Page 6 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“Split three ways, right?” Uncle Mark repeats. “No, wait, it goes to the oldest son. Which means me. Or Caleb.”
My heart stops. Is this why I’m here? To see that ten million go to Caleb, who’ll blow it on luxury cars and five-figure bar tabs while my mother moves into some squalid care facility?
“The property goes to a single beneficiary,” Ms. Jimenez says. “As you said, tradition is that it goes to the eldest male.”
Caleb chortles and fist-pumps again. At worst, it’ll go to his dad, who will give him whatever he wants.
Here, have a million bucks for your birthday, son.
My hands clench on my lap. It’s okay. I will walk out of here no worse than I entered.
“In this case,” Ms. Jimenez continues, “it would have gone to Harris.”
Caleb snickers, and every muscle in me tenses. If he says anything about my dad—
Ms. Jimenez says, “Since Harris predeceased him, tradition needed to be changed.”
“It passes to me,” Caleb whispers. “Oldest male—”
“The property—in its entirety—goes to Harris’s daughter, Samantha.”
My head whips up. Ms. Jimenez looks at me and smiles, a kind smile that tells me I didn’t hear wrong.
To me? Did I misjudge my grandfather, tangled in my anger and grief?
“There is one stipulation,” Ms. Jimenez says. “In light of the break with tradition.”
My heart stops, and I stare at her, seeing apology in her eyes.
“It’s a simple one, though, Sam. And once you fulfill it, the land is yours.”
“Wh-what do I need to do?” I manage.
“Go back,” she says. “You need to spend a month at your family cottage. In Paynes Hollow.”
Three
When Gail drops me off at the care home, I’m still shaking. She says something as I go, but my swirling rage and impotence drowns it out.
I love my aunt. Adore her. But right now, as she tries to tell me it won’t be that bad, that she’ll come to Paynes Hollow with me, all I can feel is the scorch of betrayal.
I’m being unfair. I know that. Gail asked the lawyer every question she could think of to get me out of this devil’s bargain. What if I refuse? Does the property go to Gail and her brother? She could gift me her share that way.
No, if I refuse, it goes to distant relatives, and I can’t even tell myself maybetheyneed the money—they run a Fortune 500 company.
The only person I want to see right now is my mother. I want to see that light in her eyes that tells me she’s my mother again.
After Dad died, Mom and I muddled through, growing closer in our grief and confusion. But then I hit my teen years, and when I lashed out, my wonderfully calm mom was so implacable it only enraged me more, like punching a brick wall.
Gail would blame my trauma, but I blame me. At the time, though, I blamed Mom—blamed her for marrying Dad, for not seeing what he was. All breathtakingly unfair, but at fifteen, I was a seething blackhole of repressed rage and hormones and grief, and I aimed it all at my poor mother, to the point where I’d moved in with Gail.
I can’t give my mom back what should have been our last few good years together, but I can make damn sure she gets the best care now, whatever the cost.
Even if the cost is going back to Paynes Hollow?
I stride through the care-facility doors, inhale the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon buns, and my pulse slows. Then I see Vickie, looking up from her paperwork to shake her head, and my insides shrivel. It’s all I can do to cross those last few feet to her.
“I’m too late,” I whisper.
