Blurred (Connections, #3.5)(38)

“Not that I know of,” Serena answers. “But I’ll call Hale on our way to the church and see if he knows.”

I nod at her and think about how long it has been since I’ve seen my mother’s attorney. I motion for Trent to get in the truck. He points to the pile on the ground.

“We’ll clean it up when we get back. Let’s go,” I holler back as I hoist myself into the cab.

I pull out of the large circular driveway and glance back at the heap of wood in my rearview mirror, hoping I can put the desk back together.

As Serena and Trent argue about what station to put the radio on I reflect back on the last two weeks and how my life has changed. After Dahlia and I left the beach, she drove me back to LA and dropped me off at the impound lot. She was shocked to see I had a motorcycle, but then just grinned and said, “You always did like to feel the wind against your face. So it makes sense.”

“Don’t say it,” I teased her as I got out of the car.

“Say what?” she called back.

“That I’m a dog,” I said.

“That you’re a dog,” she said in unison.

It was an inside joke we’d had since we were kids. She always made fun of me for loving speed—the speed I felt while pedaling fast on my bicycle, the speed I felt taking a steep hill on my skateboard, or the speed I felt catching a wave on my surfboard. I glanced at her one last time before I walked away from her that day. There was no discussion as to when we’d talk again, but I knew we would and I knew that somehow we would be all right—that we would find our way back to a friendship that worked for both of us.

After the arrest, I promptly gave my two weeks notice to the LA Times, opting to freelance for a bit. My last day was probably the most interesting one of my stint as a wedding columnist. I had the very distinct pleasure of meeting with the infamous Damon Wolf. Damon Wolf and Ivy Taylor were engaged sometime last year, but hadn’t set a wedding date. The wedding column doesn’t usually run stories on engagements, but Christine made an exception. I guess when you own a magazine you get special treatment.

My interview was with Damon only and he wanted to meet at Sound Music Magazine. When I arrived he was reaming out Dahlia’s friend Aerie for forgetting to arrange a lunch date for him for some interview. I tried not to get involved, I really did, but I’ve known Aerie for so long that I had to step in. Let’s just say when I did—my day and my job ended early. What an assshole!

“Did you hear me?” my sister asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I put the truck in park and turn toward her. “No, sorry.”

“Hale said he’s been trying to reach us for months. I’m pretty sure he was calling Mom’s house phone. Either way he wants us to meet him at the bank as soon as we finish. He wants to read Mom’s will.”

I blink my eyes and try to take what she said in. “Did you know she had a will?”

Serena shakes her head. “He seems to know what’s in the box though.”

“You should have let me take Uncle Ben’s motorcycle,” Trent tells his mother as he hops out of the truck.

“I told you, you are never allowed to ride that. And I’m not kidding!” she yells to him.

“Come on, Trent. Let’s unload and we’ll drop you at the coffee shop while we go over to the bank.”

He smiles. “Hell, yeah. Hot chicks are always in there.”

I just grin and shake my head. I notice my sister roll her eyes.

***

Serena and I file into the conference room with Hale Reed behind us—box in hand. He’s been our family’s attorney for as long as I can remember. He’s been in and out of the hospital so it’s understandable that we haven’t connected until now. My sister takes a seat at the table and I choose to stand at the window. Hale sets the box down and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, along with a pair of reading glasses. He clears his throat. “Serena and Ben,” he says, as he slips his glasses on and then unfolds the document in his hand. “This is your mother’s will. She hadn’t updated it in a while. It was drafted more than ten years ago, but I am confident these were still her wishes.”

I lean back against the sill and thump my fingers nervously on it.

He unlocks the box and takes out a dark blue bankbook. I walk over and glance in the metal case to see if it contains anything else, but there’s nothing there.

“Hale, what’s with the formality of meeting us for a bankbook? I already have all her account information. Ben and I just haven’t sat down yet to figure it all out,” Serena inquires.

“No, Serena, you don’t have everything. I manage this account. I’m the trustee.”

“Okay, why?” Serena asks.

He clears his throat again. “This account contains a ten million dollar settlement fund issued to your mother. She never touched the principle; but rather she lived off the interest. Your father didn’t have life insurance, so this was how she supported you both. Every year since the year your father died, I’ve dispersed the interest to her but she never wanted more. She said it was for you both.”

My mouth drops and Serena pales. I make my way to the table and sit next to my sister and take her hand in mine. I’m speechless. Ten million dollars. How could we not have known this?

There are sounds sputtering out of Serena’s mouth, but none are comprehensible. I make an effort to speak. “Hale, why would our mother have ten million dollars from a settlement? And why wouldn’t she tell us?”