Page 79 of More With You

“I… am sorry I haven’t visited or called sooner,” she says, at last. “It has been… very difficult for me and Mr. DuCate.” I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully, or maybe she just doesn’t know what to say.

I grip my glass, leaving finger impressions in the condensation. “I wasn’t expecting a call or a visit, so don’t worry about it.”

“That is not what I mean.” Her voice falters for a split-second, and she turns her face away, as if she can’t bear for me to see her vulnerable. “I should have visited. I should have called. At the very least, I should have helped you with the…” She trails off and I see tension in the muscles of her neck. Her jaw is clenched, and I know why. The sensation of gritting my teeth together to hold back the tears is all too familiar these days.

“You wouldn’t have agreed with any of my choices.” It’s not a joke, per se, but I hope it might ease some of the tension to just say it how it is.

A sad little laugh croaks from Cybil’s throat. “It was an unusual choice, but… I have been there on many an evening, and I have to say, it is truly beautiful down there, in that spot by the cypress. It is certainly where Ben would have chosen to have his friends and family celebrate his life.” She turns to look at me. “That is where you were married, wasn’t it?”

I nod.

“My goodness, Summer.” She shakes her head. “You must have the strength of a lion, to have stood there and said all of those things, knowing it was the place where you… were happiest, I suppose.”

I shrug, feeling my own teeth instinctively jam together. “Like you said, it’s what Ben would’ve chosen.” I pause. “Have you been there since the funeral?”

“All the time,” she confesses, adding, “but only when the weather is good. I used to love the rain, and every dramatic thunderstorm. Now, I cannot abide them. I hate them for… you know.”

I take a hiccupping breath. “I know. I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths.”

“You go there a lot, too?”

“All the time,” I parrot.

“I hear you’ve also been visiting Grace and Lyndsey a great deal,” Cybil continues: her voice thick and her eyes damp.

“As often as I can,” I confirm. “When the days get too hard, I can just call Grace and everything seems a little bit better, you know? She sees things in a way we don’t. She’ll tell me about her day, and the stories she’s told her dad, and it does make me wonder if she can actually see things we don’t. It’s like he’s… still around.”

Cybil lifts a handkerchief to her lower lids, dabbing away the moisture before it can mar her perfect makeup. “I could not have put it better myself. You have made a lasting impression on her, and on Lyndsey.”

“I’ve never had many friends, but I like to think I can count her among the select few,” I admit.

In the past three months, I’ve seen Grace and Lyndsey most weekends. At first, they came to me, but then Lyndsey invited me up to her place, in New Orleans, and I thought, “If not now, when?” I think it was a challenge of some kind, probably orchestrated between her and Ms. T, to see if they could get me behind the wheel again. Turns out, for Grace, I could. From that day, they’ve become the best part of my week, and Lyndsey has become the pseudo-sister I never knew I needed. Her boyfriend is wonderful, too, though he used to make himself scarce whenever I came around, in case it “set me off.” Now, he’s just another friendly face to bat away the loneliness. Another member of the motley crew.

Cybil clears her throat. “My husband and I were cleaning out Ben’s bungalow this week. I thought about calling you first, but… I was terribly ashamed, Summer. Ashamed of how I behaved when, once upon a time, I was in your shoes—twice over, in fact.”

“I don’t follow.” My voice is colder than I mean it to be, but the thought of them riffling through Ben’s things without so much as sending me a courtesy text sticks in my maw.

She clears her throat again, though it’s more of a cough to dislodge the lump that’s probably lodged in her gullet. “My high school sweetheart died in a car wreck, the summer before we left for college. We were engaged to be married.” Her voice hitches. “I often wonder what my life would be if he hadn’t died. Back then, I thought I would never find love again, but then I met my husband. He’s not perfect, by any stretch, but I was besotted the moment I met him. Now, I was from a “respectable” sort of family, but I was not on the same footing as the DuCates. My family were farmers. Owned quite a bit of land. But my parents worked hard for everything we had.”

Cybil pauses to take a sip of her lemonade and my mind reflects back to the black and white photo in their antique curio cabinet. The little girl with the sad eyes was Cybil, after all.

Dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin she continues, “His mother despised me, tried to give me an envelope of money to make me go away, as well as other tricks and underhand deeds, but… Well, I did not go away. I stood by Benjamin, and he stood by me, even though his mother threatened to cut him off. It was his father who relented, in the end. A fine man. He would have adored you; I am sure. Always favored an underdog.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I take a sip of my lemonade, hearing the croak in my voice.

“Because… I forgot,” she says simply. “I have been a DuCate for so long that I forgot what it was like to not be. I forgot what Benjamin’s father did for me, in supporting the marriage. I forgot that everyone needs an ally, and not everything can be taken at surface value. That is why I have brought you this.” She takes a sheaf of papers from the tote bag and pushes it across the table toward me.

I frown at it. “What is it?”

“The deed to this cottage, to say that I am sorry. So very sorry.” Her brow creases. “The deed to The Chevalet is also in there, though they came from Ben’s lawyer. We found them at his bungalow. You see, he adjusted his will the same evening I behaved so awfully toward you, and though there has not yet been a will reading, due to them not being able to contact you, there is an itemized list of what you will receive.”

My mouth hangs open and my eyelids twitch in their fight against fresh tears. I wasn’t supposed to cry today. Today was supposed to be one of the easier days.

“He left you everything, aside from Grace’s trust and the bungalow,” Cybil continues. “You see, his lawyer informed us that he had a contract with Vasily, to exchange properties—his bungalow for your cottage, with planning permission for an extension. I thought it rather strange, so I asked the lawyer why Ben would want a property exchange. He explained that Ben had said—”

“I told him, “Don’t you dare buy it,”” I fill in the blanks: my heart hurting.

She nods. “I suppose he thought an exchange was a workaround. However, as the contract was never signed, I purchased the cottage for you. With some discreet shifting around of names, which you must never speak of, I signed the contract, so the bungalow belongs to me. That being said, I intend to sell it, and give you the proceeds.” She blinks rapidly and sips her drink. “There is one condition, however.”

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