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I keep my expression neutral and say a silent thank you to George. “Wow, that’s scary. You’re lucky you’re not really hurt. Electrical failures are so dangerous.”
“How did you know it was electrical?” Ashlyn asks. I’m not afraid of her. She’s a weenie, with empty threats.
“Just a lucky guess,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
As much as I hate leaving her alone in my kitchen, I need to be able to control my house, and if she can show me how to do it, it’s worth it. I hurry upstairs and pull open the door to my purse closet. Yes, an entire closet just for my purses. Can you even?
I grab the black Gucci and shove my hand inside. It’s empty. Maybe it was the black Chanel? I yank each and every black purse out of the closet and search them. Nothing.
I’m certain the memorial service was the last time I saw it. I’ve been so distracted by other things. Where is his phone? Did someone take his phone?
The familiar anger is beginning to build. I don’t need his damn phone. I’m selling this place soon. Good riddance.
Downstairs Ashlyn stands where I left her. Even if she searched my kitchen, she wouldn’t find anything. I’m not stupid. She’s texting and smiling. Is she making fun of me?
“No luck.”
“What do you mean no luck? You can’t find Dad’s phone?” Ashlyn asks.
I don’t really care where his phone is. I mean, the trade-in value is nothing. Why do I need an old phone around?
“I have no idea. I must have misplaced it. No big deal.” She needs to leave. I’m so tired of her right now. The way she’s looking at me is bothersome.
“He could have EventCo business on that phone, you know, and other secrets.” Ashlyn blinks at me. “At least all of his photos are on the cloud. He was such a great photographer.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes fill.
I need to be sympathetic. I need to be sad, too. “I’m glad you can get to his photos.” I pretend to dab under my eyes as I wonder if he took any photos that last day in Telluride. Or that last night? I need to check. But I don’t know how.
“How do I get to those photos? I’d love to print out some of the best ones of us and frame them.” I am lying, but it sounds good.
Her eyes dart around the kitchen, no doubt noticing there isn’t a single photo in here. None in the other rooms, either. I never took timeto print out any of the two of us, although the funeral home did a good job of framing a few for the service. Never really thought it was that important—and I still don’t. But I do wonder if there are any photos from that weekend.
“You go onto iCloud. If he shared his albums with you, you can find them there. I have to go, but um, Tish?” Ashlyn wipes away a tear.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything you want to tell me about my dad’s death?” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m just trying to understand how it could happen. I know you two weren’t getting along. He was going to dump you the night he died.”
“This again? You’re being ridiculous. And I don’t appreciate it. We were enjoying a romantic getaway when his heart attack happened. Sudden cardiac arrest. End of story. Period. Got it?” Ashlyn is on my last nerve.
She sighs. “He was under so much stress, and yet you took him to the mountains, a place where he never felt well.” She shakes her head. “It’s just odd.”
I hate bitchy girls. “We were getting along perfectly fine. He was under a lot of stress, that’s true, but he loved me more than anything or anyone. Including you.”
“You know he sent texts to people that night. Photos, too.” She pulls open the trash bin and spits her gum into it.
“Your dad loved to text.” I smile at her. It’s fake.
“I’m just going to take all the things I care about from my room. I’m moving out. I won’t be coming back here ever again,” she says.
“Good. Good riddance. You can leave your key by the front door.” This chitchat makes me realize I need to find John’s phone and look at his photos. Read through all of his texts.
“No way. This is my house,” she says, which is odd because it’s clearly mine.
“What do you mean this is your house?” I ask.
“Oh, you’ll see. Anyway, will you do me a favor?” Ashlyn turns serious.
“Sure, anything for you.” I lie. The little brat thinks everything is hers. Nothing is.
