Everlasting - Christine Michelle Page 0,70
my heart leapt in my chest, and I wondered if Deck had finally come home. Then, I realized how stupid that was because this was his house, and why the hell would he need to knock on the door? It seemed I wasn’t out of hope, false or otherwise, just yet.
“Can I help you?” I asked the slightly younger man who was admiring my porch swing with a smile on his face.
“Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking that my sister would love your house. She’s always going on about a porch swing just like this one,” he grinned at me as he tipped his head in the direction of the swing. “Of course, she wants the wraparound porch to put it under too,” he carried on jovially as if his presence hadn’t just given my heart a jolt of adrenaline.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know you or your sister,” I started.
The grin on his face slipped then. “I thought you would be expecting me,” he mentioned as he glanced down at a folder in his hands. “I have some paperwork to go over with you this morning, a few pieces to sign, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Who the hell are you?” I finally asked, losing my patience with him.
His brows drew together in question, but he answered me anyway. “My name is Brain Grist. I’m a lawyer with Avery, Malloy, and Grist here in Charleston.”
“A lawyer?” That earlier shot of adrenaline was nothing. NOTHING, compared to the one I experienced in that moment. Had Deck decided on the coward’s way out and chosen to send me divorce papers like this? No! There was no way he would be so cruel. Then again, I didn’t know him anymore. He had only been gone a year, but that year signified an absolute lifetime for him considering the things that happened while he was gone. Tears started bubbling up behind my lids as I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle, right there in front a stranger on my front porch.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” the man added as an afterthought to his introduction when he watched my reaction, and pinned it for the wrong kind of grief. “Ms. Sinclair left instructions to come see you, but she wanted to give you a little time after her death before it happened.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sinclair?” I asked.
“Avalyn Sinclair,” he answered, seeming even more curious that I didn’t know who his client was.
“Of course,” I mentioned as I released a relieved sigh. “Please, understand that I have a lot going on right with several sick relatives undergoing medical treatment, Ava’s passing, and twins and a baby to care for,” I told him as I heard Archer cry out. “I’m a bit frazzled.”
“I understand,” he offered, even though it was clear by his face that he had no sense of understanding at all.
“Please, come in,” I held the door a little wider and then moved to close it behind him. Once I had him settled in at my kitchen table with his paperwork, I excused myself to go get my son.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I told him, to be polite while I settled in with Archer. Breastfeeding wasn’t an option with a stranger sitting at my table, so I warmed up a bottle of pre-pumped milk for my son and then started feeding him while I listened to Brian Grist explain the terms of Avalyn’s Last Will and Testament to me.
“Wait,” I finally stopped him. “Are you telling me that she left everything to me?”
“Well, yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why?” I asked him.
“Um,” he searched through the papers in front of him as if the answer would jump off the pages. I had no inkling of what he was looking for, but eventually he glanced up and set his attention on me. “It seems as though Ms. Sinclair had no family to speak of and she changed her Will about a month prior to her death to make you her beneficiary.”
“Who was it before?’
“There wasn’t a who. She had it set up to have all of her possessions sold off and then the liquidated assets would be divvied up between several charities. Since changing her Will, she added a special request too. I’ll read it to you, but you will also be given a paper copy to keep for yourself.
Ever,
I know this seems a weird request, but I have no doubt you will honor it for me. What I’m asking