“No, I’m sorry. She’s not listed in any of my paperwork.”
I caught the phone with my hand. “What?” The elevator jolted to a stop, and my stomach lurched. How could he not have Mary’s information? I got out and stepped off to the side, behind a decorative plant. I could see Jen at the nurse’s station, pointing at a computer screen, face concentrated. “How can that be?”
Mr. Sullivan cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much of Barbara’s family situation. She only came to me to have this will done four years ago.”
“Is there other family we could contact, perhaps? Someone who would know where to find Barb’s daughter?”
“I’m afraid not. Ms. Rodrigues, why don’t you come down to my office so we can go over some things? Do you have any time this morning?”
I shook my head, knew I was now officially late for work. I wanted to tell Mr. Sullivan that none of this really had to do with me, that it was his job to find Barb’s daughter. That’s who he should be dealing with. “No, I actually just got to work and frankly, Mr. Sullivan, I have a lot going on right now. Could you at least tell me if there are any burial provisions in her estate? I’m happy to plan the memorial while we try to locate Barb’s daughter.”
“Ms. Rodrigues, you’ve misunderstood me. There is nothing in Barb’s directives that indicate I should contact a daughter. In fact, the only person I am to contact is you.”
I wiggled my toes within my crocs, expending my frustration. “Me?” Did Barb want me to plan her funeral all along? While I knew her faith was important to her, we’d never discussed the many decisions regarding a burial.
“Quite simply, if I must tell you over the phone, Ms. Lyne has left you the entirety of her estate—all her worldly possessions are being transferred to your name.”
I leaned against the sturdy wall, felt myself sliding down to the floor. “M—me?”
“She left a letter for you. I do think you should come down to my office as soon as possible.”
My mind stumbled over his words. Barb had left me everything? A part of me felt sad that I hadn’t realized how important I was to her—or rather, how little people she’d had in her life besides me. Another part felt grateful for her generosity and still another felt burdened by it.
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I am of my last name.”
I didn’t need this. Not now. I needed to take care of my family, my life. I could never accept Barb’s home—her worldly possessions—as my own. It was too much, it didn’t belong to me. And more than likely, her daughter would come out of hiding to claim it eventually. Clearly Barb had regrets at the end of her life. Regrets she’d entrusted to me.
“I’m leaving it all to you. You’ll know . . . what to do with it.”
Only Mr. Sullivan hadn’t been aware of our conversation.
It truly was all in my hands.
I leaned on the wall, depended on it to hold me up.
“Ms. Rodrigues?”
“Y-yes, I’m here.” Barely. “My shift ends at four. Can I come by after that?”
“Absolutely.” He gave me an address and directions, and then we hung up.
I slipped my phone into my purse and rolled to face the wall, laying my forehead against the cool paint. It was going to be okay. Maybe, with my marriage on the brink of destruction, this was God’s way of assuring me He would provide.
I closed my eyes, dragged in a deep breath. Yet when it came down to it, I wasn’t overly concerned about being provided for—even if Matt left me for good and wanted a divorce, he wouldn’t leave me with nothing. Besides, I had a good career, one where more hours were always available. And I would never be homeless—my parents would always take me in. No, provision wasn’t my concern.
What I wanted, really wanted, was to be loved, cherished; I wanted to be enough. I wanted to know that Matt was mine, and I was his, no matter what.
No matter what.
“Hey . . . Sarah, right? Are you okay?”
I opened my eyes and a white doctor’s coat filled my vision. I straightened and shook my head as if to thrust myself into reality. A reality where I had a husband and son at home, a neighbor next door, a shift to fill.
“I—I’m fine.” Through the fuzz of my shock, I tried to place the familiar face before me, grasped for a name but came up short. “I’m sorry, I know I should know you, but—”
“Pete. Pete Keller. We were chem lab partners at Bridgewater.”
My mind cleared, taking me to another time, another place. Still newly married and with an infant at home, I’d decided to take a couple classes at the local state school to get my degree. Chem lab. Huh. That’d been ages ago, but . . . “Wait . . . sulfuric acid Pete, right?”
He slid up his sleeve to reveal a nasty scar on his forearm where he’d spilled acid during an experiment. “The one and only.”
I groaned. “I felt horrible about that for the entire year.”
He shrugged. “It was my own fault.”
“Yeah . . . but I should have been paying better attention when you were handling it.”
He smiled and I could just make out the curve of a dimple beneath short, dark whiskers. “I lived to tell the tale, and as I recall, we ended up with the best grade in that class.”
That’s right. “Not sure how that happened, considering we were the only ones who required a hospitalization with our experiments.” We laughed until it petered out to an awkward silence. My left hand suddenly felt ten times more naked, and I hid it behind my purse.
“So, everything okay? You looked pretty shaky there just now.”
I rubbed my temple with my right hand, my conversation with Barb’s lawyer wiggling to the forefront of my mind once again. “Yeah, just some crazy news.”
“I take it not good news.” When I didn’t answer, he spoke again. “Well it was nice to run into you. I’m new around this place, so it’s great to see a friendly face.”
I searched my mind. Yes, Jen had mentioned a handsome new doctor.
“It’s great to see you again too. Dr. Keller now, right?” I pointed to the nurse’s desk. “I’m actually late for my shift, but I’ll be seeing you.”
He flashed another easy smile. “Hope your news turns out okay. And it’s just Pete. Nice seeing you, Sarah.”
I smiled politely and waved good-bye before scooting down the hall, tried to focus on what Barb’s lawyer had just told me. But instead, I found myself watching the back of Pete’s white coat, thinking how unbalanced I suddenly felt. As if one more thing might be enough to topple me over. Trouble was, I couldn’t decipher whether it was the news from Barb’s lawyer, the uncertain future of my marriage, or my old lab partner, that had done the unbalancing.
The envelope felt smooth and sleek beneath my fingertips. It reminded me of everything Barb wasn’t, and I didn’t see how this thin enclosure could properly represent her. Barb, who reminded me more of a wrinkled old manuscript—worn around the edges, full of life and character—than a smooth, crisp piece of correspondence.
But here it was, no matter how it appeared.
I unrolled the windows of the car, still in the parking lot of Mr. Sullivan’s office. On the passenger seat sat a file of papers, copies of documents I’d signed for the last forty-five minutes along with a smaller envelope containing a safe deposit box key.
Barb had indeed left me with everything. Save for a generous portion she’d set aside for a museum in nearby Plymouth and for her church, everything else—her home and property that abutted ours, her rather substantial bank account and retirement savings, and the unopened letter I held in my hands—belonged to me.
Even as I grieved for my friend and tried to mentally create a memorial service that would do her justice, I felt . . . blessed.
Barb had left me with more than enough to pursue schooling full-time. In three years, I could be a certified nurse practitioner. The last hour had potentially changed my life.
I wondered what M
att would say, what he would think. I wanted to talk to him, to get his take on this entire crazy turn of events. More than anything, I wanted to plan with him—Barb’s memorial, what these provisions meant for our future.
I rubbed my eyes, still baffled by the fact that Mary hadn’t been mentioned once in Barb’s will. Had she died? Maybe in the confusion surrounding the last moments of her life on earth, Barb had forgotten of her daughter’s death?
I flipped the envelope over and slid my finger beneath the edge. I slipped out a single page in black, cursive ink, and unfolded it with care.
Dear Sarah,
I have no doubt you will be surprised to read this letter. No more surprised than my decision to bequeath to you what I have.
Dear, I don’t think you realize how very much your friendship has meant to me. I know to you I may have been an old, stubborn woman, but allowing me to help with Kyle and allowing me to share hikes with you has made all the difference in my last days.
I am leaving you with my earthly goods because you have been a true friend, and because I know I can trust you. I suppose you may think this old woman presumptuous, but dear, I have seen a lot in my life and I can judge a person’s character better than most. And I know something—you are a woman to be trusted.
And so I am entrusting you with my final request. It may appear at first that I am off my rocker, but I ask you to be patient and not write it off as you might want to do.
My daughter, Mary, has been lost to me for all too long. The circumstances of our departure are not so very important, but please know going forward that the fault is mine to bear. We parted when Mary was but twenty-one, and I have not seen her since. Lord willing, she is still alive and well.
Please don’t think me pitiful, or ignorant. I hired a detective to find her back in the 90s. He did find my daughter, but when I tried to contact her, she returned my letters unopened. When I traveled to her address, I was told she had moved to an unknown location.
I respected that, or at least tried to. But I can’t leave this life without one more attempt, even if it comes from beyond the grave. I pray you don’t think me selfish or a coward, though perhaps I am. To be honest, part of me is frightened to reach out to Mary again, frightened of rejection. Yet I feel I can rest by placing it in your hands—presumptuous of me, I know. I see your gentle heart, Sarah. I also see your warrior heart. You remind me of my ancestor, Elizabeth, and in this, I find hope.
Just before you and Matt built your home on the land I sold, I came upon a journal of one of my ancestors during a genealogical search. While it took much persuasion on my part for them to allow me to read it, proving I was directly related to Elizabeth Baker was helpful. It was kept at Pilgrim Hall Museum, and I visited many times to read it through.
I hope you don’t think me crazy, but recently I cannot release the idea that Mary should have this story of our family. It is a part of our legacy, our heritage. It made me see things differently, and I can’t help but hope it will do the same for Mary. Perhaps it will bond us even beyond death.
I realize what I ask is no small task, yet I am hoping with all the computers today and the funds I am leaving you, that you will not find it so very hard. Perhaps there is a digital version available now.
Please, Sarah. Please find a way to tell my Mary of Elizabeth’s story. I have told you some of it couched in legends, but I trust you will find the rest worthwhile. The records from the old investigation of Mary’s whereabouts are in my safe deposit box, which Mr. Sullivan has given you the key to. Find her, please. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her.
Thank you, dear friend. You never acted as if I were a nuisance, even when I was. Take care of that sweet son of yours and that hardworking husband. And in time, I trust I will see you in glory.
Love, Barb
I pressed my head back into the seat and closed my eyes, taking in the enormity of the task before me, not a question in my mind that I would do it and do it to the best of my ability. Barb was gone. She’d never reconciled with her daughter. Was it possible it could occur beyond the grave?
I placed her letter on top of the files on the seat beside me and turned the key in the ignition. My life had turned upside-down in the last seventy-two hours. There was so much to fight for, so much to sort out.
Barb had said I had the heart of a warrior. Strange, I’d never thought of myself like that. Now, though, I might need to prove it.
I thought of the many hours it would take to fulfill Barb’s request, the many hours it would take to sort through her things, to track down Elizabeth’s story, to decide what to do with the house—and all without Matt.
I now had more possessions and money than I’d ever had on my own—along with a heavy loneliness that settled upon me. I wondered if Barb had felt this way often, and if so, how had I not known?
I pulled out of the parking lot. There was nothing I could change now, either in Barb’s life, or in my marriage. I could only move forward, hoping that something better lay ahead, on all fronts.
Chapter 7
I stood at the threshold of Kyle’s bedroom. Slants of morning sunlight poked through the half-pulled shades, splattering narrow ribbons of light on the pair of jeans that lay in his open suitcase.
“How’s it going?”
He looked up from the top drawer of his bureau. “Almost done. Dad said he’d be here at ten.”
While Matt hadn’t called to talk to me once, apparently he and Kyle kept an open line of communication.
That was good. It was. I shouldn’t be jealous of their relationship.
I ran a hand through my hair, conscious that ten o’clock was ten minutes away and Matt wouldn’t dare be late for an appointment with a snail, never mind his son.
“Do you have enough underwear and socks? And don’t forget your bathing suit.”
Kyle raised his eyebrows at me, one side of his mouth tilted in a patient grin. “Got it, Mom. I remembered my toothbrush and floss too.”
I came in the room and ruffled the curls at the top of his head. He was such a cute kid. Almost a man, really. “I’m gonna miss you, kiddo. But I’ll see you for the service on Monday, right?”
His expression grew heavy at the mention of Barb’s service. I hadn’t told him about the details of the will yet. “Yeah, Mom. Of course.” He allowed me a hug, but pulled away too soon. “Hey, maybe once I’m settled down there you can come for dinner or something. We can all, you know, hang out.” His hopeful tone pierced my heart. He didn’t pursue many deep conversations with me, but of course this split bothered him too.
“That sounds nice, honey. Really nice. We’ll have to see what your dad says.”
He flipped his suitcase shut and zipped up a blue duffel bag beside it. “I’ll work on him for you, okay?”
I choked back a sob and squeezed out a pitiful “Okay.” My son shouldn’t have to convince his father that he belonged with his mother. That he belonged home.
The sound of Matt’s truck pulling up the drive caused my heart to vibrate against my ribcage. I recognized the tune of “Don’t Be Cruel.” My gaze locked with Kyle’s, and I was struck by how unnatural this was—this nervous expectation over seeing my husband of seventeen years.
A moment later the door opened. “Guys, you upstairs?”
My insides were like a damp sponge and Matt’s voice was the hand that wrung it dry. I missed him. Never mind all the distractions surrounding Barb’s will, getting Kyle ready to leave, the walks in the woods, and funeral planning. I missed my husband, and I wanted him home.
I twirled Matt’s mother’s wedding band around my finger as I followed Kyle down the stairs on legs that felt like Mom’s grape nut custard.
“Hey, buddy, enjoying your freedom yet?” Matt clasped Kyle’s hand with his own.
Kyle shrugged. “Yeah, all two days of summer vacation.”
Matt looked over Kyle’s shoulder at me. I imagined he’d come home from a Saturday morning round of golf, that he was here to sta
y, that it wouldn’t be completely awkward for me to greet him with a kiss.
“How’s it going, Sarah?”
It would be easier to be mad at him if he wasn’t such a gentleman about this whole thing.
“Okay.” I hid my left hand behind my back. “You?”
“Good. Good.” He turned his attention to the stack of mail with his name on it on the kitchen counter. I watched the back of him for any clue how his time without me was going. He looked relaxed enough in a green polo shirt and jeans. Beneath his close-cropped haircut, the back of his neck shone dark from the sun.
He banged the stack of mail lightly on the counter to make the envelopes neater, then turned to Kyle. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Kyle gave me a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom.”
I resisted the urge to ask him to call me when he got there so I’d know they’d arrived safely.
“Have fun, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Kyle walked out of the kitchen. A moment later the door shut behind him. He probably thought his dad and I wanted a few minutes alone.
Matt tapped the envelopes against the open palm of his left hand. “I’ll take care of these this weekend.”
“Thanks.”
He cleared his throat. “He told me about Barb.”
I shrugged, my bottom lip quivering. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know you two were close.”
I blinked away tears. “Memorial’s on Monday. If you can’t make it, maybe I could grab Kyle, or you could let him borrow one of the trucks. I think he wants to be there.”
“We’ll be there.”
I managed a small smile. Barb had made a request that her funeral be done at her church, for which I found myself relieved. Dad would not have to do the service, and Matt would not have to feel uncomfortable sitting beneath Dad’s preaching.
I opened my mouth to tell my husband news of Barb’s will, but quite suddenly it felt too personal, as if I shouldn’t simply assume my husband was interested in my life anymore.
The Edge of Mercy Page 5
