Girls Like Us(21)

I squirm uncomfortably in my seat. Howie, I notice, busies himself shuffling papers. We’ve entered awkward territory and both of us know it. “The person . . . like a tenant?”

“I get the sense that she was more than that.”

“Do you know her name?”

“No. I thought maybe you might.”

I sigh, frustrated. “This is the first I’m hearing of an apartment. Or the person who lives there.”

“Maybe he was seeing someone and he didn’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not a child, Howie. If Dad had a girlfriend, he could have told me.”

“I have a daughter your age. I can understand how that kind of thing would be sensitive.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that’s up to you. But Marty was clear. He wanted this woman to be taken care of. Hence the restructuring of the will.”

“But it wasn’t restructured.”

“No. We had this conversation maybe a week or so before he died. Everything is yours. I’m just trying to be up-front with you. There was another person in your father’s life that he wanted to provide for in some way. You have no legal obligation to her. His will is valid, and unless this woman comes forward and contests it—and frankly, even then, given that they weren’t married, I don’t think she really has grounds to—everything will go to you. But I’d be remiss in not telling you his intentions.”

I sit back and cross my arms. I wonder if it’s too early for a drink. “Well, shit, Howie. This sounds complicated.”

“I’m sorry, Nell. I really am. I hope you don’t think he was trying to take money away from you. I just think he was trying to do right by this woman.”

“If he had someone in his life, I would’ve been happy for him. My mother’s been dead for twenty-one years. I didn’t expect him to become a monk.”

“Were you two in touch?”

I sigh. “Not really. We had a falling-out ten years ago. When I was in high school.”

“He mentioned that.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“He said he pushed you to go to college out of state. He didn’t want you to end up trapped here in Suffolk County like he did. He said you never forgave him.”

I nod, stung by the notion that he felt trapped here, by my mother. By me. “I did forgive him. We talked now and then, but it was always a little bit strained between us. We’re both stubborn. I think we both expected an apology, and neither one of us was willing to give one.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I know. He’d call a few times a year to wish me a happy birthday or a merry Christmas, but that was about it. We never really got into personal life–type stuff.”

“Your dad was a very private man.”

“He certainly was.”

“Maybe one of his friends on the force knew her?”

“Glenn Dorsey planned the whole memorial service yesterday. He never mentioned a girlfriend. I think he would have, if this woman had been so important to Dad.”

“Maybe he didn’t know about her, either.”

“So you don’t have her contact information?”

Howie shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Just the address of the apartment. He gave me a copy of the lease agreement—it’s all in there. The account is at Suffolk County Bank. I’d contact them. As I said, the will specifies that you get his entire estate. And the will is valid. So the account is yours. It’s up to you what you choose to do with it.”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the sofa. I am suddenly excruciatingly tired. My bones ache. My head feels like it’s made of lead. I wonder if I just stay here long enough, maybe I will drift away into sleep.

Howie gets the message. He taps a stack of papers against the table, stands up. My eyes flicker open. “I’m sorry. It’s been a helluva day.”

“I’m sure. Why don’t you rest. I’ve left everything there for you to look over. If you have questions, call me. We can talk more when you’ve had a chance to read through everything.”

I stand up, extend my hand. “Thanks, Howie. I appreciate it.”

He gives me a quick hug instead. “Nell, I’ve been doing this a lot of years. Estates are complicated in every family. Some things about your dad’s life might come as a surprise. But your dad cared about you. You were the most important person in his life. Don’t doubt that for a second. Every time he was in my office, you were all he talked about.”

I shrug, unsure of how to respond. My father always felt like an enigma to me, even when we lived beneath the same roof. I wondered often if I knew him at all; whether he had the capacity or desire to really know me. Now it strikes me that we’ll never get the chance. The thought fills me with a hard, uncomfortable sadness. I bite down on my lip. The pain keeps me from tears.

“Do you see anyone?” Howie asks. “A therapist, I mean. I can recommend some names if that would be helpful.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”

Howie nods. He picks up his briefcase and we walk together to the front door. He gives me an awkward, stilted handshake goodbye. As soon as he’s gone, I go to the kitchen and pour myself a drink. I finish it in a few large gulps, pour another. I settle in on the couch. The alcohol courses through my veins, warming me. On impulse, I dial Dr. Ginnis’s phone number.