Good for You: A Novel (17)

Roger continued. “Long story short, your brother left both you and Wyatt the house. By which I mean you each have fifty percent ownership and share fifty percent responsibility for all that home ownership entails.”

“But . . .” Was Wyatt going to bill her for the utilities he’d covered for the last nine months? Maybe she could sell a kidney on the black market. Or harvest one of Wyatt’s while he slept, she thought, a smile appearing on her lips for the first time that day.

“I know,” said Roger. “It’s not the decision I advised Luke to make. But it’s perfectly legal. In fact, it happens all the time, but usually with family members rather than strangers.”

“Oh, Wyatt’s strange, alright,” she said, wiping her brow with her arm. She really needed to turn the air-conditioning on, which meant she’d have to find the thermostat. “Here’s the thing: I need to sell this place,” she said, walking into the hall. “Like, yesterday. So what do I need to do?”

“That’s a bit complicated,” said Roger. “Not the paperwork—that’s fairly straightforward. But both parties have to want to sell. And it’s my understanding that Wyatt does not.”

“What?” Aly was downstairs now and had just located the thermostat. Eighty-four degrees! No wonder she fainted. “That makes no sense. He couldn’t possibly want to live here.”

“You’ll have to talk to him about that. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already—he’s the executor of your brother’s estate.”

Aly shook her head. But why? Sure, Wyatt worked in banking, but she wasn’t incapable of dealing with money and paperwork.

But even as she was thinking this, she knew why. She’d avoided so much as opening the files Roger had sent her for the better part of a year. She was clearly in no position to execute Luke’s estate—whatever that involved. Knowing Luke, he must have understood that she’d be overcome with grief and had wanted to make things as easy as possible in the event of his death. And so he put Wyatt in charge.

Except based on her interaction with Wyatt, he was in just as bad shape as she was.

“If things become contentious, I can put you in touch with a mediator,” said Roger.

Aly sighed and looked out the glass door. The sun was just beginning to lower in the sky, and the beach was empty. Well, almost empty. Because Wyatt sat at the water’s edge doing . . . nothing, from what she could tell. “I don’t think it’ll come to that,” she told Roger. “I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets back.”

But Wyatt didn’t return that night, or at least not before Aly finally crawled into bed, nearly delirious with exhaustion but still furious that he couldn’t be bothered to finish their conversation.

You just need to get through the next week and a half, she assured herself seconds before sleep pulled her under. Then you’ll never have to see him again.





TEN


Aly felt like she’d run a marathon in her sleep when she awoke the next morning. Her arms and backside were sore—probably from hauling nearly a dozen overstuffed boxes from her room to Wyatt’s—but it was more than that. She was . . . soul tired, she realized, recalling the phrase Luke had used when he retired from banking at the ripe old age of thirty-six. She’d had no idea what he meant then. Now, staring up at the timber beams that spanned the ceiling and seemingly unable to so much as push the duvet off her body, she got it. This was why sharks didn’t stop. Objects in motion remained in motion, but those that weren’t . . . Well, they were in serious danger of staying that way.

But wait—was that the scent of coffee cutting through the stale air? Maybe she’d wait another day to harvest Wyatt’s organs. Still sluggish but newly motivated, she slipped into a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, then began down the stairs.

“Hello?” she called as she entered the kitchen.

Once again, Wyatt was nowhere to be found. And although there was fresh coffee in the pot, the counter looked even worse than it had before. She didn’t want to clean up his mess, but she couldn’t stand to leave it like that—especially not when she knew it would’ve driven Luke crazy. So she put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and began throwing out the empty containers.

“This is what happens when you let a toddler loose in a frat house,” she muttered, tossing an empty can into the recycling bin.

“I’ve never been in a fraternity,” growled a voice from behind her.

“Would you please stop sneaking up on me?” she hissed, spinning around. But as soon as she saw Wyatt’s face—at least, the part that wasn’t covered with hair—she remembered that she was supposed to be convincing him to sell. Which meant she needed to at least pretend they were on the same team. “I’m kind of skittish these days,” she said in a more apologetic tone.

“Yeah. Well.”

She waited for him to finish, but he just stood there.

Looking at her.

At least he was dressed today, albeit in a T-shirt that looked like it was auditioning to be a rag and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. His beard was still—well, offensive, to be honest, but his hair, which was dark brown and threatening to curl, was kind of nice. And she needed to try to think nice-ish things about him. After all, they were roommates, at least for the time being. Co-owners, she corrected herself, but then another voice in her head whispered, cellmates.