stands to inherit. I’m in a fog, though, which isn’t unusual for me as of late. My mind keeps spinning, and I barely notice when they all stand to leave.
“Jackson?”
As my family shuffles out of the office, I hang back. The lawyer holds an envelope out to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
He offers me a sympathetic smile. I wonder how many of those an estate lawyer gives out in a day. “A letter from your grandmother. It was in the file with her will. She wanted me to give it to you.”
Wary, I take the envelope and stuff it in the pocket of my suit jacket. I’m not even sure why I wore a suit today, but it felt weird leaving home in something more casual.
I nod, clearing my throat. “Thanks.”
When I step outside, the sounds of the city greet me. I’m used to the rush of cars and the crush of bodies on sidewalks, but these days, it all sounds like white noise. These past few weeks, I’ve felt like I’ve been trapped underwater, moving in slow motion. Yet all around me, the world is still spinning.
Life goes on, even when you’re at a standstill.
