Chapter 5
Vanessa looked from Maya to me.
“I called every lawyer whose name I found in Denise’s papers,” she said. “I was helping Marcus organize things.”
“You didn’t tell him about that call,” Maya replied.
“I called half a dozen offices. I don’t remember every conversation.”
Aisha came down the courthouse steps behind us. Vanessa saw her and adjusted her coat.
“If you want to question me, do it through your lawyer,” she said.
“That’s what we’ll do,” I answered.
She walked away.
I had loved the woman crossing that sidewalk. I could still remember ordinary, tender things: her asleep on my sofa, the way she brought soup when Mom was ill, the way she once drove across town because I had left my presentation notes at home.
I could also remember how quickly she mocked Maya when she thought Maya had nothing.
Both sets of memories belonged to me. I could not let the pleasant ones erase the rest.
Aisha advised us to finish the estate distribution and keep a careful record of the house appraisal inquiry. There was no proof Vanessa had forged a will or taken estate money. We would not claim she had.
We did have enough to decide she would have no role in handling Mom’s property.
Maya and I met at the house that evening.
“I don’t want to sell it right away,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
“I thought you might think I only wanted half because of the money.”
“You flew here before you knew about the newer will.”
“I came because you called.”
I set the Maybach key on the table between us.
“We also need to decide what to do with the car.”
Maya laughed a little.
“I brought it to you because Mom left it in the garage with a note. The note said, ‘Marcus finally needs a car that starts on the first try.’”
“That sounds like her.”
“She wrote one for me too. She left me her piano.”
“Do you play?”
“I used to.”
“Then we’ll get it tuned.”
I pushed the key toward Maya.
“I don’t need a Maybach to prove Mom loved me.”
“I know. She wanted you to enjoy it.”
“I’ll drive it to dinner. After that, we can decide whether keeping it makes sense.”
She agreed.
That night, Vanessa came to my apartment to collect her clothes. I asked my friend Daniel to be there, not because I feared she would hurt me, but because I wanted a witness if we argued.
She arrived with two empty bags.
“I never thought you would choose a woman you barely know over me,” she said.
“I’m choosing to know my sister.”
“I was there when your mother died.”
“You were. I thanked you for that.”
“Now it counts for nothing?”
“It mattered. It doesn’t give you permission to make decisions about her house without telling me.”
Vanessa packed in silence for a while. Then she found the framed picture of us at a wedding last summer.
“Are we finished?” she asked.
“I think we are.”
Her eyes filled. I believed she was hurt. I was hurt too.
“I didn’t hide a will,” she said.
“I hope that’s true.”
“You still don’t believe me.”
“I believe you called the firm. I believe you read the older will and ordered an appraisal. I can’t ask you to stay while every important answer arrives after I find the evidence myself.”
She put the photograph face down on the table and left it there.
After she went, Daniel helped me carry her bags to the car. He waited until she drove away before speaking.
“You all right?”
“No.”
“You will be.”
He stayed for coffee, and I let myself be quiet.
A week later, Maya returned to her apartment to arrange time away from work. Before she left, she gave me copies of the letters Mom had written. We had found the originals together; neither of us wanted to keep them from the other.
At the airport, she hugged me.
“I’m coming back,” she said.
“I know.”
“Call even when nothing dramatic has happened.”
I promised I would.
For the first time since Mom’s death, the house felt less like a place full of unfinished questions. I went there on Saturday to water the plants and sort a closet.
Inside a box of kitchen papers, I found a receipt from Helen’s firm. It showed Mom had paid for the newer will herself. Attached was a handwritten instruction to mail copies to two addresses.
One was mine.
May you like
The other was Maya’s old address.
Neither copy had reached us.
