I blushed. “I was a curator for a small art museum in Maine. Although I have an advanced degree in art history, I don’t think that makes me an expert in much of anything.”
Again, the lawyer patted the stack of papers. “Yes, well, we are all glad you’re here to see about things and settle the estate. As we discussed over the phone, I know the Beaufort Heritage Society would be interested in acquiring the property for a house museum. Of course, the distribution of the house and its contents is completely up to you, but I’m sure someone of your background is aware of its value in more than simply monetary terms.”
“I was actually hoping to live in it.” The words sounded even more ridiculous said out loud rather than just as jumbled thoughts in my head. They’d been the reason I’d left my job and sold my house and driven from Farmington, Maine. I was still surprised at how far a person could go fueled only by quiet desperation.
Mr. Williams cleared his throat. “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear when we spoke. I was in the house last week to assess the situation.” He closed his mouth, as if afraid something he didn’t want to say might leak out. After a moment he continued. “Miss Edith was a recluse. And to my knowledge nobody’s been inside the house in two decades—about the time Cal left. The last time I saw her was about a month before she died, when she came to see me about her will. She knew she was ill, and wanted to get her things in order.”
I adjusted myself in my seat as he waited for me to say something. But I was a New Englander, more comfortable with silence than small talk.
He cleared his throat again. “There’s one other thing I preferred to speak to you about in person. Although Miss Edith left Gibbes a generous sum, she left the house and all its contents to Cal, since he was the eldest. Since Gibbes was raised in that house, I thought that perhaps I could prevail upon you to allow him to choose an item or two of furniture. We’d have it appraised, of course, and he would reimburse you for the value, but I know he’d appreciate having a part of his childhood.”
“Gibbes?”
“Cal’s brother. Ten years younger than Cal.”
I imagined that my look of surprise mirrored his own. “Cal has a brother?”
Mr. Williams’s face remained impassive, but I detected a slight raising of his brows. “Yes. He’s a pediatrician here in Beaufort. Didn’t Cal . . . ?” He stopped, his words suspended between us, mocking me. Mocking my marriage to an apparent stranger.
“No,” I said, struggling to hide my embarrassment.
Mr. Williams smiled, making him appear as the warm grandfather he probably was. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Heyward. My family’s firm has been legal counsel to the Heywards for more than four generations, but even I wasn’t privy to their private matters. I know Cal left suddenly and it broke Miss Edith’s heart. There was some sort of estrangement but she never spoke of it. I don’t mean to pry into your life or Cal’s life. I’m just glad you’re here to settle things for the Heyward family, and do what you think is fitting. To lay old bones to rest, so to speak.”
He continued to smile, but the chill that swept down my back at the mention of old bones made me shiver.
“Mrs. Heyward . . . may I call you Merritt?”
I nodded, glad to hear my name spoken aloud, needing something solid to anchor me to this place of strangers who were telling me things that couldn’t possibly be right.
“Merritt. Miss Edith and my mother, Betsy, were best friends, and I was sort of a father figure for Cal and Gibbes after their parents died. You could say I loved them both like my own.” His eyes misted. “I’ve been very eager to meet the woman who finally managed to tame our Cal.”
I looked down at my hands, feeling very close to tears. “I didn’t tame him, Mr. Williams,” I said, knowing that such a thing would have been like pushing back a hurricane wind with my hands. I paused, taking deep breaths as he waited for me to speak. “I killed him.”
*
LORALEE
MCDONOUGH, GEORGIA
MAY 2014
In her thirty-six years on earth, Loralee Purvis Connors had learned the three main truths about life: Time was a slippery thing, pain was temporary, and death wasn’t something to be afraid of. This last one she hadn’t learned from all the tent revivals her mama had dragged her to when she was a little girl. Life itself had taught her that when somebody you loved died, it was almost a relief not having to worry anymore when it would happen. Because we all die eventually. Finally knowing the answer of when took away the unbearable part of wondering.