What She Inherits

by Diane V. Mulligan

  “Yeah, sure. We’ll keep in touch,” Angela said, in a tone that suggested she knew the words were a lie.

  “Let’s have lunch tomorrow before I go, okay? Just us?” Marilyn said.

  Angela agreed to meet her at the hotel, and then Marilyn watched as she went back to Randy’s car. He seemed like a nice kid, aside from the ghost business. Marilyn hoped he was good to Angela.

  It was late. She was way too old for this. It was nearly two a.m., for heaven’s sake. She was cranky, too. She would have loved for someone to explain to her why Calliope’s absurdist theater had to take place at midnight.

  She tried to sleep, but exhausted as she was, sleep wouldn’t come. She wondered if she should try to see her brother-in-law in the morning, see if he was really as bad off as Angela had led her to believe. If he was, then she couldn’t leave Angela here to fend for herself. She might be legally an adult, but she still needed guidance. Hell, she was going to need a place to live, and Marilyn didn’t think she’d be crashing with her mother’s business partner long-term.

  Marilyn knew she should talk this over with Jeff, but it was the middle of the night now, and he’d be at work in the morning before she woke up, if she ever went to sleep. Anyway, talking it over with him would only be a courtesy. He’d never disagree with her on this. Family was too important. Would he be surprised if she showed up with Angela and said Angela would be living with them for a while? Yes. Would he refuse to allow it? No. Would he be unhappy about it? Probably not. They’d never had children, but they’d always been devoted to Jeff’s nieces and nephews—everybody’s favorite aunt and uncle. And Angela was nearly grown anyway, so it wasn’t as if they’d be doing any diaper changing or hand-holding. They could provide her with stability and help her determine the course of her future. Jeff couldn’t say no to that.

  He hadn’t wanted Marilyn to fly down here, that was for sure. He had never forgiven Deb and Rich for their disappearing act—and people say men don’t hold grudges!—but he couldn’t hold her sister’s actions against Angela. Jeff was a reasonable and fair man. He’d see that the right thing to do was to take Angela in.

  ***

  Randy lay on his side, his head propped on his elbow, his free hand resting on Angela’s smooth, flat stomach. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts. They had both passed the point of being too tired long ago and neither could sleep. He wanted to understand what she had experienced during Calliope’s ritual. He had felt something electric in the room as Calliope had passed around her inscribed cloth, and he had heard the sounds of breaking glass and toppling perfume bottles, but the sounds Calliope made hadn’t even seemed to be words to him until the Hail Mary’s at the end. He wished he had set up some of his equipment. There had definitely been some strange magnetic field activity. He could have detected it.

  Angela seemed calmer, though. Whatever Calliope had done, it had eased Angela’s mind, and he was glad for that. And he was glad that she was here now, tired but more content than she’d seemed at any point since the night she walked into the paranormal investigators club meeting. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead.

  She smiled up at him, and then she drew his mouth down to hers. This was dangerous, he knew. It was his choice that they hadn’t yet had sex, and God, how he wanted to, but he still wasn’t sure what was going on in her head. If they had sex right now, it would undoubtedly feel amazing, and probably afterward they’d both be able to sleep, but how would Angela feel when they woke up in the morning? Would she be glad they’d done it, or would she push him away?

  And to be honest, as much as he desired her, he had no idea if they had any future now that all the investigations were over. Besides this ghost hunt, did they have anything in common? She wasn’t exactly interested in becoming become a paranormal investigator; her ghost interest, he understood, was wholly selfish, and he was fine with that. There was more to him than his paranormal hobby, but he couldn’t help but thinking that without these extraordinary circumstances, she never would have been interested in him in the first place.

  But then again, she was here now. She was here, and she was kissing him, pressing her body against his, God help him. He pulled away.

  “What is it?” Angela asked.

  “I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

  “I don’t plan to hurt you.”

  “So you want to be me with? You want to—”

  Angela giggled. “Are you asking me to go steady?”

  Randy couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I want to give you my varsity jacket.”

  “I accept,” she said, pushing herself up so their lips met again.

  Sometimes, Randy thought, refusal is futile.

  Chapter 38

  Devil’s Back Island, Maine

  Casey knew it was a mistake to go looking for Jason. She knew and she did not care. What difference did anything make, now? She was going to lose her business, she was going to have to leave the only place where she’d ever been happy, she didn’t know how she’d ever look Rosetta in the face again, she was probably going to die an early death from the same cancer that had killed her mother, and basically, her life was pointless and empty.

  She found him at the bar at the Lobster Shack, where he went after work on those rare days when he did work. She sidled up to the bar beside him, and he registered her presence with little surprise.

  “Got any plans for this evening?” she asked, turning sideways to rest one elbow on the bar.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Behind him, his brother and another guy laughed. Casey felt her face color.

  “That’s too bad,” she said, lowering her voice. “I was thinking maybe you could come over.”

  Jason picked up his beer, peered through the dark glass of the bottle, assessing how much was in there, and then drained it in one long swig. With a nod to his brother and not so much as a word to Casey, he started for the door. Hating herself for it, Casey followed him. She practically had to jog to keep up with his long stride as he stalked up the gravel path.

  “Are you seriously running away from me?” she said, when she was close enough that she could make herself heard without yelling.

  He whirled and faced her, crossing his arms.

  “I—” Casey wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him. How about, I want you to come home with me and sleep with me so I don’t have to think about my life? Or, I was seriously hoping you had some more of that pot, and I am willing to have sex with you to get some? Or, You are the only person in the entire world I can turn to right now so please don’t make me beg?

  “What?” he said. “You miss me?”

  “I do, as a matter fact,” she said.

  “It’s been all of two days. You haven’t even had time to miss me.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go. You can go back in and I’ll leave you alone.” She stepped around him and started up the path, struggling to hold back tears.

  “Casey,” he said, calling after her.

  She didn’t turn or stop. She couldn’t. She’d already humbled herself by seeking him out, and he’d made a total ass of her, thereby proving what she already knew: It was a mistake to go looking for him. She’d learned her lesson and she wasn’t turning around now. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, kept her head down, and walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She hadn’t made it more than a dozen steps when her toe snagged on a stone and she tripped, stumbled, and fell to her knees on the sharp gravel of the path. There was no holding back the tears after that.

  She heard footsteps behind her as she knelt where she’d fallen, crying and struggling to breathe, and then hands on her upper arms, helping her up, pulling her into an embrace.

  “It’s okay,” Jason said, holding her close.

  When she’d calmed down some, he walked her home, keeping his arm around her shoulders the whole time. Her skinned knees stung and trickles of blood rolled down her legs as
they walked. Without Jason’s support, Casey didn’t think she would have been able to muster the energy to walk up the slope to the cottage. He wasn’t a bad guy. She could do worse. So what if he was only twenty-three? Men dated younger women all the time, so why couldn’t a woman date a younger man? In terms of maturity levels, they were probably about even, if she was being perfectly honest.

  They rounded the café to the back stairs to her apartment, and Jason stopped short. Casey, who had been letting him guide her along with her eyes trained on her feet, looked up. Sitting on the bottom step, looking handsome and contrite, was Brett. He stood as they approached.

  “Who are you?” Jason asked, the same moment Casey said, “Brett.”

  Brett looked back and forth between them, clearly confused, and Casey could imagine what he must be thinking: Here she was again, the arms of a man around her, being escorted home, and though she wasn’t drunk this time—only hysterical—she probably looked inebriated, stumbling up the path beside Jason with her bloody knees and tear-streaked face.

  “Casey, I thought we should talk,” Brett said, stepping forward.

  “You know this guy?” Jason asked, tightening his hold on her shoulder.

  So here she was, caught between a sweet but too-young man who did stupid things like put the last letter her mother would ever send her through the wash and a handsome, age-appropriate man who seemed nice enough until she remembered that he was the type of capitalist whose every action was designed to destroy her way of life.

  “Are you okay?” Brett asked.

  Of course she wasn’t okay! And he wasn’t exactly the reason for it, but he was certainly part of the reason.

  “I think you should leave, guy,” Jason said.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on here, but I’m pretty sure you don’t get to tell me to leave,” Brett said, puffing up a little.

  Men actually did that, Casey thought with a sense of mild amusement in spite of everything. They actually puffed up their chests when walking into a conflict. It was so silly. In the end, they were all big babies. Brett should have been old enough to know better, but here he was, planting his feet in front of Jason. Though Brett was fit, anyone’s money would be on Jason, whose job involved physical work and who had never in a million years even considered wearing a pink Vineyard Vines button-down, as Brett was doing right now. The little whale insignia took away from his posturing.

  Jason let go of Casey and shifted so he was partially in front of her, his hands balled into fists.

  “Kid, you really don’t have the first clue. Why don’t you go on back to the playground,” Brett said.

  Jason moved fast, swooping in and punching Brett in the face before Brett could even raise his hands in defense. Clearly Brett had no experience with manly stand-offs actually coming to blows. He fell back against the wooden stairs, catching himself on one hand and bringing the other up to his nose, which was gushing blood. Jason sprang back, fists up, ready to strike again.

  Casey threw herself between them, letting out a string of expletives as she crouched in front of Brett, feeling the scrapes on her knees open up as she did. They were making enough noise now that a few people had come out onto the the porches of the cottages up the hill from the café. This was turning into an actual scene.

  “Get out of here,” Casey said, looking over her shoulder at Jason. “Go on!”

  He looked at his knuckles, which were spattered with blood, shook out his hand, shrugged and walked back toward the Lobster Shack. Casey helped Brett to his feet, and instead of trying to climb the stairs, she led him in through the back door of the café into the kitchen, where she sat him at a stool inside the door while she went to get some towels and ice.

  She had Brett tip his head back and rest a cloth full of ice on the bridge of his nose. His beautiful nose. It was impossible to tell right now how badly Jason had gotten him, but that nose was broken for sure.

  “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” Casey asked, sitting on the floor in front of him and dabbing blood from her own wounded legs. They looked like they’d been through a war.

  “There are no more ferries tonight,” Brett said, sounding like a kid with the worst cold of his life.

  “I know, but Rosetta has a little motor boat and she keeps a truck at the marina,” Casey said. The ferry was great, but they couldn’t be solely dependent on it to get on and off the island.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  It was strange to see cool, calm, charming Brett unnerved, strange and also appealing, despite the hideous red blossoms of blood across his expensive shirt. He was always so put together that he had seemed somehow unreal to Casey, but now here he was, laid low and cursing about it like anybody else.

  “He’s sort of my ex,” Casey said, hating to describe him as “ex,” but deciding it was better than booty call.

  “You’re kidding me. How old is he? Twenty?”

  Casey sighed. “Twenty-three.”

  “You’ve got to be at least thirty-five.”

  “Thirty-seven,” Casey said, a little hurt that he’d guessed so close. People always guessed her age much younger than she was, although she could see how this week of all weeks she might look her age. Being bludgeoned by piece after piece of bad news will do that to you.

  “I did not take you for a cougar,” Brett said, lifting the ice so he could look at her. He had the beginnings of two black eyes. Jason had clocked him good.

  “Are you making fun of me?” Casey asked.

  “Yes I am.”

  “I think we should get you to a hospital. What if you have a concussion?”

  Brett shook his head a little. “I didn’t hit my head. I’ll be fine. I’m a man. Sometimes men get hit in the face.”

  Casey couldn’t help but laugh. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Spoken like a true woman.”

  “But your nose. It was so straight and nice. You need to have it looked at.”

  “Oh, so you like my nose, huh?”

  “I did, but who knows what it’ll look like now. Come on, let me take you to the hospital.”

  Brett took the ice from his face and looked at her, all traces of joking gone from his face. “I want to talk to you. About my work, about the hotel stuff. It doesn’t have to be bad.”

  Casey was halfway to standing, but she dropped back onto her butt on the hard tile floor and sighed.

  “If Rosetta doesn’t sell to us, she will have to sell to someone else. I’m going to make this project a good thing, though, I promise, and someone else probably wouldn’t care half as much.”

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Put that ice back on your nose,” Casey said. Then she got up and moved around the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. She didn’t offer one to Brett. She knew he was right. Rosetta had clearly made up her mind to sell, and one way or another, she was going to. Rosetta was to blame here, not Brett, who was only doing his job, but Casey didn’t have to like his job, either. As the tea steeped she realized that once again she hadn’t eaten all day. She took the last muffin from the case and put it on the plate, and then she sat on the floor in front of Brett again.

  “I’ll tell her to sell the café,” Casey said.

  Brett shifted the ice so he could see her with one eye, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I mean, it’ll go out of business anyway, so she should sell it. My life here is over.”

  Brett dropped the ice and leaned forward to look at her more closely, but when he did, his nose started gushing again, dropping angry red blood onto this crisp khakis. Casey picked up the ice and gently pushed him back to lean against the wall. As she pulled away he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

  “Come work for me. Run the café at the resort,” he said.

  Casey let out a snort of a laugh. “I hate those types of resorts and I hate the people who stay at them. No thank you.
”

  “Don’t say no until you’ve seen the plans. I don’t want this deal to hurt you.”

  “I don’t need to see the plans.”

  “The way I felt when I kissed you this afternoon, I’ve never felt that way before,” he said.

  Sitting on the floor, Casey studied his chin, which was all she could really see of his face. It had been a nice kiss, she couldn’t deny it, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t a sign of true love.

  “You don’t even know me,” she said, gently.

  “I want to.”

  “I am not a good person. In fact my life is a total disaster right now, so believe me, you don’t.”

  “Maybe my life is a disaster right now, too,” he said.

  Casey shook her head. He was in the middle of making a business deal that had to be worth millions. How could that be called a disaster? “Can I take you to the hospital now?”

  “Could I crash on your couch for tonight? If it looks terrible in the morning, I’ll go to the hospital. I don’t think I can handle a boat ride right now.”

  That was fair enough. Bouncing over the chop while trying to keep his head tilted back in a small aluminum boat probably wouldn’t improve his current situation much in the short term.

  Casey helped him upstairs and got him arranged on the futon, and she brought him a big glass of ice water and some aspirin, and then she realized it wasn’t even seven o’clock at night. What a ridiculous day it had been.

  “Are you hungry? Can I make you something?” she asked.

  “I think it’ll hurt to chew,” he said.

  “I can make you a smoothie.”

  He agreed, and she went back down to the café and whipped up a big strawberry smoothie.

  “Will you sit here with me?” he asked when she handed the drink to him. He sounded all of eight years old.

  “Brett.”

  “Please.”

  So she sat at the end of the futon and let him rest his legs across her lap. She flipped on the TV and Brett said, “I think it’s time for Jeopardy!”