The Cabin - Jasinda Wilder Page 0,35

clawing at yourself.” Her voice is shaky. “You were in the tub because it was the only place I could get you that you wouldn’t…hurt yourself on something. I was worried I’d have to, like, call for professional help. You were pretty out of your head. You left me with some bruises, but I’m fine.”

I look at her, really look. She’s my height, tall, but way curvier. Her mom was black, her dad white, so she’s got skin somewhere in between, with curly black hair and hazel eyes. She’s paler than usual, with bags under her eyes. She’s lost weight, and not in a good way. She didn’t need to.

She has the remains of a healing black eye, the awful purples and greens and yellows.

“Holy shit, Tess. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, you warned me.”

“Doesn’t make it okay.”

She lies on the bed behind me and spoons me. “It’s fine, boo. I love you. I’m here. I forgave you beforehand, remember?”

“I miss him so fucking much.”

“I can’t even begin to understand.”

“I wonder what…what Adrian left in his will?” I say. “He handled all our finances, but as far as I’m aware, it’s not like we had a lot of stuff or investments for him to leave.”

“I guess we’ll find out Friday.”

“I guess so.”

“I’m going to need a shower.”

“Bitch, you’re gonna need like four showers.”

“I don’t smell that bad.”

“Oh yeah? Sniff your pit.”

I do so. “Holy hell.” I cough at my own stench. “You might be right.”

“Why are you still here with me, Tess?”

“Because you’re my best friend. And you’d do the same for me. We made a pact, remember? When we were in that Gaia, Mother Earth phase? We did this whole thing involving period blood and herbs and that godawful wine we made ourselves?”

I can’t help but laugh. “God, I remember. That was so nuts.”

“I meant that shit, Nads. Ride or die.”

“I meant it too. I just…I guess I feel like I’ve really tested it, these last few weeks.”

“You haven’t tested anything, Nadia. There’s no such thing as testing it. You need me, so I’m here. No matter what.”

“What would I do without you?”

“You’ll never find out.”

A while of silence.

“You’ve been in here a week,” Tess says, eventually. “I could barely get you to eat or drink. I had to force-feed you electrolytes. I was really worried about you getting dehydrated.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve lost a shitload of weight, Nads. Like, a lot. You’re skin and bones.”

“I’m not okay. This feels like the eye of the storm. I don’t think I’m going to have another breakdown, but it’s going to come in waves. Just…so you’re aware. I’ll have more bad days.”

“I know.”

“You can take a break from me, you know.”

“I don’t want one.”

“Crazyhead.” She ruffles my hair like I’m a child.

“Try to rest.”

“’Kay.”

“Nadia?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I have to worry about you? For real.”

“Not like that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good enough. Now rest.”

But rest doesn’t come, though. Now that I’ve begun the process of grieving, I’m inundated with memories of Adrian.

30 days

“I, Adrian Bell, being of sound mind and, obviously, failing body—”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, interrupting. “But can you just give me a copy to read on my own time, and give me the details as succinctly as possible?”

We’re in the law offices of Levine, Levine, and Anton, in a glittery high-rise in the heart of Atlanta. It was the first time I had left the house after the funeral, but I barely remember the trip in—Tess drove. The lawyer Adrian chose to execute his estate, whose name is Tomas Anton, resembles the evil food critic from Ratatouille: extraordinarily tall, but stooped, hunched at the shoulders, with a dour face, silvering dark hair cropped short and balding. He wears an expensive dark charcoal suit with light pinstripes, a somber maroon tie, and slick, polished Italian leather loafers. His voice is sonorous, stentorian.

“That is not how these things are ordinarily done,” he protests.

“I can’t—I just can’t handle this.” I close my eyes. Hearing Adrian’s words, read by someone else, is just too hard.

“Very well.” He clears his throat, and then spends a moment thinking. “The details are thus: his automobile, a 2017 BMW M4 convertible, has been sold for a cash value of forty-five thousand dollars, which funds are currently available in the joint checking account. There were many investments made over the years, upon the advice and urging of his financial advisor, one Lewis McCleary, and those have been largely cashed out, all appropriate taxes paid upon cash-out. The sum total of these comes to…let’s see…one million, seven hundred thousand, and