Authors: Janelle Taylor
Watching Amanda (4 page)
Usually when the boy was on the verge of tears, which was often, he blinked back the tears hard. A thirteen-year-old boy didn't want to be caught crying. But this time, the tears fell down his cheeks, and he didn't try to stop them.
“Nick? What's wrong?” Ethan asked, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. “The toaster works great. The Pop Tarts are proof.”
Nick sniffled. “I don't know. I thought maybe ... I don't know,” he said, covering his face with his hands.
“You thought maybe what?” Ethan asked.
“I thought if the toaster didn't work, then maybe that would almost be a good thing.” His face crumpled and he slid down to the floor on his butt, the tears streaming down his face. Sobs wracked his thin body.
Ethan grabbed a box of tissues from the counter, then slid down next to Nick. “It would be a good thing because you could maybe start to forget a little? Not forget your mom, I mean, but forget that she's gone?”
Nick turned to Ethan in surprise. “Yeah. That's exactly what I mean.” Fresh tears welled up in his hazel eyes. “How'd you know?”
Ethan leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “I lost someone close to me once. I know.”
“Your mom?” Nick asked.
“My wife,” Ethan told him.
And our unborn child.
“When was that?” Nick asked.
“Three years ago.”
The boy thought for a moment. “Hey, that's when you moved here. Three years ago.”
Ethan nodded. “That's right. Something about all this land, all this greenâwell, when it's not covered in snowâall these trees and lakes and trails, is good for getting over hard stuff.”
Nick chewed on his lower lip. “Are you over losing your wife?”
Ethan thought of the wallet-sized photograph he kept of Katherine, three months pregnant and not yet showing, except for the tell-tale glow on her face, the joy in her smile.
“No, Nick. I'm not over it. But there are ways to help a person find peace with a terrible loss.”
“What ways?” the teenager asked.
“Like hiking. Like jogging. Like taking things apart and putting them back together. Like talking to those close to you.”
Not that Ethan talked to anyone.
Nick let out a frustrated breath. “I can't talk to my dad. Every time I bring up Mom, he looks like he's going to cry.”
“You know what, Nick? I think if you bring that toaster home to your dad, and whip up some of his favorite frozen waffles, he might take it as a sign.”
“A sign of what?” Nick asked.
“That some things can be fixed.”
The boy brightened. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Ethan said. “You and your dad are both still here. And though you'll always miss your mom, you can always find ways to honor her memory. Using that toaster that she loved is a fine way.”
Or planting a tree in the back yard.
Katherine had loved trees. She'd been studying horticulture.
“Yeah, that's true,” Nick said, getting to his feet. He picked up the toaster and looked at it with reverence, then headed for the door.
“Those Pop Tarts are for you,” Ethan told him.
Nick smiled and chomped on one pastry and put the other in his jacket pocket
.
.
“Look, Nick, I'm not sure when I'll be back. But if you need me, you call my cell phone, okay?”
Nick nodded. “I think I'm gonna be okay, though. I don't know, I just feel different. It's weird.”
Ethan smiled. “Take care.”
He watched the boy run through the falling snow toward home, the toaster in his arms.
It was time for Ethan to go home too. But for very different reasons.
CHAPTER 4
At least ten times, Amanda had picked up the phone and put it back down again, undecided whether she should call her sisters to offer condolences for the loss of their father.
This is insane,
she thought each time she put down the phone. How had their relationship come to this?
she thought each time she put down the phone. How had their relationship come to this?
Because we have no relationship. We've never had a relationship.
In the end, Amanda decided to wait until the reading of the will, where she could speak to Olivia and Ivy in person. That would be warmer than a phone call anyway, she rationalized.
“Hey, that's not rationalizing,” Jenny assured her when she arrived with a black pants suit draped over her arm. “It's the truth.” She nuzzled Tommy with her nose. “Hi sweetie-pie! Guess who's going to babysit you while Mommy goes to the city! That's right! Auntie Jenny.”
Amanda blew Jenny a kiss and disappeared into her bedroom with the pants suit Jenny was letting her borrow for the occasion. With a closet full of “mom clothes,” Amanda didn't have much to choose from.
She tried the little leopard-print scarf Jenny had brought over, but it was both too trendy for her and seemed too whimsical for the occasion. Amanda put on the diamond stud earrings her mother had left her and her one pair of nice black pumps.
“You'll be fine,” Jenny assured her when Amanda came into the living room. “Just remember that no matter what, you have Tommy. Okay? He'll keep you focused on what's important.”
Amanda smiled and nodded and squeezed her friend's hand, giving Tommy one last kiss on the forehead before putting on her black wool coat and heading out.
She walked to the subway on the corner, trying not to think too much, and in the train station she bought a newspaper to keep her mind occupied. As the train rumbled into the station, she thought about turning around, dashing back upstairs and into her apartment building, but then the doors to the train opened and she made herself get on.
She flipped through the newspaper, unable to concentrate. She read her horoscope, which promised good news today, and then Tommy's, which assured strange news.
Why am I reading this?
she asked herself, folding the paper and staring out the darkened windows of the train.
Just breathe and remember what Jenny said: No matter what happens, you always have Tommy.
she asked herself, folding the paper and staring out the darkened windows of the train.
Just breathe and remember what Jenny said: No matter what happens, you always have Tommy.
Forty minutes later, Amanda stood in front of the skyscraper office building in which Harris, Pinker and Swift was located.
This was it, she thought. In more ways than one.
She headed to the elevator bank and waited, then rode up to the nineteenth floor, and didn't feel the slightest fluttering of butterflies until the doors slid open and she stepped out. At the end of the carpeted hallway were two glass doors and a huge gold sign engraved with the firm's name.
She pulled the ornate gold handle and stepped inside, and she suddenly felt lightheaded. She felt as though she'd stepped over a threshold and that her life wouldn't be the same after today.
“Just head right through that door,” the receptionist told Amanda, pointing at a wood door to the left of her desk.
The moment Amanda entered the large rectangular room she could feel the tension.
Olivia Sedgwick sat ramrod straight at a long polished wood table, looking over a large leather appointment book. She wore a stylish, fitted black suit and a short, netted black veil over her honey blond hair, which was pinned up in an elegant bun.
Olivia's mother, a tall, thin, regal-looking woman in her late fifties, sat beside her daughter, staring from her watch to the round clock on the wall. When the door had opened, Olivia's mother's head jerked up expectantly. The woman seemed disappointed that it was only Amanda.
Ivy Sedgwick was across from Olivia. With her short, straight brown hair, fringe of bangs, and warm, expressive green eyes, Ivy always appeared friendly, which gave Amanda a false sense of security about the youngest Sedgwick sister. Ivy was as complex and as complicated as Olivia. On one side of Ivy was her mother, also tall, also thin and also regal-looking.
William Sedgwick definitely had had a thing for tall, thin, regal-looking women, since Amanda's mother had also fit that description.
What Amanda would give to have her own mother in this room, sitting beside her!
On Ivy's right and holding her hand, grasping her hand, really, atop the table was a good-looking man in his thirties. Amanda had never seen him before.
Ah. A diamond gleamed on the ring finger of Ivy's left hand. The man must be her fiancé.
And I didn't even know she was engaged
, Amanda thought sadly.
We might as well be strangers.
, Amanda thought sadly.
We might as well be strangers.
Amanda smiled inwardly at the sight of Ivy and her handsome husband-to-be. When they were teenagers, Amanda had found Ivy crying more than once in their father's summer home during their two-week vacations together. Once, Ivy had opened up to Amanda, sobbing that she was a plain-Jane who would never have a boyfriend, never be kissed, never get married. Apparently, Olivia had tried to set up Ivy on a blind date with a friend of the guy she was dating, and when the blind date glimpsed Ivy, he suddenly came down with the flu.
Or so he said.
Olivia was the oldest Sedgwick sister; Ivy the youngest. And at fifteen, Olivia Sedgwick, who pored over beauty and fashion magazines and transformed herself into a style maven, had more requests for dates than there were summer nights. Ivy, on the other hand, had spent so many summer nights watching television, especially cop shows, that she developed a huge interest in police procedure and forensic science and subsequently spent her days in the local police precinct as a volunteer, filing and doing data entry.
And Amanda, the middle sister, who had dark blue eyes like Olivia and silky chestnut brown hair like Ivy, spent her summer weeks with her sisters observing them, trying to find a way in. Amanda had turned down a date with a local boy in order to spend an evening watching
NYPD Blue
with Ivy, hoping a common interest would create a bond. But it never really did. And Amanda had read
Seventeen
and
Glamour
and
Vogue
until she knew the supermodels by name, but that too didn't make Amanda and Olivia any closer.
NYPD Blue
with Ivy, hoping a common interest would create a bond. But it never really did. And Amanda had read
Seventeen
and
Glamour
and
Vogue
until she knew the supermodels by name, but that too didn't make Amanda and Olivia any closer.
And then Olivia turned eighteen and stopped coming for the summer vacations, and the tradition simply dissolved. Looking back, Amanda wondered what the point had been since William Sedgwick was hardly around during the two weeks he arranged for the four of them to spend together. In all her times at the house in Maine, Amanda had only even managed to develop a friendly relationship with Clara, William's housekeeper and cook.
Now, as Amanda sat down next to Olivia, the beautiful blonde glanced at her and offered a solemn smile. Amanda smiled back, and then looked over at Ivy, who also smiled somberly. It was something. If not spoken condolence, then at least a sympathetic connection.
Amanda felt other eyes on her; both sisters' mothers were looking at her with contempt.
As usual. Not that both mothers had it in for only Amanda; Olivia's mother glanced with disgust at both Amanda and Ivy; Ivy's mother glanced with the same scorn at both Amanda and Olivia. That had been going on since the girls were little.
Amanda's mother had rarely seen the other Sedgwick sisters, since she hadn't felt the need to hover over her daughter while in the presence of William or the girls. Amanda's mom hadn't wanted to even lay eyes on the man who'd terribly hurt and abandoned her, but she had nothing but kind words for his other daughters, whom she felt were innocent children caught in a lot of anger.
Olivia's and Ivy's mothers now turned their scorn on each other. An argument might have broken out had the door not opened just then.
An imposing man of sixty-something entered, holding a briefcase, which he set down at the head of the table.
“Good morning, ladies, gentleman. My name is George Harris, and I am William Sedgwick's attorney. William was a long-time friend as well as a client, and I am deeply sorry for your loss.” He waited a moment, then sat and opened the briefcase. “I am about to explain the pertinent sections of William Sedgwick's last will and testament, which is uncontestable.”
“We'll see about that,” Olivia's mother muttered under her breath.
Olivia sent her mother a sharp glance.
“William has left each of his three daughters an envelope dated as to when it is to be handed out and opened,” the lawyer said. On that date, each daughter may come to our office to pick up her envelope from our safe.”
“When does Olivia get hers?” Olivia's mother asked.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “On December tenth, Amanda Sedgwick may pick up her envelope. On January thirtieth, Olivia Sedgwick may pick up her envelope. On March twentieth, Ivy Sedgwickâ”
Ivy's mother shot up. “March twentieth is Ivy's wedding date! William was up to something! I demand to know what's going on!”
“You will sit down please, Mrs. Sedgwick,” the lawyer stated calmly, “or you will be escorted out of the building. You are here at my discretion only.”
Ivy's mother glared at the lawyer, but sat. Ivy's fiancé patted Ivy's hand.
“Amanda, dear,” Olivia's mother said, “why don't you open your envelope right now? What's a few days? Especially when we're all so curious!”
The lawyer stood. “Any departure from the terms of the will shall render null and void the contents of the envelope or any claim whatsoever to William's estate.”
“Why does Amanda get her envelope first?” Olivia's mother demanded to know. “She's not the oldest.”
“Why don't you mind your own business?” Ivy's mother snapped.
“How dare youâ” Olivia's mother snarled back.
“I'll tell you how I dare,” Ivy's mother shouted. “As Ivy is William's only legitimate daughter, she is the only one who should inherit anything!”
“Mom!” Ivy said, her cheeks turning red. “Stop it right now!”
“Dear, I'm only trying to look out for your best interests. You're planning a very expensive wedding in three months. Surely your father intended to help with the arrangements, soâ”
“I doubt that,” Ivy's fiancé suddenly said, his expression glum. “Why would he help plan a wedding that he never wanted to see take place? He didn't think I was good enough for Ivy.”
“Oh, Declan,” Ivy said. “My father was just being a snob. He thought only a Wharton MBA investment banker who plays golf would be good enough.”
“And what it is you do?” Olivia's mother asked Declan.
“I happen to be studying for my MBA at NYU,” Declan responded. “William thought a thirty-year-old should be firmly established in business, not going to school.”
“Well I think education and the pursuit of professional advancement is the most important thing,” Ivy's mother said, patting Declan's hand. “You'll be a huge success one day. Declan is the son of an old friend of mine,” Ivy's mother added. “I'm thrilled that he and my baby girl are getting married.”
“I think it's nice that William would leave us anything at all,” Ivy said, “considering how little he was involved in our lives.”
“I wouldn't be so appreciative yet,” Olivia's mother retorted. “You don't know what's in your envelope. Perhaps it's a bill for those summers you spent at his house in Maine.”
“Mother,” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “
Enough
.”
Enough
.”
“Yes, enough,” Ivy's mother seconded, staring down Olivia's mother.
Olivia and Ivy shook their heads and let out deep breaths in unison.
The lawyer stood. “Good day, ladies.”
Both mothers shot up. “What? That's it?”
“That's it,” Mr. Harris said. He turned to Amanda. “I'll see you on the tenth, Amanda. You can come any time during the day to pick up your envelope.”
The tenth was Friday, two days from now.
“Once again, ladies,” Mr. Harris said. “I can't stress enough that any deviation from the terms of the will shall disqualify that person. Once again, please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss.” With that, he clicked shut his briefcase and left the room.
As there was nothing left to say or do, the mothers stood, hugged their respective daughters, and left.
Amanda, Olivia and Ivy remained seated.
“I can't believe he's really gone,” Amanda said, staring down at her trembling hands.
“I know,” said Ivy.
Olivia nodded.
And the three women sat there in silence, not exactly companionable but not unfriendly either, until the receptionist came in to let them know the room was needed for a partners' meeting.
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