Life and Other Inconveniences(111)

“Or the brain tumor flared up?”

“Perhaps.” She stroked Minuet’s tiny head.

“Or you have dementia.”

Genevieve twitched.

“Please be honest with me, Genevieve. I think I deserve that, and lying is beneath you.”

She took a sip of coffee. “Very well. Yes. I’ve had a few small episodes of . . . forgetfulness. I got lost a time or two. After doing some research, I thought it was a brain tumor.”

“But it’s not, is it?”

“No.” She lifted her chin. “You’re right. It’s dementia. Vascular dementia. Dr. Pinco suspects I’ve had a few small strokes as well. I believe that’s what happened last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Oh, Emma,” she said, setting down her cup and looking right at me. “Don’t you know me at all by now? A brain tumor sounds far more noble and tragic than anything as mundane and humiliating as dementia.” She raised an eyebrow at me, and I couldn’t help a small smile. It was always about how things looked for her. She was nothing if not consistent.

“So what’s your prognosis?” I asked.

She didn’t answer for a minute. Toyed with her oatmeal. “I don’t want to die without my faculties,” she finally said. “I’ve seen it happen to a couple of friends, and it’s a horrible, humiliating way to die.” Her gaze dropped back to Minuet. “We euthanize dogs when their discomfort becomes too great. It’s a pity we don’t do it with people.”

I had a sudden, hard tingling in my feet. “You’re hardly a dog, Genevieve.”

She looked at me. “Nevertheless, it’s not my intention to die in a nursing home, drooling and abandoned.”

“Nor would you.” The tingling was worse. It was a fire alarm of intuition.

“I plan on taking my own life, Emma.”

I was standing before I knew I moved. Minuet barked. “What did you say?” I demanded.

“I’m not going to die in inches. I’ll take matters into my own hands and just . . . end things when the time is right.”

I was shaking uncontrollably. “No, you won’t! You can’t! Suicide is selfish! Doesn’t that sound familiar? How many times did you say that to me, Genevieve?”

“I was wrong,” she said. “It’s actually quite generous. I was hoping—”

“For ten years, you told me that my mother was selfish and weak.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, yes, you did! You did, Genevieve!”

“I tried to get your mother treatment, Emma.”

“How good of you! How incredibly kind! But you still treated me like tainted goods because of her. But now you’re all in favor? How dare you!”

“I was hoping you’d help me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled. “I’m not going to help you kill yourself! It’s against the law! I’m not going to jail for you! Are you insane? Is that why you’re leaving Riley all your money? Are you trying to . . . to . . . commit murder for hire or something? You think you can bribe me into killing you? And just what did you have in mind, huh? I just hold you underwater till you drown? Shoot you in the head?”

She said nothing, and I paced back and forth. “You’re . . . you have no right to even discuss this with me, Genevieve. Suicide. My God! There’s not enough money in the world to make me even think about it. My mother committed suicide, and now you’re going to do the same thing? What about Riley? She loves you! You think your money will make up for that?”

She remained silent, not looking at me.

The tingling in my feet was abruptly worse.

“About Riley’s inheritance,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing.”

I blinked. “You’re seriously leaving all this to my father? He’ll spend it in six months.”

“I mean, there’s nothing to leave anyone.”

I snorted. “Right. That Jackson Pollock over there is worthless. This house is a hovel. You’re a worldwide brand! You own an apartment in the city, you have an entire closet for your jewelry, that diamond alone that would choke your dog—”

“Take a breath, Emma,” she said. “You’re getting hysterical. And it’s a Karel Appel, not a Pollock.”

“Are you actually debating art with me right now?”

Yeah, okay, she had a point, I was yelling, and my face was hot. I took a deep, slow breath and let it out. Repeated the action. “Do go on, Genevieve.” My jaw ached, I was clenching it so hard.

She sighed. “It would take all day to explain the nuances.”

“Try.”

“I am. Please refrain from interrupting, and I’ll be more successful, I’m quite sure.” She gave me her patented rich-woman ice glare and continued. “One would think that with the amount of money I had at one point in my life, I would be rich forever. That’s simply not true. For one, there was your father. Once he’d depleted his trust fund, I subsidized his . . . follies.”

“When did he blow through his trust fund? That was millions of dollars.”

“Yes, it was, but he managed to spend it nonetheless. That was back when your mother was still alive. Then, once he brought you here, I . . .” She pressed her lips together.