PART 3
Two weeks after I found the card, Darlene pulled into my gravel driveway without calling first. She didn’t bother cutting her engine; she left the silver SUV running, its exhaust puffing white clouds into the crisp November air, and marched up my front steps before I even had a chance to reach the door.
She looked different than she had at the funeral. Her hair was freshly highlighted, but her coat was buttoned crookedly, and there was a tight, pinched look around her mouth that didn’t belong to a woman who had just pocketed a six-figure check.
“I need to use your printer,” she said, pushing past me into the narrow hallway without waiting for an invitation. “My printer at the house is acting up, and I have these title office supplements to send back before five o’clock.”
“The house is sold, Darlene,” I said quietly, closing the front door behind her. “You don’t live there anymore.”
“Don’t start with that philosophy stuff,” she snapped, dropping her leather handbag onto the hall table with a sharp thud. She walked straight into the kitchen, tossing her keys onto the counter right next to where the red Bible sat closed beneath a stack of mail.
She stopped dead, her eyes fixing on the book. “What is that doing out? Did you find something else of Mama’s you’re hoarding?”
“Just a letter,” I said.
Darlene turned around, her nostrils flaring slightly. “A letter about what? If there’s some other paperwork floating around that affects the estate settlement, you legally have to disclose it. My lawyer told me people try to pull fast ones with wills all the time.”
“There’s no will update, Darlene,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Mama left you the house, exactly like she said she would.”
Darlene let out a sharp, breathless laugh, her shoulders dropping as the tension seemed to drain out of her all at once.
“Well, duh. Of course she did. Because I was the one smart enough to handle her affairs at the end instead of just sitting around nodding. Though, frankly, by the time I paid off the contractor who fixed the dry rot in the sunroom, settled her final credit card bills, and paid the capital gains tax on the quick flip, that $365,000 wasn’t nearly as much as you’d think.” She crossed her arms, looking around my small kitchen with a familiar, critical squint. “It’s tight in here, isn’t it? You really should think about moving out of this damp little apartment.
Maybe I could help you find a decent rental once I get my next investment property off the ground.”
I didn’t answer right away. I picked up my coffee mug, took a slow sip, and looked at my sister. I didn’t feel angry anymore. The knot that had sat in my chest since the day of the funeral had loosened, replaced by a strange, steady warmth.
“I’m not moving into a rental, Darlene,” I said softly. “I’m buying the small brick house down on Maple Lane. The one with the screened-in porch and the pear tree in the backyard.”
Darlene stared at me, her mouth parting slightly. “Maple Lane? Those places go for over two hundred thousand cash. Where on earth would you get that kind of money?”
I reached down, picked up the credit union card from beneath the red Bible, and laid it gently on the laminate table between us. I didn’t say another word. I just let her read the name printed across the top and the small balance slip tucked beside it.
ENDING
Darlene didn’t yell. She didn’t make a sarcastic remark about junk or church hats. She just stared at the plastic card for a long, silent minute, her face turning pale as she did the math on what she had rushed to sell, what she had spent, and what she had missed while she was busy running around town acting like a winner.
When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were wide and hollow, searching my face for some sign of a joke or a trick. When she found only quiet certainty, she grabbed her car keys from the counter, turned on her heel, and walked out the front door without saying goodbye.
She left the door wide open behind her, letting the cold autumn wind sweep through the hallway, but I didn’t get up to shut it right away. I walked over to the front hall closet, reached up to the high shelf, and placed the stiffened blue straw hat box neatly in its place. The scent of White Rain hairspray was almost entirely gone now, replaced by the clean, sharp smell of fresh cedar and cedar blocks, but as I closed the closet door, I could still hear Mama’s voice clear as day, telling me to take my time and look closely at what was right in front of me.
