“And you went?”
“Absolutely not. My grandfather caught me trying to spend that dollar on candy and marched me right back up to her house to give it back again. I don’t remember their whole conversation, but there was a lot of hand-waving and finger-pointing, and it ended with him saying I was going to earn that dollar.” He looked back down at the photographs in his hands. “She didn’t need me and tried to say I could just go home and tell my grandfather that I hung some pictures or some other nonsense. But he and I didn’t keep secrets—except this one, I suppose—so I told her I’d best actually hang some pictures, then. She looked at me like I was crazy but said, ‘Come on, then. Let’s find something honest for you to do.’” He looked back up at me. “I liked her. I know that’s such a strange thing to say but—”
“I get it.”
He nodded. “I suppose you do. I started coming by on Sunday afternoons after church, just to see if she needed help with anything. It was just her and Miss Lillian in this big house, and I—I wanted to be someone my grandfather would be proud of.”
I felt tears pricking at my eyes. “I know I never met him, but I know he’s proud of you. And Ada is too.”
Wiping at his eye with the back of his right hand, Thomas nodded. “I hope so.”
I put my hand on top of his left, which still held the photographs. “I know so.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. “Thank you for these,” Thomas said eventually, gesturing to the pictures.
“Of course.” I hesitated. “She said your grandfather was one of the two loves of her life. She wouldn’t tell me who the other was. I guess I’ll never know now.” Thomas shifted slightly. “Wait. Do you know?”
“Not for certain, no. But I think love looks different to different folks.” He tilted his head at me. “If it didn’t”—he held up a picture—“I think I’d look different today.” He stood. “You should probably get back to your guests. Thank you again.”
I wanted to hug him. In a different life, we would have been cousins. But my earlier hug had made him uncomfortable, and we were in a room alone together with my father and new fiancé down the hall. “Can I shake your hand?” I asked eventually.
“Yes, Miss Kleinman. I’d like that.”
I held out my hand. “Please just call me Marilyn.”
He smiled over our clasped palms. “I hope we meet again soon, Marilyn.”
I watched him leave, then took a deep breath and steeled myself to return to the assembled guests.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
On Friday, Ada’s lawyer came to the house at nine. Lillian wanted to deal with the will before people descended on us for the third day of shiva. We decided not to do the full week of mourning and would cut it off with Shabbat that evening. We were exhausted and, as Ada would have said, it was simply too much fuss.
Mr. Cohen arrived, and we showed him into the living room.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” I said as they sat.
“Marilyn,” Lillian said. “You don’t understand. Mr. Cohen is here for you.”
“For me?”
The lawyer nodded. “Ada changed her will quite recently, leaving you as her primary beneficiary.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, it’s been a difficult few days. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you right.”
Lillian reached up and took my hand. “You heard him correctly. Sit, please.”
I sank onto the sofa as Mr. Cohen pulled a sheaf of papers thicker than my manuscript from his briefcase and set them on the coffee table in front of us. “It appears you’re quite a wealthy young woman,” he said as he began outlining properties, stocks, and other assets.
My head was spinning.
“I’m sorry, just a moment please. Lillian, this isn’t right. You deserve it. Not me.”
She shook her head. “She already gave me what I was getting. And we both discussed this before she made the change.” She squeezed my hand, which I hadn’t even realized she was still holding. “You’re free.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to process the implications of what they were saying. The Avalon houses. The Philadelphia properties. A building in New York City—a whole building. The car. The jewelry. This house.
“I can’t,” I said. “I don’t know what to do with this. It’s too much. Lillian, please, split it with me at least.”
But Lillian shook her head. “This is what Ada wanted. And me as well. Be happy.”
“There are a few conditions,” Mr. Cohen said. “There’s money in a trust for Thomas for after he finishes medical school.”
“Of course.”
“There’s an account set up for”—he glanced down at his notes—“a Frances O’Donnell as well.”
“Good.” Of course Ada took care of Thomas and Frannie.
“And Ada wanted Lillian to have Sally.”
“She never liked me anyway,” I said.
Sally licked my hand from Lillian’s lap as if she understood and disagreed. But then it dawned on me—
“Lillian—you’re staying here, aren’t you?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not.”
“You have to. Please. It’s your home.”
“No. Home was where Ada was. And this no longer is.”
“But—” I remembered Ada asking where Lillian was supposed to go when I suggested dismissing her. “No. You have to stay.”
“No,” she said lightly. “I’m going back to Chicago.”
“Please don’t go.”
She smiled sadly at me. “I have to. And you have your own life to begin. With the resources to do whatever you like.”
I thought for a moment. “I want the Avalon house that Frannie uses to go to her,” I said to Mr. Cohen, who nodded. “One of the row houses too. I—I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but—Ada always said real estate was the smartest investment. And she left me so much more than I could ever need.” Lillian squeezed my hand again, and it was as if I could feel Ada’s presence nodding approvingly at me.
“One to Lillian.” She started to protest, but I shushed her. “I don’t care what Ada gave you. This is what I’m giving you. And the money necessary for its upkeep.” She didn’t argue. “And one to Thomas—but can you tell him Ada left it to him, not me? I’m afraid he’d refuse if he knew it was from me.”
“I can stretch the truth a little there. I believe Ada would approve.”
“Good.” I may have been her blood, but Lillian, Frannie, and Thomas were her family before I even knew she existed. And that mattered so much more than any wealth I could ever accrue.
“There’s one more provision.”
“Which is?”
“She wants you to scatter her ashes.” He looked down at one of the papers in front of him. “This was extremely specific. You’re to go to the end of the jetty at the north end of Avalon—I assume you know where that is—alone. She was quite clear on the alone part. And scatter her ashes into the water there, on the ocean side, not the inlet side.” He looked up again. “I’m not sure I understand the difference, but she made me include it.”