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“Your sarcasm could be considered a talent.”
She curtsies, then walks to the door. “You know it’s all just one big cover for my insecurities.”
“You’ve got nothing to be insecure about. You’re one in a million, kid.” I nudge her with my elbow as we walk back into the hall. I shut the door behind me and say, “Hey, I really do appreciate you being here. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to say that. I’m glad I got to see this, your room, a part of your old Charles life. So stop thanking me so much. You’re starting to make me all nervous again.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that. Because when you’re nervous, you start talking really fast. Sometimes you don’t make sense, but if we’re lucky, we kind of get the point of the rambling. So yeah, we wouldn’t want to make you nervous before dinner with the Adams family.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I can almost see the steam billowing from her ears. I like her feisty. When she’s feisty and riled up, she’s in top form. And that’s what I need her to be in tonight—top form.
As we walk down the stairs, she turns to me and asks, “So is everyone in your family this humorous?”
“No, you just got lucky with me.”
She faces forward and continues walking, but I see the small smile on her lips and hear her mutter, “I most definitely did.”
Chapter 27
Charlie B
He’s been gone too long.
Charlie was summoned by a butler into a room almost forty-five minutes ago. The daunting black doors were promptly closed behind him. They’re large and solid, and there’s no doubt that you stay out when they’re closed. After Charlie went through those doors, I was led into a conservatory off the main living room.
Twenty minutes later, two others arrived. I suspect they are related to someone or everyone in the other room where the will is being read, but it would be inappropriate to ask what that relationship is. The man and woman are in their thirties, maybe mid-thirties, and dressed in designer suits. I think they might be related to each other because of their light brown hair and the shape of their eyes.
They smile when they see me looking at them, but it feels false, almost more a tactic to gauge me. I shift in my seat. “Hello,” I say with a small smile.
They don’t return the gesture, but the woman says, “You’re here with Charles.”
It's more of a statement than a question, but I decide to answer anyway. “Yes.” I don’t see what about me indicates that I’m with Charlie, but I guess it’s obvious to them.
The man stands from the sofa and walks over to the tray of martinis that were set out for us. “Would you like a drink?” He glances at the woman first, but then his eyes land on me.
“Yes. Thank you.” I’m unraveling in this situation. It feels too familiar, too invasive, too much like the life I once lived with Jim. Everything is so perfectly arranged, including the people in this room.
The man hands me the glass. I sip, hoping to stave off the rising nerves inside. He sits beside me, the loveseat not providing much room for avoidance.
“I’m Donald. That’s Katherine.” He holds his hand out after the introduction.
When I shake it, his palm is sweaty. He looks me over. “We’re Charlie’s cousins. Our mother is his mother’s sister.”
“Nice to meet you.” That explains the sweating hand. They’re anxious to find out what their mom was left from Grace. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your great-aunt sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”
“That sounds like Charlie. She was a bit crazy for my tastes, hence having to wait on our inheritance until the last Saturday in July. She never made any sense.” He laughs, eyeing his sister. “I guess crazy can be loveable when money’s involved.”
His words, his demeanor, and his sister don’t bode well with me. His mocking tone is too sharp for kindness or joking and borders closer to cruel. I don’t like his assumptions about Charlie, and my defenses go up.
I look toward the entrance to the room, hoping to see Charlie walking through it, but he isn’t there. Looking down at my watch, I realize it may be a while longer, though it already feels like forever.
“Today was her birthday. She wanted us to celebrate her death on her birthday.” Katherine speaks up with distaste in her tone. “Charles always had a penchant for the wounded, whether it be physical or mental illness.” She eyes me as if she’s trying to figure out the ailment Charlie must be trying to heal in me.
I want to say they have him all wrong, to defend him against their nasty accusations, but when I think about their words, they’re right. If I go by the meaning of the words instead of the tone they’re said in, they are absolutely right about Charlie—he has a heart where theirs is lacking. They don’t understand his motives because they are cold and selfish like so many I’ve met in their class of society. Like the many times I reasoned out some sort of justification with Jim’s family, it all came back to the same thing. They don’t know any better. They live in a closed-off world where their reality is just that—theirs.
