The Cabin - Jasinda Wilder Page 0,37

months preparing all of this. He has seen to your every need, as well as can possibly be done. You should be very proud, Mrs. Bell. It was an honor to have worked for him.”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Anton.”

“If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to contact me. My specialty is estate law, but if you should need legal representation or advice, I am but a phone call away.”

“Thanks.” I just need to get out of this building, away from people. I need to be alone.

Tess guides me out of the office, down to the parking garage under the high-rise. The inside of her car is silent for the first fifteen minutes of the drive home.

“Six million dollars, Nadia.”

I shudder. “I’m having a hard time fathoming what that means.”

“It means you don’t need to do a damn thing for the rest of your life.”

“So I’m supposed to do…what? Just sit around in our empty house and watch TV for the rest of my life?”

“Take the time you need, that’s all.”

“What I need to do is to get back to work.”

“You don’t need to, Nads. For real.”

I shake my head. “Tess, I have to do something. If I just sit around that house, I’ll go crazy. I have to go back to work.”

“If that’s what you need, then I support you. Just…you don’t need the money.”

“It’s not about money. It’s about my mental and emotional health. Even before…before, um. Yeah, even before all this, I had to work, to stay busy. You know this about me.” I laugh. “Six million dollars.” I laugh again, because it’s better than crying. “What the hell am I going to do with it?”

“Live off it? Splurge?”

I can’t stop the tears, now. “On what? What matters, anymore? Purses? Shoes? A new car? What the fuck am I supposed to want, or care about, Tess? My husband is dead. Everything else just seems…meaningless.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A Birkin bag might make you feel better for a while.”

I cackle. “If you think I’ve ever been psychologically capable of spending that kind of money on a purse, you know nothing about me, woman.”

“That’s because you’ve never tried.”

I sniffle. “Maybe. I guess it just…doesn’t interest me.”

A sigh. “Yeah, I guess I get that.” She glances at me. “The hot tub is supposed to come later today. That’ll be fun.”

I barely hear her, though. I’m lost in thought. Imagining Adrian, sicker by the day, continuing to pay bills, to set me up financially for life. Thinking about me while he died.

I can’t sob—it feels like that ability has been used up, worn out. Now, crying is a quiet, slow affair. Tears trickling down my nose, one at a time.

Adrian, god, you selfless man. I love you so much. I miss you. Fuck, I miss you.

33 days

“What’s this?” Tess asks, accepting the box from me.

It’s large, wrapped in white tissue paper held in place by a blue silk ribbon I found in my closet.

“Just open it,” I say.

She doesn’t. Just holds it on her lap. We’re sitting on the back porch, a fire going in the little firepit, a bottle of wine half finished. It’s white wine, a dry white. I still can’t drink red. It reminds me too much of Paris.

“Nads, I don’t want anything from you.”

“I know. But…I just…you’ve been here for me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You take care of me when I can’t function. You’ve literally kept me fed, kept me from getting dehydrated. You’ve cleaned my house. You’ve done more than the term ‘friendship’ can even begin to cover.” I tap the box. “This is nothing. It’s not even a thank-you, Tess. It’s just…a token, I guess. Appreciation is the only word I can come up with, but that doesn’t cover it either.” I sniffle a laugh. “Just open it, dammit.”

She sighs in something very like frustration. She unties the ribbon, slides the layers of tissue paper off from around the box which is square and black, with a black ribbon tying it closed. The word “CHANEL” is written on the top of the box in large white letters.

“You didn’t.”

I just smile.

She gingerly slowly opens the box. Within is a signature Chanel purse, small, black, quilt-stitched leather, with a chain strap of gold woven through with leather, the clasp in that iconic twin C logo.

“Nadia, no.”

“Nadia, yes.”

“You wouldn’t buy one for yourself, if I’m remembering correctly.” She lifts the purse out. Sniffs it. “You said it was too extravagant for