The attorney crossed his arms, leaning forward on the oak desk until his glasses slid to the tip of his narrow nose. “The house will go to both of you, along with any other assets inside. Your father’s personal accounts will be used to pay off any outstanding debts and the balance will be divvied between you and your brother.”
She had already found her father’s bank statements. There wasn’t much in his personal savings. He kept everything in the business account for the store.
“And the store belongs to Harrison,” the attorney repeated. “Along with all the business accounts, I’m afraid.”
She blinked at the man, feeling ten kinds of stupid. Her father hadn’t left the store to Harrison, he’d given it to him years ago, signed everything over on account of trying to avoid a small percentage of what was commonly referred to as a death tax.
“But my brother doesn’t want the store,” she’d told the attorney.
The man chuckled. “I don’t want this extra twenty pounds around my waist, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. Your brother already owns the store. He has for some time.”
When she left the attorney’s office her head was a mess.
Harrison had disappeared without even collecting his high school diploma. She had been the one who stayed. She filled her father’s prescriptions, did his laundry, and made countless fucking cakes for that goddamn store. But he gave it all to Harrison.
Staring around the empty aisles now, she wondered if her father ever liked her. She knew he never loved her, but this last slap in the face seemed to sting more than all the rest.
She dug out her phone, ignoring the fact that Giovanni hadn’t returned any of her calls and only sent a short text around six in the morning saying he’d call her later, which he never did.
What was he doing up so early? Had he even gone to bed? She couldn’t think about that right now. He was probably passed out at the hotel, hopefully sleeping off a great show.
She dialed Harrison and got his voicemail. “It’s me. I’m out. The store’s yours.” She laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “It’s been yours for ten years. I can’t handle this for you because it’s not part of the estate. You’re gonna have to come back and deal with this yourself.”
With nothing left to say, she hung up.
When she locked the store, she pulled the key off her keyring and shoved it through the mail slot. She was tired of taking care of other people’s crap, especially for people who never did a damn thing to take care of her.
On the way home, she made another call to the realtor.
“Erin, how’re the renovations coming along?”
“I’m ready to list it.”
“You’re sure? That would mean open houses and a possible short sale if we find a buyer willing to pay cash.”
“I’m sure.”
When she got home, she cleared out the cabinets, leaving only the food and two cups, two plates, two bowls, and a few pieces of silverware.
Just after three, the front door opened. “Hello?”
At the sound of Giovanni’s voice, she rushed to the hall but staggered to a stop when she saw the expression on his face. His hair was windblown and his cheeks rosy red. He looked tired and miserable.
A dirty sweatshirt hung over his broad shoulders and he was wearing carpenter jeans and work boots. “Are you going to a costume party?”
He gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny.”
He toed off his boots and crossed the distance to kiss her. She drew back at the unfamiliar scent of his skin. He didn’t smell like his usual self. He smelled like pine and cold winter wind. She had the suspicion he hadn’t come from Atlantic City.
“Where were you?”
“Working.” He went to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. “Where’s all the stuff?”
“I packed it. What are you looking for?”
“Something hot.”
She nudged him aside and pulled down a mug. “I can make coffee.”
He sat at the table and folded his arms, staring at the surface. His hands were chapped and he had a few cuts on his fingers.
“What happened to you?”
“Sit down. We need to talk.”
Those words were the furthest thing from inviting, but she forced herself to sit once she set the coffee pot to brew.
“How was your show?”
She’d been angry that he wasn’t texting or calling as much as she wanted, but she promised herself not to fight about that. She refused to let her self-doubt bully her common sense, and was trying really hard to handle this long distance stuff like a mature, rational woman. But now, there was definitely something ominous in the air and her self-preservation didn’t seem as stable.
“The show was a bust.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, but he pulled away.
“I took a job working for my dad.”