Page 9 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
I could give her that. I just need to have the guts to do it.
As I walk to the bus stop, I call Gail.
“Hey,” she says, her voice tentative.
“I need to be sure,” I say.
“Sure about…?”
“That it’s real. That if I spend a month there, I’ll get the money for Mom. That there’s no way this is a trick, no loopholes I can stumble through. I don’t need ten million dollars. But I have to be sure that I will getenough.”
“Of course.” Her voice firms, and I can imagine her straightening. “Let me call Ms. Jimenez. I’ll tell her we want to talk. I won’t let you go through this if there’s any chance your grandfather is playing games. And I won’t let you go through it alone.”
Four
Three days later, Gail and I are on our way to Paynes Hollow, and while we’ve stopped arguing, we’re now in a chilly stalemate.
I don’t want her here, and I say that in the most loving way. It makes zero sense for her to come along. My job can be done remotely; hers can’t. Spending a month in Paynes Hollow means she’s going to juggle video sessions with twice-weekly two-hour drives to Syracuse, which is ridiculous. Then there’s Carlos, the guy she was kinda-sorta seeing, who decided Gail spending a month with me meant she wasn’t committed to moving forward, so he ended the relationship. There’s also her apartment, which the landlord wouldn’t let her short-term-rent to a visiting colleague, meaning she won’t even catch a break there.
“I just inherited one-third of a multimillion-dollar estate, Sam,” she said when I argued. “I don’t need to sublet my apartment. And if Carlos balked at me being gone for a month on a family emergency, he’s not the guy I’m looking for.”
Maybe, but she’s still putting her life on hold to babysit me. Which is uncomfortably close to when I’d moved in with her, oblivious to the fact that I must have seriously cramped her post-college lifestyle.
I haven’t been to Paynes Hollow in fourteen years, but neither has Gail. Dad had been a teenager when Gail was born, and he’d beenthe one who took her to movies and concerts and came to her dance recitals and school plays. Her father certainly didn’t.
I’m very aware of the sacrifice she’s making for me, but it feels as if I’m still messing up, expecting everyone else to fix my problems. Like a toddler who insists she can make her own breakfast, but the adults need to hover, knowing she can’t handle it on her own.
If Gail is adamant about coming along, I want us to pretend it’s a vacation. Pretend I’m not terrified of going back to Paynes Hollow. Pretend our lives weren’t shattered on that shore.
Hey, Gramps! Thanks for the month-long holiday on the lake! Oh, and thanks for the cool ten mil I’ll get for staying there. Joke’s on you.
But I’m not getting the fantasy. I’m getting this: driving in stony silence along the I-90, as if we’re heading to another funeral.
“Maybe you could invite Carlos up for the weekend,” I say. “Grandpa forgot to close that loophole. We could fill all three cottages and have a month-long beach party.”
“If Carlos wanted to see me, he could have suggested that. He did not.”
“Maybe you’re upset because he didn’t suggest coming to visit, and he’s upset because you didn’t invite him.”
She shakes her head and adjusts her sunglasses. “You’re seeing something there that wasn’t there, Sam. I know you want me to be happy. But I am.” She smiles over. “Happy to be spending the summer with a very dear friend, who happens to be my niece. How lucky is that?”
I sigh and look out the window.
Gail says, “If you’d like to discuss romance, we could talk about the state of your love life.”
I snort.
“Yep,” she says. “You haven’t dated since you got back from Chicago. You’re too busy with your mom, and I get that. So no dating talk. I also won’t mention you getting another cat.”
I tense, and she sighs, her voice dropping as she says, “That won’t happen again, Sam. The next time you get a pet, you’ll be able to afford any cost. Also, as I have pointed out many times, even the vet said there was only a twenty percent chance that chemo would have helpedLucille. I couldn’t have paid with those odds either. But next time, it will be different.” She grins over. “You’ll be able to get a dozen cats and buy a house big enough to hold them. World’s youngest cat lady.”
“I do not want to be cleaning litter boxes for a dozen cats. And can you imagine the shedding? Not to mention the smell.” I shudder.
“Pfft. You’re going to be rich, girl. You can hire someone to clean those boxes and brush those cats and vacuum up the fur. Tenmilliondollars.”
“Before taxes.”
She lowers her shades to goggle at me. “At that level, who cares about taxes? Even with the lousiest advisor, you’d walk away with five mil. Ms. Jimenez says you should clear seven. Seven. Million. Dollars. You can do anything you want.”
