“It’s okay. I’m inherently yours.”
I jump when the phone rings loudly, putting an end to our conversation. I rush over to answer it and tell Manuel to send up the agent from Sotheby’s.
When I hang up, Declan walks to me and wraps himself around me. I hug him and listen to his heart, hoping I’ve reassured him enough to take the guilt of his feelings away from him. By the time the knock on the door comes, we’re both calm and in a better place since the outburst.
“Good morning,” the agent greets, shaking both mine and Declan’s hands. “I’m Ray; it’s nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Declan says. “We’re just pressed for time and need to get the ball rolling on this property.”
“Of course. If you don’t mind, can I take a look around?”
“Please.”
Declan waits in the living room while I show Ray around the penthouse as he takes notes and asks a few questions here and there. We then regroup as we sit down at the dining table.
“How many units was this originally?” Ray asks.
“It was four units before it was renovated into one.”
After a few more questions, he pulls the amenities sheet out and begins punching numbers on his calculator.
“First, can I ask you what number you had in mind?”
“I didn’t have one in mind. I don’t even know what my husband bought it for,” I respond, nearly wincing at the word husband, and it must be gnawing at Declan as well.
“When I combine everything together,” Ray begins, “I think a good starting point is looking close to ten point nine million for this unit.”
I don’t care what this place sells for; I just want to dump it. We won’t be keeping the money anyway. “Sounds good. When can we have it listed?”
“That honestly depends on you. As soon as you’re ready, I can send the photographer over to take pictures. Once that’s taken care of, we can have this property live on our site within twenty-four hours.”
“Great.”
“We need to make a few arrangements first,” Declan adds.
“Of course. Take care of what you need and call me when you’re ready to move forward.”
We stand, shake hands, and I walk Ray to the door, thanking him for his time.
“What arrangements?” I question after I close the door.
“We need to hire a packing service to clear everything out of here.”
“What are we going to do with all of it?”
“What about his parents? Can you give them a call and let them know you’re selling the apartment and see if they’d like us to have everything moved to a storage unit?”
“I suppose,” I respond, dread sinking in.
“It has to be done.”
“I know,” I sigh. “What about you?
“What do you mean?”
“They’re going to insist on seeing me. I mean, for all intents and purposes, I’m the daughter-in-law, and God only knows what they’re thinking about me after I high-tailed it out of the country immediately after Bennett’s funeral. If I meet them, you can’t come with me.”
“You’re not going to see them.” His edict isn’t one I want to argue with. “Go ahead and call them.”
I go to the kitchen and power up Bennett’s old phone so I can get his mother’s number. Before making the call, I take a deep breath.
“Put it on speakerphone,” Declan instructs.
After a few rings, the call’s connected.
“Hello?”
“Carol, it’s me, Nina.”
“Nina!” she exclaims. “My goodness, we’ve all been so worried about you. Are you okay, dear?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Where on Earth have you been?”
“Just traveling,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I ran off so quickly without saying anything, I just had to get away.”
“Where are you now?”
“Back in Chicago, actually, but only for a short while.”
“Can I come see you?”
I look to Declan, and he’s shaking his head.
“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Carol.”
“Nina, you’re still a part of our family,” she says, her voice teetering on tears.
“I know, but it’s just easier this way. But listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Yes. What is it?”
“I’m putting the penthouse on the market.”
“You’re selling it?” The quiver of her voice turns to shock.
“It’s too much, and I’m not even here to use the space anyways. I can’t live here anymore, it’s too painful. Everything here reminds me of him,” I tell her feigning my sadness as a widow.
“I understand, it’s just hard to see something of his go.”
“I’ve packed up a few things to remember him by,” I lie. “But everything else, the furniture, his clothes . . . I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“Whatever you need,” she says. “How can I help?”
“Would it be okay if I had everything boxed up and sent to a storage unit?”
“Are you sure you don’t want any of it?”