strands had escaped to stick to the sweat on her narrow face, and her green eyes looked haunted as they darted around the restaurant. She finally managed a weak smile when she locked eyes with Flynn. He hadn’t seen her in at least ten years, and she’d definitely changed—a lot.
“Sorry I’m late. I got stuck in construction traffic around Wichita Falls.” Nessa pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.
“And I’m running on a prayer and four bald tires, so I didn’t dare go very fast.” April sighed as she slid into a chair beside Nessa.
“So this is it, Mr. Jones,” Nessa said. “Is Daddy still cussin’ you through his lawyer? He’s tried every way in the world to find a loophole to appeal this will.”
“Please, call me Paul. There are no loopholes. Miz Lucy O’Riley made sure of that when she had me draw it up,” he said, “and you ladies aren’t late. We’ve only been here a few minutes.” He adjusted his bifocals and focused on April. “You’re the youngest one of the grandchildren, right?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m April, born in that month. Nessa was born in January, and Flynn on the last day of February, so I’m just barely the youngest, and I’m pleased to meet you.” April’s eyes seemed to be glued to the last bite of pie on Paul’s plate.
“Do y’all want a cup of coffee or a fried pie?” Flynn asked. “I’m going to wait until we get done here before I order.”
“I’ll wait, but I am hungry. I skipped lunch so I wouldn’t be too late,” Nessa said.
“I’d like a sweet tea,” April said.
Flynn caught the waitress’s attention and ordered tea for April and refills for Paul and himself.
“Are we ready, then?” Paul handed each of them a folder. “This is a copy of her will. In simple language, it says that you three grandchildren inherit her entire estate to be held jointly, which is the two-bedroom house, her quilting shed, the four and a half acres that it sits on, and everything in the house. The property cannot be sold. She wanted it to always be there in case one of you needed a place to live or just wanted to use it for a vacation home. There is a quilt in the frame out in her work shed, and before any of you can leave, you have to hand-quilt it. She was adamant about that part of the will. It cannot be quilted on the sewing machine. If any of you fail to work together, then you forfeit your third to the other two.” He flipped through a few more papers. “There is a hope chest, also known as a cedar chest, that you will put the quilt in when it is completed. That hope chest is now in the care of Jackson Devereaux, her friend and nearest neighbor, and it will remain in his care until one of you gets married. The person who marries first inherits the chest. Jackson also has the key to the hope chest and will open it for you when the quilt is finished. You can see whatever is inside when you open it, and at that time, the contents will belong to you three grandchildren. She didn’t even tell me what’s in the chest, so it will be your surprise.”
“It’s probably some of her extra pillowcases,” Nessa said.
“Or maybe she kept all her money in there rather than burying it in quart jars out in the backyard.” Flynn chuckled. She had to have money hidden somewhere. She’d lived frugally and sold her quilts and quilt kits for a high price, so what had she done with the profits?
“What if we don’t give a damn about the hope chest or what’s in it?” April asked.
“That’s your choice, but I would advise you strongly to at least finish that quilt and find out what Lucy has left you. Now, the last thing we need to consider is her car. It is part of the estate and cannot be sold. The keys are on this ring with the house key.” He handed the ring to Nessa and then laid out a stack of papers with yellow, red, and blue tabs. “Each of you need to sign on every sheet. This is acknowledging that I have explained the terms of the will and that you are accepting them. April, you are yellow. Flynn, you are blue. And Vanessa, red.”