“I can’t do this anymore,” he says.
Desperation creeps into Layla’s voice. “What’re you talking about?” asks Layla, with desperation creeping into her voice. “What can’t you do anymore?”
I should make my presence known. But I’m way too curious.
“I can’t stay married to you, Layla. You’ve changed. Your success has gone to your head.”
“I don’t understand, Roger. Why are you so mad at me?”
“I’m not mad,” Roger says with a note of resignation. “I’m disappointed in the way you handled your father’s illness. In the three months since his diagnosis, you’ve only visited him one time.”
“I’m not a doctor!” she snaps. “How did I know his disease would’ve progressed so fast?”
“If you’d listened to your sister, you would’ve known. But you don’t listen, Layla. You only hear what you wanna hear. Who passes up the opportunity to say goodbye to their father on his deathbed for a Juvenile Diabetes benefit?”
“I’ll have you know, those tickets cost me five hundred dollars apiece.”
He lets out an exasperated groan. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
Their voices fade, and the door slams shut.
While I’m not my sister’s biggest fan, I feel sorry for her. I certainly don’t want to see her marriage fail. She is, and always has been, her own worst enemy.
My desire to get drunk has passed, and I set my glass down on the table beside me. I don’t know what to think of any of it. The visits from the past. My sister and her marital problems. The visions. This day has turned my world upside down, and I have no clue how to go about setting it right again.
Lillian
I hear Layla and Roger arguing throughout the night, and when I go down for breakfast at eight the following morning, Roger has already left for Atlanta.
A bewildered Trudy says, “He was in such a hurry to get out of here, he didn’t bother with breakfast. Not even a cup of coffee. Your sister couldn’t be bothered to come down and see her husband off. I reckon she’ll fly back to Atlanta when she’s ready to go home.”
When I mumble, “I hope that’ll be soon,” Trudy gives me the stink eye.
I eat a bowl of oatmeal and spend the next couple of hours helping Trudy clean up from the reception. Around noon, I change into shorts and a T-shirt and walk up the road a few blocks to the Charleston Yacht Club where we keep our daysailer. I haven’t been out on the water in weeks and the fresh air helps clear my mind. I’m on the water for over an hour before my thoughts shift to Dr. Hudson and Alice Browder.
My father would never have prevented Layla and me from knowing our godmother without a good reason. Alice said she didn’t blame him after everything that happened. She moved to California twenty-seven years ago, right after my mother died. Did this thing that happened drive her to move to California? Did it have something to do with my mother’s death? Is it the reason I suppressed memories from the day she died?
Closing my eyes, I lift my face to the sun. I try to summon the red vision, but the day is bright, and I see only the cobalt-blue color of the sky through my eyelids. Why tamper with the powerful locks on my memories when they are protecting me from something unbearably painful? Don’t I have enough suffering in my life already with mourning the death of my father?
I return home to shower and dress before heading to our meeting with the attorneys. A grim-faced Layla slides into the back seat of my Subaru with Trudy beside me in the front. None of us speak during the drive to the law firm’s offices on Broad Street. We ride the elevator to the third floor where a receptionist directs us to the conference room. Marcus is seated at the mahogany conference table with Daddy’s senior attorneys, Messrs. Cross and Ball. I’ve known these gentlemen all my life. Even though Layla and I spoke with them at length at the funeral, they express their condolences again as we take our seats opposite them.
I feel Marcus’s green eyes on me. I’m an ugly duckling in plain khaki pants and a white cotton crew neck sweater next to my sister who, despite the turmoil in her marriage, presents herself as a seasoned professional in gray slacks and a powder-blue silk blouse.
Ball opens a file in front of him. “Let’s get started. I believe Marcus explained to you that we have urgent business to discuss. Let me start with a bit of positive news. Graham has bequeathed a nice sum for your retirement, Trudy.”
When he announces the amount, Trudy’s brown eyes grow wide. This is no surprise to me. Dad told me he’d taken care of Trudy in his will.
Ball continues, “In terms of the remainder of his estate, however, I’m afraid there’s not much left. At least in terms of liquid assets after funeral expenses are paid. On the bright side, there’s no mortgage against either the house in Charleston or the cottage on Wadmalaw. Combined, even in their current state of disrepair, the properties are worth several million dollars.”
Silence settles over the conference room and the attorneys stare down at the table. Sweat trickles down my back, and I find it difficult to breath. When I look to my sister for help, she shrugs. She’s at a loss for words as well.
I fold my hands on the table to keep them from shaking. “I don’t understand. Are you saying the Stoney family fortune is gone?”
Marcus’s lips part in a sympathetic smile. “Except for the equity in the houses, yes.”
“How did this happen?” Layla asks.
“The portfolio took a considerable blow in the last recession,” Cross says. “Your father, on his teaching salary, couldn’t begin to pay the staff and maintain two houses.”
Everything suddenly makes sense. Why Dad fired the staff and why, when I asked him if I would inherit the house, he said, “You’ll have to work that out with your sister.” He didn’t leave either of us the house. He left us a mess.
The room falls silent again, and the three attorneys cast uncomfortable glances at one another. “Are there additional questions?” Cross asks.
I know I should be asking something. I’m just not sure what. Layla pushes back from the table, and the rest of us stand.
“We’re here to support you in any way we can,” Ball says as he escorts us to the door.
We’re halfway to the elevator when Marcus calls, “Wait! Lil, I forgot I have something for you. It’s in my office, if you have a moment to spare.”
Goose bumps break out on my arms. What could he possibly have to give me?
I tell Trudy and Layla I’ll meet them at the car, and then follow Marcus back down the hall in the opposite direction. His office is spacious with a dark wooden desk positioned in front of a large window overlooking Broad Street.
“I neglected to tell you yesterday at the funeral that your father summoned me to your house three weeks ago. You were at the dentist, having your teeth cleaned, at the time. He asked me to give you this after he was gone.” Marcus presses a small silver key in the palm of my hand.
I stare at the key. “What lock does it fit? Did he say?”
“The bottom desk drawer in his study. The one that holds his files.”
“I always assumed Dad kept files relating to college business locked in that drawer. Is there something specific he wants me to see?”