Page 4 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
What a surprise.
Two
An hour later, I’m dragging my ass into that reading of the will. Gail and I have already argued over this. If my grandfather left me anything, she wants me to take it for my mother, whose care is about to bankrupt me. I’ve said it’s a moot point because if he left me anything, it’s a teacup and aKISS MY ASSdonkey sticker.
Now Gail hovers beside me, her whole body practically vibrating with apology. I force an “It’s okay” smile. She doesn’t buy it. Her round face is drawn and pale, her blue eyes shadowed to gray. She’s run her hands through her short dark hair enough that it’s sticking up, and when I motion for her to pat it down, she’s too upset to bother.
Get it over with. Take the teacup and the sticker, say “thank you very much,” and walk out with my head high.
For Gail’s sake, I won’t delay the reading. She needs and deserves whatever she gets. She’s a social worker, which I always think of as more a vocation than an occupation. It sure as hell doesn’t fill her bank account. I just need to be sure she doesn’t try to give any of her inheritance to me.
To Gail, I pretend money’s just “a bit tight.” The truth is that I’ve bookmarked a dozen websites on bankruptcy, and I’d file if I weren’t terrified of how it would affect my mother’s care.
Mom is in an awesome facility, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her there. Initially that meant giving up on med school, lying to everyone and saying that my years of volunteering suggested medicine wasn’t the job for me.
I’d landed a decent job in Chicago and zoomed from lab tech to researcher. Then the bank informed me that the med-school money was gone, and the doctors told me that Mom was declining fast. She needed me home to advocate for her. So I returned to Syracuse, where the only job I could get was an entry-level lab tech at half my former pay.
Then, six months ago…
“We hate to lose you, Sam, but we were told to cut in order of seniority, and you’re our newest hire.”
So now I’m running data from home, making minimum wage, every penny I’d saved in Chicago already gone to my mother’s bills.
Could I use money from my grandfather’s will? Yes, but it would kill me to take it.
And it would kill my mother if I didn’t.
“I hope you get everything,” I whisper to Gail as we enter the room.
“If I do, half of it goes to you.”
She catches my expression, sighs and shakes her head.
What if shedidget everything? My uncle has his own money—plenty of it. Maybe my grandfather finally did the right thing and left it all to Gail, and I could agree to accept a sliver. Just enough to banish the specter of financial ruin.
“Miss Payne,” a voice says, and I look up to see an elderly woman in a perfect pantsuit. “Isabella Jimenez, your grandfather’s lawyer. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I nod mutely.
“If you and Gail will take a seat.” She waves at a table. “We can begin.”
So, I get a teacup. Not even joking. Okay, that had been an educated guess. My grandmother had collected teacups, and she always said that she’d leave me my favorite: a Wedgwood decorated with rabbits.Sadly, the ancientKISS MY ASSdonkey sticker that adorned the basement beer fridge isn’t mentioned.
There’s a seemingly endless list of bequeathments. My grandfather’s long-suffering housekeeper gets a few things, though far less than she deserves. Even the boy who cut the lawn receives the lawn tractor, and I can’t help but wonder if this was why my grandfather insisted I be here.
Imagine what you could have gotten, Samantha, if you’d just sucked it up and pandered to me like everyone else.
When my phone vibrates with a text, I check it under the table.
It’s a nurse from Mom’s care home.
Vickie: Your mom is having an excellent day, and she’s asking for you. Can I tell her you’re on your way?
That isn’t a guilt-nudge. Vickie knows she only needs to say the words “good day” and I’ll fly out the door. For an excellent day, I might not even remember to put on shoes.
Gail sees the text.
“Go,” she whispers.
