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“When you turned twenty your dad had the property transferred into your name, but he reserved lifetime rights. He . . . he wanted you to have it in case—”
“In case he died,” I finish for her.
Mom clears her throat, nodding. “Yes.”
“And you two were going to tell me this when exactly? Because this was done almostthree years ago, Mom. Feels like information I should’ve known.”
I try to keep the accusation and anger out of my voice, I really do. But my hands are balled into fists and I can tell she hears it anyway. She sighs and tucks her hair behind her ears.
“I don’t want to argue about this, Lucy.”
“Neither do I, Mom, but I do want to actually talk about it,” I grind out.
Mom squeezes the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger before she turns her back to me and places her hand on her hip.
“Your dad loved that beach house, and, like most things when it came to the two of you, that meant you loved it just as much. He always intended for you to have it. When you turned twenty, he met with his lawyer and had the deed drawn up. Like I said, he still reserved an interest in the property, but once he passed it went directly to you.”
“And, once again, neither of you thought to mention this to me?”
“He was going to take you for a trip there on your birthday this year and tell you then. Just the two of you. He thought he had plenty of time.”
“But why wait three years later to tell me? Why not tell me when he had the deed done, or tell me what he was planning?”
“He wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Well, he got his wish.” I huff.
Mom turns around, her eyes are red and puffy, and I instantly feel guilty for snapping at her, but I’m just so confused.
“You . . . there was nothing in this life he loved more than you. He bought that house when I was pregnant with you, when he was still working at the hospital. He didn’t get much time off back then, and he worried that he wouldn’t get much time with you when you were young. So, he bought that house, and he promised me that every summer, for at least two weeks, he would make sure the three of us had a place to spend time together. And the older you got, the more you started to love the place just as much as he did. One day, it became your place.”
“I know all of this, Mom,” I say impatiently.
A few tears slide down her face, but Mom doesn’t wipe them away.
“Did you know that all he wanted—all your fathereverwanted—was for you to be happy? He knew you were going to medical school just to make him proud, not because you loved the field the way he did. And he knew that, just like him, you were the happiest and the most carefree at that house. He was waiting to tell you it was yours because he planned on telling you he didn’t think you should go to medical school at the same time.”
“What?” I breathe.
“He knew you weren’t happy, Lucy. And he wanted you to find what made you happy. He thought . . . he thought you could take a few months off and spend some time at the beach house to figure it out.”
I take a deep breath, my hands on the back of my head as I turn around and stare at the kitchen wall.
“So, hang on. You two let me goyearswithout telling me this? You decided I was unhappy, you didn’t talk to me about it, you justdecided it for me. And then you just sit on it? You go about everyday life like I wasn’t drowning? On top of that, Dad’s been gone for almost seven months and you never mention any of this?” My voice rises with each question and I know I need to calm down but I can’t. I’m pissed.
“Lucy—” Mom starts.
“You know what? I can’t be here right now. I need to go.”
I walk out of the kitchen and grab my bag and keys. Mom doesn't try to stop me, she just watches me drive off from the kitchen window.
At first, I didn’t know where I was going. Then I found myself pulling into the cemetery, parking at the top of the hill. I storm to my dad’s headstone and I stare at his name on the slab of stone. Tears, angry and hot, roll down my cheeks.
“You knew?” I ask, my voice cracking. “You knew that I was only doing it for you.Ididn’t even know it until it was too late! I was having panic attacks, Dad! Even before . . .” my voice breaks and I take a deep breath, “. . . even before you died I was having them. And I was so embarrassed, I didn’t even tell you. I hid in the bathroom with the shower on while I fell apart from the stress and younever said anything. How could you?”
I drop to the ground, burying my face in my hands. I was so convinced that I was supposed to be a surgeon. All my professors kept going on and on about how good I could be. I had it all planned out, and Dad never said a thing. He never gave any impression that he thought I wasn’t happy, that he thought I would be better suited doing something else with my life. And I . . . I’m just so angry.
“Lucy?”
