Uncle Gregor’s words suddenly made sense. He’d been right. Broken hearts weren’t a bad thing. Sometimes it took a heart breaking to make it bigger. Because like anything else, a heart had to grow, and when there wasn’t any more room, then it had to break to make more.
Behind me, I felt the spirits of Mams and Uncle Gregor watching me, and they were smiling.
Chapter 36
A week passed after Mams’ funeral. There were no visitors, nothing except orders to fill and occasional work at Caffeine’s. I still had the key to the building in the woods, but I didn’t go back. It didn’t feel right anymore, as if the spot where I’d felt so much happiness in my youth wasn’t mine now. It belonged to a wandering soul who didn’t need me watching him. Maybe Brayden would go with him, along with a group of his friends. Maybe there’d be poker and old stories, but either way, my story there was over.
Rebecca and I were in the kitchen laughing over chocolate dipped strawberries when the phone rang. It was a call from a lawyer. He was a sweet man who talked about my uncle and life before suddenly informing me that my presence was requested at Mams’ will reading the next day.
“But I don’t want anything,” I protested.
The man on the other end of the line chuckled. “What she’s left you is … well, I’m not quite sure anyone will …” He paused and inhaled. “It would be an honor if you joined us.”
There’d been more stuttering after that, but the only thing it had gotten me was more chuckles and a promise to be there.
In the end, the call hung over my head like a cloud for the rest of the day, following me through orders, through work at Caffeine’s, into my bed, and into the van the next morning. Outside, the sun was shining. There was no rain. I kept looking for grey clouds, but there was only blue.
The sun was hot, beating down on the van as I pulled into the small parking lot of a house that had been turned into an office. Mellow & Mayvern, the sign outside read. There were two other cars in the lot along with Heathcliff’s black F150. With only a cursory glance at them, I entered the building. The interior had that musty smell, the kind that made you wonder what year the house had been built in, and the air was too cold, as if the air conditioner never cut off.
A young secretary, pretty with brown upswept hair, motioned me toward a small room with a long wooden table. “They’re ready,” she informed me.
I stepped inside, my gaze going to the family sitting around the conference room; Lynn, Dusty, Samantha, Chris, and Heathcliff. The men stood when I entered, and I took a seat at the far end of the table near a small American flag sitting in a brass holder. Rather than looking at the family, I gazed at my reflection in the shining mahogany. Being here didn’t feel right.
The lawyer I’d talked to the day before was a cheery man, bald except for tufts of white hair above his ears. He wore glasses that were too small for his face, making his cheeks look like a squirrel’s when it was stuffed with acorns.
“Now that everyone’s here,” he said. “I’m George Mayvern. I’ve been working with Mams for years now, mostly over her charity stuff, and I want to take a moment to express how sorry I am at your loss.” He paused, but no one said anything. Laying out a stack of papers on the table in front of him, he pushed up his glasses, and said, “Mams didn’t have much really. She left the family business to Dusty, and the land she and Paps owned goes to the family. She’d like her charity funds to be taken over by Lynn and Samantha.”
He looked up, his gaze sweeping the table before landing on Heathcliff. “Oh, as for the land, there was one exception.” He nodded at Heathcliff. “She wanted the land around the shed at the back of the property, about two acres, to go to her grandson, Max. It’ll be parceled appropriately.” He smiled. “And that’s about it. It was pretty cut and dry … except,” he looked at me, “what she left you.”
The family’s gazes moved down the table toward me, and my cheeks flushed. “I’m sure whatever it is can go to the family,” I stuttered. “I don’t—”
A pair of old boots were suddenly slapped onto the table, a deafening silence following.
The lawyer cleared his throat, lifting a piece of paper and squinting through his glasses. “And as for my husband’s old combat boots, I’d like them to go to Clare Macy,” George read. “After all these years, they aren’t much to look at it. They’ve seen a lot of rough roads.” The lawyer looked up at me. “Give them to Clare, and tell her I know she’ll understand why.”
I stared, my gaze locked on the boots, my hands trembling where they rested in my lap under the table.
Mams had given me Paps’ shoes.
Around me, the family started speaking, their voices rising as they asked the lawyer about other parts of the will, but the only thing I saw were the boots.
She’d given me her husband’s shoes.
I thought of Heathcliff’s sneakers resting in my bedroom closet, and I had to clench my fists to control the shaking in my body.
At some point someone spoke to me, a small container slid in front of my face.