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“I just don’t understand why she hated me so much,” I whispered to Eric as we left the service.
I nodded, even though we both knew that wasn’t exactly true. Difficult was her baseline. With me, it had always felt personal. It was as if I were some kind of threat.
A senior woman wearing eyeglasses | Source: Pexels
Still, she was gone now. And as I sat beside Eric in the black car headed to the reception, I made myself promise not to speak ill of her anymore. Not aloud, at least. The woman was dead. Whatever bad blood had flowed between us, I’d let it settle with her.
Three days later, I got the call.
“Mrs. Carter? This is Alan, Susan’s attorney. We’d like to invite you to the reading of her will. It’ll be this Friday at 11 a.m.”
I blinked. “Me? Are you sure? I mean… don’t you usually just speak with the family?”
“You’re listed, Mrs. Carter. We’ll need you to be present.”
I hung up, more confused than anything. I didn’t want to go. What for? Susan had never considered me family. I was the tagalong she barely tolerated at holidays. But Eric was going, and when I told him about the call, he gently placed his hand over mine and said, “Come with me. Please.”
The lawyer’s office was in one of those glass buildings downtown with too many elevators and a receptionist who spoke like she had just woken up from a nap. We were ushered into a conference room with a long polished table and soft leather chairs. Mark was already there, talking too loudly on his phone about golf tee times.
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