The Life She Wants

Aaron laughed. “It’s true. And he married a woman who liked nice things...”

“Well, she didn’t waste any money on me. After my first year of college I admitted defeat with Rosemary and hardly ever came home to visit. And you know what happened when I struck out on my own. I fell in love with and married a thief.”

“May I make a suggestion? You should ask for an accounting of your father’s estate. There’s still the house. It’s a substantial house.”

“She said the mortgage alone was killing her,” Emma pointed out.

“Emma, the house was insured against your father’s death. There was no mortgage. I still have a small practice, mostly just for old clients and friends. If I were your attorney, I could look into this.”

She started to laugh. “Oh, Aaron, you are so sweet. I can’t afford an attorney! I’m working at a fast food restaurant! Besides, if there turned out to be something left of his estate after all these years, would I have to fight for it? Because I can’t even consider going to court. Not ever again.”

“Here’s what would happen. I would see her lawyer or accountant, petition for an accounting of the proceeds of the estate on your behalf, and if there turned out to be something left for you, you’d have to sue. It usually doesn’t go that far unless there are millions at stake. If it’s a small amount, the trustee is usually happy to settle to save money. And if there is anything, I won’t charge a fee of any kind until you can afford it. It wouldn’t be a contingency or percentage, just my usual fee. Which,” he said, laughing at himself, “is a steal.”

“Well, I won’t be suing anyone, that’s for sure. I won’t even ask for anything from her—she hates me and at this point the feeling is mutual. I’m starting over. But you are kind and I appreciate your generosity.”

“Let’s find out, Emma. There was once some money involved. And your father’s house. That was a rich house, wasn’t it? Everyone envied it.”

“He built it with my mother,” she said. “He never said but I think they hoped to have a few children.” She shook her head. “Even the idea of money makes me sick. I live in two rooms. I pinch my pennies in a way that would make John Shay so proud. And I can’t bear the idea of owing you money for services that you’re really doing as a favor.”

“If it turns out there’s nothing there or if you choose not to pursue the recovery of it, my fee will be zero.”

Her eyes got a little round. “Why, Aaron, I think you wouldn’t mind catching Rosemary with her hand in the cookie jar!”

“You found me out,” he said. “John was such a gentle man. She seemed to suck the life out of him.”

“I think he married Rosemary to have help with me,” she said. “It must have been so hard for him. And everyone who knew my mother loved her. I don’t think people even like Rosemary. She’s a hard woman.”

He was quiet for a moment. “John was a good friend. He was careful with his will. It would take months to get an answer, Emma. Months before you have to decide how to proceed. For your peace of mind, I’d be happy to look into this for you.”

She shrugged. “Why not? What can it hurt? I won’t get my hopes up. If Rosemary was involved, I’m sure she’s had a real party spending it. She quit working the week my dad died.”

“Then I have something important to do and it makes me so happy to do it for you.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you came home, Emma.”

* * *

Lyle was finishing up for the day, standing at the counter while he looked at the orders for Saturday delivery. In August sales started picking up again after summer. In summer there weren’t any floral holidays and people had their own blooms. Summer in Sonoma County was pure heaven.

The door to the shop opened and he smiled to see Riley Kerrigan come in. Took her long enough, he thought. He hadn’t seen her in at least a couple of months. She looked fantastic, as usual. You’d never guess by looking at her that she owned a domestic and industrial cleaning service. She looked more like a bank executive or high-powered attorney. After all her years of secondhand clothes followed by scrimping to get by and build her business, Riley was making up for lost time in the wardrobe category.

“Hi,” she said. “I thought I might catch you before you left for the day. How’s it going?”

“It’s all good. How’s everything at Happy Housekeeping?” he asked, knowing full well that was not the name of her business.

“Happy, happy, happy. So. Is she back?”

He nodded. “Over a month now,” he said. “Tell me something—did it take willpower to wait this long to ask?”

“I didn’t expect her to call, if that’s what you’re getting at. How is she?” Riley asked.

“Doing very well, in spite of everything.”

Riley’s smile was very small. “Emma has a way of bouncing back.”

“If she can bounce back from this, she’s a superhero. She stayed in that apartment alone, slept on a cot, even though her husband’s blood was all over his study. Because no one offered her a guest room, not even the legal team who were so well paid. And she wasn’t safe in a hotel—too many victims of Richard’s fraud threatened her. I offered to go out there but she wouldn’t have it—she didn’t want me in jeopardy. She made the drive to California by herself—she said she needed the time alone and away. Her husband has been dead a few months. It took her a month here to find a bad job. She says she’s holding up very well. I’m amazed she’s even standing.”

“I’m sorry she’s going through this, but she wouldn’t want my sympathy or my help. If you think of anything I can do without, you know, getting involved, let me know.”

“Sure,” he said. “She says she’s over it, by the way. Your feud.”

“Me, too,” Riley said. “But still...”

“She said that, too.”

Riley smiled at her dear friend. They’d been the three musketeers in high school—Emma, Lyle and Riley. She gave a quiet laugh and shook her head. “Can I buy the man in the middle a drink?” she asked.

“By all means,” Lyle said. “I think she’s forgiven you by now.”

“Good to know. I still hate her, but I’m not mad at her anymore.”

“Oh, great.” He started turning off lights. “Let’s go drink.”

* * *

Riley stopped by the grocery after a glass of wine with Lyle. They’d been friends for a long time. Usually threesomes don’t work very well, but in this case, Lyle being a guy and all, there was no issue. At least not until Emma and Riley had their epic breakup. Then Lyle was stuck in the middle, trying not to take sides. He’d managed to remain loyal to both women for sixteen years.

She was lost in thought, her hand absently palming a honeydew melon.

“I’m not sure if you’re going to bowl with that or put it in your cart,” a male voice said.

She looked up and smiled. She’d seen this guy before. Starbucks, maybe. “Sorry,” she said, taking the melon, though she didn’t really want it.

“They look good today, don’t they?” he asked. “Hey, do you know where I can find roasted peppers? Fire roasted,” he said, consulting a list.

She shook herself for a second, coming back to grocery land and leaving thoughts of poor Lyle and their triangle far behind. “Um, over there with the olives are some prepared in the jar. That’s all I know about.”

“Artichoke hearts?”

“Same place in the jar, or some in the frozen section.”

“Parmesan?”

She smiled at him. He was very good-looking. “You’re making artichoke dip, aren’t you? Let me see that,” she said. She glanced over the recipe. “There aren’t any roasted peppers in this recipe.”

“I know—it’s for something else. I’m just picking them up for a...a neighbor.”

“Thank goodness. Okay, be sure the artichokes are packed in water, add a half cup of mozzarella, a sprinkle of chili powder and a cup of chopped spinach and some lucky woman will propose.”

“Dynamite. Thank you,” he said, turning to go. Then he turned back and said, “Chili powder?”