Closer Home (4 page)

Last but not least, my own face stares up at me, looking countrified and frightened beneath a headline.

REDFERN SISTER BACK FROM THE DEAD

I tighten my fingers around the glass in my hand, trying to focus on the voices swirling around me. Hard as I try, I can’t look away from the picture of the horse. Callie’s face is turned toward the camera, mouth open as if in surprise, eyes wide. That dark shadow under her head might be blood.

“Does Ariel know the meeting was at eleven?” Glynnis asks, consulting her watch.

“Teenagers. No sense of time. I’m sure she’ll be here in a minute,” Ricken answers. “Let me freshen your drink. How is the memoir coming along?”

“I’ve got the ghostwriter signed. Publishers are drooling.” She accepts her drink back from Ricken with a nod but sets it down on the table beside her.

Ricken refills his own glass and takes a swallow. “Hold out a bit before you finalize any offers. We need to create more drama.”

I close my eyes, pressing the cool glass against my hot cheek. More drama is the last thing I need.

“We really must get started,” Glynnis says. “I’ve got another appointment this afternoon.”

“I’ll go fetch Ariel.” Ricken gets to his feet.

“Maybe it would be best to begin without her,” Morgan says. “Reading through the will could be . . . upsetting for her, don’t you think?” His forehead is damp with sweat, though it’s cool in the room.

“That makes sense,” Glynnis agrees. “This must all be very difficult for her. We can explain things to her later.”

Ricken sinks back into his chair, but he’s frowning.

Morgan clears his throat and turns the process of opening his briefcase into a theatrical event. He dials the combination lock, one slow click at a time. Flicks the latches. Lifts the lid slowly and finally hands a legal-sized envelope to each of us.

“Morgan?” Ricken says. “How about if you highlight the main points for all of us, and then we can read through on our own and ask questions as they arise?”

“Certainly,” the attorney says, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve prepared a summary, but it’s really a very straightforward will. To begin, each of us inherits ten thousand dollars as thanks for services rendered.”

This strikes me as extravagant generosity, but Ricken and Genesis exchange a look that clearly says they had expected more. Glynnis just nods, as if agents are gifted with sums of this sort on a daily basis.

Morgan clears his throat and continues. “Annelise is named as executrix and also as guardian for Ariel—”

“I’m sorry, what?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Me, responsible for Ariel?

“You are Ariel’s legal guardian until she comes of age,” Morgan says, as if this arrangement of the words makes their meaning any more comprehensible. “There is also a trust fund of one million dollars for Ariel, of which Annelise is the trustee until Ariel’s twenty-first birthday, at which time Ariel will receive the lump sum. There is a separate trust for Ariel’s college expenses, of which Annelise is also the trustee.”

I take a swallow of the drink in my hand, feeling the burn and hoping it will head off a full-on anxiety attack. What do I know about handling this kind of money? My mother’s slender finances are enough to hurt my brain, and there’s nothing complicated about them. The thought of being responsible for a million dollars makes my head swim. But the money is nothing compared to the whole guardian thing. I’m a terrible choice. Just look how I ruined Callie.

And with that thought I’m drifting again, the voices receding into a meaningless murmur.

Callie sits astride the frame of our open bedroom window. Her long, tanned legs are nearly bare, the too-short denim skirt rucked up to her hips. Her hair shines golden in the light from our bedside lamp. Outside it’s pure dark, the sky speckled with stars.

“This is not a good idea.” I’m lying on my bed, staring at her over the top of my book.

“It’s a very bad idea. That’s why I’m doing it. Come with me.”

A breeze blows in, carrying with it the smell of adventure and maybe even magic. I run both hands through my tangled hair, glance down at my worn sweatpants, then back up at my perfect little sister.

“No.”

“C’mon, Lise. Lighten up for once.”

“It’s midnight. You have school tomorrow.”

“So?”

“What if you get caught?”

She shrugs. “That’s half the fun.” Her lips purse and her brows draw together in a sudden frown. “If you tell . . .”

“Who would I tell?”

Mom’s barely been out of bed in a week. I’ve managed to get enough liquid into her to keep her hydrated, but her skin hangs off her bones and her eyes are dull and flat. She’ll be fast asleep, knocked out cold by a handful of pills, and there will be no waking her before morning. Dad is sitting in his armchair, staring at the TV, nearly at the bottom of a fifth of Crown Royal. If I tell him Callie is fixing to escape out the window for a tryst with a boy, he’ll bluster and shout but he won’t do anything.

“Well, if you do tell, you’ll be sorry,” Callie says.

I know that’s the truth. The last time I crossed her, she put itching powder in my deodorant. She’s taller than me now, and strong. So I let her go, leaving the window open so she can get back in.

Morgan says something, but I’m not listening. I don’t hear his words, I just see his eyebrows go up and the other heads turn toward me.

I should have stopped Callie from going out that window. Tackled her, beat her up, tied her to the bed. Maybe that was the night she got pregnant with Ariel.

My God. What if Ariel is having sex with Shadow?

The thought slams into me like a line drive. Maybe the two of them are in her room right this minute making a baby Shadow that I’m going to end up responsible for. In my mind, the baby has black fingernails and piercings and makes Damien look angelic by comparison.

Panic sets in. I can feel my insides quivering as if they’ve been turned to jelly. There’s enough voltage going through my hand to power a small electronic device.

“Has anybody seen Ariel this morning?” My throat is parched and tight and I take another swallow out of my glass, a long one this time, as though it’s water. Alcohol burns all the way down to my stomach and up into my nose. A coughing fit follows, and when I’m done, all eyes are fixed on me like I’m the new display at a freak show.

The intensity of their expressions is beyond any reasonable reaction to somebody accidentally inhaling a drink. Genesis is no longer smiling. Her eyes are narrowed, lips thinned. Ricken is actually pale. He gets up, pours himself another drink, and swallows the whole thing before pouring another. Glynnis is the only one who doesn’t seem perturbed. She smiles at me, her sharp eyes softening a little.

My hands are shaking so hard a little wave of amber liquid sloshes over the edge of my glass. Carefully, I set it down and lock my fingers together in my lap, on top of the untouched will.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard what you said,” I tell Morgan.

He clears his throat. “In simplest terms, you inherit the bulk of the estate.”

It’s my turn to stare. It’s a damn good thing I’ve already set down my glass.

“I what?”

“Apart from the bequests already mentioned, and the two trusts for Ariel, you inherit everything. All of the money, the property, and the business.”

The circle of faces wavers and distorts. My skin feels cold, my limbs heavy. None of this makes any sense.

“Why?” I ask, hoping somebody can tell me. “She told everybody I was dead. Why would she leave me everything?”

Nobody answers. Nobody says anything, in fact, until Morgan clears his throat again. “Genesis, could you please tell Annelise what this bequest is worth?”

“There will be estate taxes, of course,” the accountant says, “but at last quarter’s accounting, Callie’s net worth was just over one hundred million.”

I know that number can’t be right. My ears are buzzing. I can’t understand why Morgan is sweating; the air in the room is frigid. I wrap my arms around myself to stop my shivering.

“I’ll prepare hard-copy statements for Annelise,” Genesis goes on. “Callie’s investments were extensive, and there are a number of business interests. Plus the real estate, of course.”

Ricken returns to his seat and gives me an oily smile. “This must feel overwhelming. But we are all here to support you. Callie relied heavily on her team to manage the finances and the business so that she could focus her energy on her music. You won’t need to worry about a thing. I, for one, came prepared with a contract for you to sign today, so there will be no lapse at all in my services. It just needs a minor alteration, since I had expected you to be signing on behalf of Ariel, but that’s easily done.”

He’s already got a pen in his hand. He pulls out a document from beneath one of the tabloids on the coffee table and crosses out a line. Genesis leans over to retrieve a briefcase leaning against her chair.

“I won’t rush you,” Glynnis says. “We’ve got plenty of time to sign papers. You’ve got enough on your plate for today, I think.”

I try to smile at her in thanks, but my lips feel frozen. The scratching of pens as Ricken and Genesis make their little alterations makes my skin twitch. Morgan, who knew what was coming and was already prepared, pulls a document out of his briefcase and holds it out to me.

“I’ve also brought an agreement for you, since I assume you’ll want the same law firm to deal with your interests and the estate. It will simplify things for you. Do you need a pen?”

Black ink on white paper. Little squiggly, meaningless marks. The high ceiling feels like it’s going to fall on my head. The walls are closing in. My heart is racing like a pack of horses on the home stretch and I can’t breathe.

And then it hits me, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue.

Ariel doesn’t know.

As if things aren’t rocky enough between us, now there’s this. I have to tell her. Now, before any one of these piranhas gets a chance. I’ll tell her I don’t want the money. I’ll make up some sort of excuse for Callie; I’m good at that. But any way I spin it, it’s bound to feel like a betrayal.

I set the unsigned agreement down on the end table beside me and get to my feet. The room spins once, then steadies. And then I walk out the door, not bothering to excuse myself or wait for a break in the conversation.

“Annelise?” Ricken calls after me. “We’ll be ready with the contracts in a minute.”

I keep walking. Once I’m out of their sight, I stop and lean against a wall for support, focused on breathing until my heart slows down and my vision is clear. It’s tempting to bolt up to my room and lock myself in, but I want Ariel to hear the news from me. Might as well get it over with.

When I knock on the door I saw her vanish behind last night, there’s no answer. I knock again, louder.

The door isn’t locked. I turn the knob and push it open.

I step into a spacious bedroom that looks nothing like the cramped quarters Callie and I shared. No posters on the walls or clothes crumpled on the floor. A granite counter runs along one wall, complete with a microwave, minifridge, and sink. French doors lead out onto a small patio, surrounded by a high fence. A door to a walk-in closet stands open; two other doors are closed.

The room is empty.

“Ariel?”

No answer. The first door opens into a bathroom. The mirrors are steamy. A damp towel lies discarded in the middle of the tile floor beside a Jacuzzi tub. I hang up the towel and move on, holding my breath.

The other room has to be the bedroom. If I find her in bed with Shadow, I don’t know what I’ll do. Sneak away, maybe. Come back later. But the image of the Shadow baby is a powerful motivator and I knock once, then enter.

There is a bed, but it’s neatly made and there’s no sign of Shadow. I breathe a little easier.

Ariel sits crossed-legged in the middle of the floor, the contents of an open cedar chest spread out around her. Her hair is wet and tangled. She’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a baggy T-shirt, and her face, when she looks up at the sound of the opening door, reminds me of the child she once was.

I cross the room and sink down onto the floor beside her. My fingers trace the smooth wood grain of the chest while my eyes sort through the visible contents. On the floor are some of Ariel’s baby clothes. A picture of Callie at the KISS concert she snuck off to when they played Spokane in ’96. A stack of
Rolling Stone
magazines.