The disgust in his voice stings.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tessa cries, but she’s talking to his back.
10
Aunt Nan washes up while Tessa dries. Her hands and her heart fall into the quiet, domestic rhythm with ease.
There’s a dishwasher in the old farmhouse kitchen, but it’s understood it’s no place for Jane’s good china.
“What are you going to do now?” Nan asks.
Tessa glances up and spies her sister in the backyard through the kitchen window. Margot is folding the tablecloth from the picnic table. Her face is drawn, her movements slow and deliberate. The sun is low on the horizon, and a breeze plays with the curls that have fallen from Margot’s once neat updo.
We’ve come unraveled, Tessa thinks.
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. According to her assistant, Tessa’s apartment in New York has press camped at the doors after the release of Oliver’s second video.
“You could stay with us for a while,” her aunt offers.
Tessa glances at her, surprised. Of course, they all know the situation. Family always does.
“That’s nice of you, but I couldn’t impose on you and Rob like that.”
Still, she’s touched by the offer. She’s missed this place, these people. Tessa left behind more than her sister all those years ago.
Nan nods. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us. The kids are all grown, and we have the room.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Once the dishes are done, Tessa makes another pass through the house to search out any stray plates or cups and finds Margot speaking quietly with one of Mom’s friends. The older man, Tessa can’t remember his name, motions for her to join them.
“Margot was telling me you plan to leave town soon,” the man says.
She nods but finds herself oddly distracted by his silver-streaked hair and angled features. She would frame him in low light, to accentuate the rugged lines on his face. Maybe firelight. A campfire with snow falling softly in the background.
He’s speaking, and she shakes off the vision, struggling to keep up.
“So I’d be happy to see the two of you in my office tomorrow or the next day, if that works for you both.”
Tessa frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Mr. . . .” She trails off, searching for the name he might have already mentioned.
“Smith,” he fills in for her. “Jackson Smith.”
“Jackson has been Mom’s attorney for years,” Margot adds, but there’s something in the look she gives Tessa that says more.
Tessa’s brows rise a little of their own accord, and she struggles to keep her voice neutral.
“I see,” is the best she can manage. She meets Margot’s eyes. Really? Mom and the silver fox?
Her sister’s mouth twitches as she tries to hide a smile, but the dimple in her cheek deepens with the effort, and she glances toward the floor.
Tessa’s eyes swivel quickly back to Mr. Smith, trying valiantly to hold back the inappropriate laughter that bubbles up.
“Janie was a wonderful woman,” he’s saying. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Tessa manages to keep her voice somber by biting the inside of her lip.
“Well.” He clears his throat. “Like I was saying, if you two would like to come by my office, we can get the formalities taken care of right away.”
“I’m sorry, what formalities?” Tessa asks.
“Jackson’s talking about Mom’s will,” Margot says.
“Oh.” Tessa still doesn’t understand. “Okay. But . . . I assume everything is pretty straightforward.”
She hasn’t considered a will, but it would be out of character for their mother to be anything but evenhanded. A decision will need to be made about the house, and there’s the cabin that belonged to their grandparents, but . . .
“Whatever Margot chooses to do will be fine with me,” she says. Both faces are studying her, and Tessa squirms beneath their scrutiny. “I plan to leave tonight.”
Margot stiffens noticeably and her features go blank. Jackson Smith straightens as well.
“Tonight?” he repeats. “Ms. Shepherd . . . Tessa? May I call you Tessa?”
She nods and avoids her sister’s gaze.
“I hope you’ll forgive the presumption, but I think it would be best if you could stay for at least another day. I don’t have the paperwork at hand, but trust me when I say that Jane’s estate is a bit more . . . complicated than you might expect.”
“What does that mean? Complicated how?” Tessa asks. She glances at her sister, but Margot stands stiffly with her arms crossed. Tessa has been shut out again.
“My office is on the town square,” Jackson Smith says, which isn’t an answer. He pulls a business card from his wallet and offers it to her. “Come by in the morning, any time you like. I’ll explain everything.”
Tessa sighs and accepts the card. The low-level headache she’s been fighting all day makes a stunning reappearance and suddenly she’s exhausted. Exhausted and sad.
One more night. One more night surrounded by memories and past mistakes.
“Fine,” Tessa says, giving in. “Tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“And after that?” a tiny voice in her head whispers, but there’s no answer for that either.
11
Sleep is the easy way out. Sometimes the only way.
But Tessa’s body doesn’t allow her more than a few hours. She awakens suddenly, frightened for no perceivable reason. Then her heart rate slows as she remembers where she is and why.
Margot is here somewhere too, sheltering her own hurt beneath the same roof. The knowledge pulls at Tessa, magnetic in its insistence.
She rises from the bed, leaving the sheets as tangled as her mind, and pads down the hallway toward the kitchen. She’s not searching for her sister. Margot’s icy reception has made it clear she doesn’t want Tessa’s company, but she notices a lamp burning in the living room as she passes.
The two aren’t identical twins. Though they resemble one another, the physical features that they share—their mother’s eyes, their father’s straight, sharp nose—are no more or less than any pair of sisters might.
They do, however, share a connection born of proximity. An unavoidable closeness, having formed side by side in the same womb. At least, they did once.
Before the accident.
Before Tessa’s carelessness split them apart.
There’s a fresh cup of tea waiting on the counter, steam still wafting upward. Tessa lifts it, letting the heat seep into her hands. The aroma of lemon and chamomile fills her.
It’s possible, of course, that Margot made the cup for herself and left it forgotten in the kitchen, and now Tessa is adding tea theft to her growing list of transgressions, but she doesn’t believe that’s true.
Margot made tea for her, somehow knowing she’d be up soon. Sometimes, broken things retain the shape of their missing half, ragged and unmistakable along their edges. The cup was left for her.
Tea isn’t forgiveness, and Tessa doesn’t mistake it for such, but it warms her anyway.