More Than Words(37)

“These are the keys,” TJ continued, handing her a key ring. It was a Tiffany ring with a heart on it. Priscilla’d had her apartment keys on a similar one when they were in high school. Nina wondered if her father had bought the key ring when he’d bought the house, if that was how he’d presented the gift to her mom.

“Thank you,” Nina said, automatically, even as she wondered what other secrets her father might have kept.

“Jack, at the investment firm, will be able to walk you through all of the finances. He’s been in touch with your father’s lawyer, who will take care of whatever legal issues need to be handled. You should talk to Jack at some point soon. Not a rush, but not not a rush. Everything is part of your dad’s estate for now, while the will is in probate. He made me the executor, so I can help, too, if you need something.”

Nina nodded, still thinking about that house. Why didn’t her dad tell her about it? He must’ve had a reason. Maybe he thought it would be too painful for her, especially when she was young. But still, that didn’t explain now. That didn’t explain the past twenty-four years.

“I mean that not just with the will,” TJ said. “I know I’m not your dad, but I’ve known you since the day you were born, and I’ve loved you just as long. So if there’s anything . . . I promised him . . .”

Nina saw the tears filling TJ’s eyes and felt them in her own.

“Thank you,” she said again, but this time it wasn’t automatic. This time it came from her heart. She knew how much TJ had done for her father in the end, and how hard taking care of everything was for him. But that was how close TJ and her father’s friendship had been—like Leslie and Nina, they’d been inseparable since their first year at Yale. Until now.

Nina and TJ hugged, and then TJ said he had to go take care of a few more things. Nina nodded. She would help soon, just like she’d promised her father. She just had to get her mind straightened out first. It had to be in working order before she started a new job, proved herself to a staff who thought of her as their old boss’s daughter. Nina walked TJ to the door, then sat back at the dining table, looking at the keys. There was an address written on them in Caro’s handwriting, taped to one side of the heart.

Nina pulled out her phone and typed the address into Google Maps, turning it to satellite mode. The house was small, white, two stories, with a wraparound porch and latticework that made it look like it was built out of gingerbread. Nina zoomed in on the door, which was painted a bright red. There were crocuses and hydrangeas in the front yard. She remembered that house. Her mother’s house. Now her house.

Nina took a breath and called Tim.

“Hey,” he said, after one ring. “You okay?” It was what he asked her every time they spoke now. Every time they saw each other. Nina felt like she was letting him down every time she said Not really.

“I just inherited my mom’s house,” she said, ignoring the question. “That I didn’t even know my dad still owned. Can you take a drive with me tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Tim said. “It’ll be nice to get away. Go on a little adventure.”

She appreciated his positivity, but this wasn’t a weekend getaway. And she didn’t think it was an adventure, either. Nina had no idea what she’d find in that house.





37



“I just don’t understand,” Nina kept saying as she drove her father’s Mercedes up the Hudson. Tim had wanted to call a car service, the way they usually did when they left Manhattan, but Nina hadn’t wanted to let a driver in on this trip. It felt too personal. So Tim had relented. “My father didn’t mention this house for more than two decades. Seriously. Who keeps a house hidden for more than two decades?”

Tim kept looking over at the speedometer. “Are you going too fast?” he asked.

Nina looked down. “I’m going exactly sixty-four miles per hour.”

“That’s above the speed limit,” he said. “Be careful. You’re not used to driving.”

Tim had never bothered to get a driver’s license—he’d lived in New York City all his life, except for four years at Stanford—and was never quite comfortable in the front seat of a car. Nina’s father had insisted that she learn to drive, both automatic and stick, so she’d learned while she was at the house in the Hamptons one summer, in a series of lessons with her father, who winced every time she popped the clutch on his classic TVR sports car.

But other than when she was out of the city, which hadn’t been all that often that past summer, she rarely drove.

“I promise, we’ll be fine,” Nina said.

“We used to all come up here,” Tim said after a moment. “Do you remember? I haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Nina answered, keeping her eyes on the road in front of her, “but we did. We went hiking, I think. You, me, my mom, your mom.”

“I remember that, too. And one time we had a picnic somewhere there were sculptures.”

“It must’ve been Storm King,” Nina said. She wished she could remember more.

“It really is weird that no one talked about this house again after your mom died,” Tim said. Nina could feel his eyes on her, watching her expression, checking to see if he’d said the wrong thing again.