Life and Other Inconveniences(81)

CHAPTER 24


    Genevieve


Five days after I was so rudely given the ultimatum by Emma, she and I went to my attorney’s office to fill out the paperwork while Riley waited in the foyer with Charles. Apparently, they played Words with Friends together.

Riley was a wonderful girl. I wish Emma had some of her sunniness. Granted, I heard them laughing together in the mornings. The natural affection that flowed between them, the way they hugged and touched each other, the compliments and little jokes that only they got . . . it constantly reminded me of what I didn’t have and had never been able to create with either Clark or Emma.

I’d thought—hoped—that once Emma went to college, matured a little—that she would see me differently and come to respect and admire me. I hadn’t enjoyed being Clark’s mother, we all knew that, and I hadn’t enjoyed having a ruined little girl thrust on me without warning, either.

But I’d hoped Emma and I might be friends one day.

Donelle, who had finally agreed to see a doctor about the small ecosystem growing out of her toenail, had reminded me of that just this morning in the breakfast room.

“You don’t have much time left, Gen. Do or die. Do and die, as the case may be.” She slurped up her cereal off the spoon, making the most horrible noise.

“She’s never receptive,” I said in my defense.

“Right. And you’re so warm and welcoming. Helga, can I have more coffee? My toe, you know?”

Helga got her a refill without comment, glanced at my empty cup and failed to ask if I needed anything. Honestly. I should fire her.

At any rate, here we were in the very tasteful office, waiting for my attorney to finish with another client in the conference room. Unlike too many lawyers’ offices, which were stuffed full of law books and piles of paper, Brooklyn (what had her mother been thinking?) had chosen a soft color palette to suit the bright and airy space. The walls were white, a lush gray carpet was on the floor, and her desk and bookcases were a honey-colored tiger maple. Several green glass sculptures sat on the shelves. A bit too modern and severe for my tastes, but very chic nonetheless.

Her Smith and Yale diplomas hung on the walls. “She went to Smith,” I said, in case Emma hadn’t noticed, and because apparently I couldn’t help myself. “Graduated a year after you would have.”

Emma turned her head and gave me a look.

“It’s simply a fact, Emma. You needn’t look so wounded.”

“I’m not wounded. I’m curious. It’s been seventeen years. Shouldn’t you be over it by now? I went to college. I have a doctorate in psychology.”

“From a no-name school, and such a silly degree. Therapist. You might as well be an Internet-ordained minister.”

“Trust me, Genevieve. You could use a shrink. And a minister. Speaking of that, do you have any funeral plans you’d like to share?”

I felt an unwilling burst of pride at her quick repartee. “Brooklyn has all the details.”

“Should we talk about the will while we’re here?”

“Don’t be crass.”

“If I have to sell Sheerwater, I’d like to make some plans.”

“You’re not the heir, are you? I fail to see where it’s your business.”

“The heir is sixteen and therefore a minor child. Do you want her in charge of millions of dollars, that house and all your belongings at her age? That’s a brutal responsibility. All that money could lead to a lot of trouble. Are there trustees until she’s twenty-five or something like that?”

I felt my face warming, much to my chagrin.

“Good morning, ladies!” Brooklyn came in, mercifully interrupting. I took in her outfit automatically—St. John sleeveless knit, a classic. The white fabric looked smashing against her dark skin and clung to her figure in a way that showed it off without coming across as trashy. She wore a wide gold cuff on her wrist, a gold necklace, no earrings. Too bad Emma still refused to dress herself well.

“Sorry to make you wait. Lovely to see you again, Genevieve. Ms. London, I’m Brooklyn Fuller.” She shook hands with Emma. “So nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Emma said. “And it’s Dr. London. I have a PhD in psychology.”

“My apologies, I didn’t know. Dr. London, then.” Brooklyn sat behind her desk. “Before we get started, Genevieve, I just have to show you this.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a buttery brown leather purse. “From your spring line. My favorite one yet!”

I suppressed the irritation. I had not designed the spring line. Granted, the purse was beautiful. But it wasn’t mine, no matter whose name was spelled out on the small gold tag.

Brooklyn smiled, put the bag back and opened the file. “Down to business. I’ve got all the paperwork here, and my assistant has filled out the basics. Really, the only question you need to answer is this one.” She read from one of the pages. “‘Explain the change in circumstances that led the guardian/temporary custodian to file for resignation.’” She passed the papers over to me.

The change in circumstances. Could I say brain tumor? That sounded the most noble. I hated to say health . . . It sounded weak. No longer able to care for . . . Also demeaning. Old age. Please.