You Knew Me When (9 page)

“What?” Laney's mouth dropped open.

“That's right.” A satisfied grin spread across his face. He'd undoubtedly been waiting months, possibly years, to drop this particular bomb. A bomb he'd most likely assumed would be met with unadulterated joy. Maybe even a standing ovation.

“What exactly does this mean?” Katherine appeared infuriatingly unruffled by the news, entitled almost.

“It means the house is yours, along with all of Luella's belongings.”

“So we sell it?” Katherine arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“If you want.” He looked somewhat deflated. “Oh, I almost forgot. There's a bit more to this.” He shuffled through another pile of papers. “Here it is. Yes, that's right. Per Luella's last wishes, the two of you will need to clean out the house; split up, sell, or donate her possessions as you see fit; and make sure the house is in tip-top shape should you want to put it on the market. Then and only then you can divide the money between yourselves.” He studied both of them carefully.

“That's preposterous. I can't stay in Vermont to clean out and fix up a house.” Katherine shook her head. “I'd be happy to pay someone to do it.”

“Fine by me.” Laney's jaw clenched. How
dare
she throw her money around, even if it did make things easier on both of them?

“Oh no. That won't be possible, I'm afraid.” Richard Newman wagged his index finger back and forth. “Luella was quite clear in writing and when I spoke to her, on more than one occasion. She specifically wanted you ladies to do this together.”

“Not possible.” Katherine huffed.

“At least we agree on something,” Laney confirmed.

“Maybe this will change your mind.” He scribbled something on a notepad, mumbling numbers to himself at the same time. One final flick of his pen and he looked up again, smiling triumphantly. “The house is worth one-point-four million dollars. Along with Luella's belongings, that means each of you stands to walk away with well over a half million after taxes. Now, how does that sound?”

Neither Laney nor Katherine said a word. They both just stared straight ahead.

“This is good news, ladies. Great news, really.” He narrowed his eyes and tapped his pen on his desk. “Luella said you were the best of friends.”

“We used to be.” Laney sniffed.

“Actually”—Katherine's voice softened just a little— “we used to be sisters.”

K
atherine zigzagged through the narrow side streets of Manchester, strings of saltbox houses whizzing past in a slideshow of vibrant colors. She'd managed to preserve her composure throughout the entirety of the will reading, but it had taken a distinct brand of discipline. The variety she'd spent the last twelve years honing. It was obvious that Laney hadn't expected to see her. Katherine, on the other hand, had considered the possibility that Laney could turn up. It wasn't that anyone had eluded to it, certainly not her father or Hazel, but if there was one thing Katherine had learned over time: never let yourself be caught off guard. It went hand in hand with another of her dependable mantras: expect the worst; hope for the best. She'd been dubbed a pessimist on more than one occasion for her cynical posture. Still, she maintained that it was far better to be happily surprised than gravely disappointed.

The inheritance was one of those happy surprises. Unfortunately, it had been muddied by Laney's callous reception and then exacerbated when the lawyer had informed them of Luella's outlandish proviso. Was she expected to just drop everything and move to Vermont for the foreseeable future—to devote her days to sorting through and packing up Luella's belongings and then tidying up her house? And with Laney, no less. As she'd said in the lawyer's office, it was preposterous. There had to be an angle. Despite their infrequent communication of late, Luella had known all too well that Katherine had a very important and time-consuming career. She'd also been acutely aware of Katherine's longstanding estrangement from Laney. Was Luella's intent to reunite them under the guise of her legacy? It seemed an ambitious, if not insurmountable feat—not altogether surprising coming from Luella. Once she'd set her mind on something, the breadth of the challenge became insignificant. Either way, it was simply unfeasible for Katherine, and—from the sounds of it—for Laney too, if she had a full-time job.

Katherine pulled into the driveway of her old house, screeching to a stop, and stomped her way up the stone path and onto the splintering porch. Before she could knock, her father opened the door, a placid smile spread across his creased face.

“Kitty Kat! What a wonderful treat. Were we meant to expect you?”

“The house, Dad? Really?” Katherine's hands were fixed to her hips and her lips were taut.

“Kitty,” he grimaced. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Well, for starters, you could have told me. Warned me what I was walking into.”

“Luella swore me to secrecy. Hazel too.” He backed up to let her inside.

“I hate to point this out, Dad, but Luella is gone. I don't think she would have known the difference.”

“Sorry, Kitty. I don't break promises to anyone—dead or alive—and certainly not Luella,” he admonished, and she knew he was right.

“You might have at least mentioned that Laney was going to be there.” Katherine followed her father into the kitchen and slumped into a seat at the table. She'd barely slept the night before, in anticipation of Luella's will reading, and her body was exhausted. More so than usual. “Let's just say it wasn't a joyous reunion.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He sat down across from her, straining to bend his knees.

“What's going on there, Dad?” Katherine motioned to her father's legs.

“You haven't noticed your old man got old?” He smiled affectionately, and Katherine's chest tightened. She was a deadbeat daughter, if there was such a thing. It'd been so long since she'd visited her own father that it was like one of those before-and-after segments you see on daytime talk shows, only the after was far worse than the before. It was hard to believe he was nearly seventy. There'd been a time in the not-so-distant past when Katherine had considered seventy seriously old. If she'd been reading the paper, for example, and it had said that Mr. So-and-So had died at the age of seventy-something, it hadn't jarred her in the least. There'd been no
Oh, how tragic
response. She'd just casually flipped the page. Now, in her mid-thirties, all of the sudden seventy seemed more like what she'd imagined fifty-five or sixty would be. Still, it was depressing to see that her father had slowed down. That simple tasks, like sitting down in a chair or moving across the room, didn't transpire as quickly or as fluidly.

“You're not old, Dad. Just stubborn.”

“I could say the same.”

“Yeah, well, you know. The whole apple-tree thing.” Katherine sat upright. What was it about being home that instantly transformed her into a slouch? “Now can you please tell me what you know about this house thing with Laney?”

“Kitty?” Hazel called out, the thud of the front door punctuating the silence.

“Saved by the bell.” Her dad smirked, hoisting himself up so he could help Hazel with the armful of groceries she was toting.

“I'm so glad you're here.” Hazel smiled pleasantly and patted Katherine's hand—a gesture that might have seemed awkward from anyone else. But not Hazel. There could never be anything awkward about Hazel. Every motion she made and every word she spoke was one hundred percent genuine. “Did your father offer you something to drink or eat?”

“I'm fine. Thank you.” Katherine watched as Hazel unpacked their groceries, handing every other item to her dad. They had a system. It was nice. She couldn't remember how her mom and dad had interacted, at least not when it came to tedious responsibilities like unpacking groceries or watering the plants, as Hazel was now doing. She couldn't even remember if they'd had any plants in their Bennington house. She did recall that her mother never appreciated “extra things to deal with,” which was typically what she said when Katherine had asked her to do something mundane, such as pick up school supplies or buy something for the school bake sale.
Just what I need is an extra thing to deal with.
It was unlikely that Hazel had ever felt burdened by anything, let alone such modest requests. But, then again, Hazel wasn't a frustrated housewife who'd felt robbed of her dreams. Hazel loved being a mother and a significant other. In her mind, those were her jobs.

“Actually, you look a bit pale, dear. Are you feeling okay?” Hazel touched her palm to Katherine's forehead. “Might be a little fever.”

“I'm fine,” Katherine insisted.

“How about a snack? I made some vegetable tarts this morning with you in mind. Very healthy.” Hazel went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Tupperware container filled with neat stacks of tarts separated by individual pieces of wax paper. “I'll just warm these up. A cup of tea?”

“That would be great.” Katherine relented. Domesticity was like breathing for Hazel. She couldn't live without it.

“Milk and sugar?” The toaster oven beeped, and Hazel slid her hand into a lime green pot holder that had been hanging on a hook next to the stove, while Katherine's father filled the teapot with water.

“No, thank you.”

“Here you go, dear.” Hazel placed a small scalloped white plate with four perfectly formed vegetable tarts in front of Katherine. “Now, let me see about that tea.”

Katherine bit into one of the tarts, and a torrent of flavors erupted in her mouth. “These are amazing.” She'd skipped breakfast and lunch, so just this once allowed herself the treat.

“Thank you. They're one of your father's favorites.”

“I can see why.” Katherine allowed herself one more and then one more after that. “These may be the best things I've ever eaten.” She wasn't even exaggerating in order to stroke Hazel's nonexistent ego. This woman was talented.

“Oh, don't be silly. They're a cinch. I can give you the recipe if you'd like.” Katherine nodded with her mouth full, even though they both knew she'd have no use for this recipe or any other.

“Kitty, Hazel's right. You really don't look yourself. You sure you're feeling all right?” Katherine's dad sat back down at the table, eyeing the last tart.

“Go on, Dad.” She pushed the plate toward him.

“If you insist.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“You know, I am feeling a little off. Maybe I should get back to the hotel.” She stood up and nearly lost her footing. Her father stood immediately to steady her.

“You're not going anywhere.” He was still holding her arms. “Why don't you go up to your room and lie down?”

“Dad, that's ridiculous. I can make it the few miles to the Equinox.” Actually, she wasn't entirely sure.

“I'm not letting you drive, Kitty.” This time she didn't argue. Maybe she could use ten minutes to lie down and then she'd be on her way. “Do you need me to help you up the stairs?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“I'll walk her up, Joe. I've got your tea, dear.”

“I'm really okay. You can even watch me go.” She smiled and took the mug of tea from Hazel. “I still want more details on this house thing, Dad. You're not getting off that easy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand in the air.

“I'll be back down in a little bit.” She started up the stairs slowly.

“Take all the time you need, Kitty Kat.” He tipped his head downward, mumbling, “This is still your home.”

Katherine opened the door to her old bedroom and closed it behind her. She stood, motionless, her eyes darting from corner to corner. Nothing had changed. Not one single thing. It was creepy, actually, like someone had pressed
PAUSE
twelve years ago and never returned. The walls were still the same pale pink, though the paint was chipping in the corners and a thin, jagged crack punctuated the center of the smooth white ceiling. Her grandmother's rickety wooden rocking chair sat to the right of her bed, which was unruffled and draped in the same white comforter covered in small pink flowers threaded by sprouting green stems. Flanking the bed were the identical white nightstands, which she and her father had purchased at an estate sale down the street about two weeks after they'd moved in. They'd been in perfect condition at the time. Now they were worn but still served their purpose as home to her pink-and-white lamps, which matched the pattern of her comforter. She moved toward the bed and climbed on top, laying her head on the mound of pillows. She remembered coming home one day, after having slept over at Laney's, begging her dad for more pillows so her bed could look just like her best friend's.

Katherine's muscles ached and her eyes were heavy, but she strained to keep them open, wanting to savor every last detail of a time that she could barely recollect. Who was the girl who'd lived in this room? Who'd slept in this bed every night for nearly a decade? She was a stranger now, so much so that Katherine felt, in a way, that she were interloping. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she finally let her body relax.
Just a quick catnap,
she thought, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, consumed by memories that hardly felt like her own.

•   •   •

When
Katherine awoke, the room was pitch-black, save for her old Smurfette night-light glowing above her dresser. Even though the curtains were drawn, she knew it was no longer daytime. The teacup on her nightstand had been replaced by a glass of water and another plate of vegetable tarts—Hazel's handiwork, no doubt. She could barely make out her purse on the rocking chair as she stumbled across the room to retrieve her iPhone so she could see what time it was. She carried her purse back to the bed, feeling her way in the dark, and rummaged through her bag for her phone. The clock read five thirteen a.m. She'd slept nearly thirteen hours, which was unheard-of, given her persistent insomnia. She also noticed the ninety-three e-mails that had accumulated in what was undeniably the longest period of time she'd ever abandoned her in-box. Instinctively, she started scanning through them, deleting the junk mail and all of the annoying mass e-mails sent by her staff, to which everyone insisted on not only replying to all, but also on copying her. Their justification was keeping her in the loop, though she suspected it was more like self-preservation; if they included her, then they weren't entirely culpable if anything went awry. She put her phone down and let her mind wander again, to a time when she was definitely less cynical.

She'd lost her virginity in this room. In this bed. She'd been seventeen at the time. He'd said it was only his third time, but she didn't care. All she'd cared about was him. There'd been nothing awkward about it, not how Laney had told her it would be. She'd trusted him more than she'd trusted herself. And she'd been unable to keep her hands off every part of his body. Katherine inhaled deeply, half expecting to smell him—that familiarly intoxicating aroma of Drakkar Noir steeped in undertones of adolescent perspiration. But that was the one thing missing. It was all there: the bed, the rocking chair, the nightstands, even Smurfette. Everything except him.

She crept over to the window, using her phone as a makeshift flashlight, and peeked around the blinds at Luella's house, faintly illuminated by three tall streetlamps. Katherine couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that things were in motion—out of her control—with little indication of how'd they'd end up. Seeing Laney again had felt like home in a way she hadn't anticipated. And while Laney was obviously still very angry, Katherine had to wonder if there was even the remote possibility of a second chance at forgiveness.

Impulsively, she picked up her phone, searched for Laney's name—the lawyer had insisted they exchange cell numbers, despite their reluctance—and typed out a text message.

Can we meet tomorrow to talk about this house stuff?

Almost instantly, her phone whirred in response.

Guess you're up too. Meet me at the Falcon Bar at your hotel. 6pm. I can't stay long.

Katherine smiled. At least it was a start.