Chapter 2 #2
It was finally their turn, and as Briar looked down the buffet, she silently judged whoever had ordered fettuccine Alfredo to be served with crab cakes before realizing it had been her.
She vaguely remembered a call with the funeral director where lunch had been discussed but she couldn’t recall any details, only that the talk of food had made her nauseous.
She ended up putting three dinner rolls and a scoop of strawberries on her plate before returning to her table.
Seeing that the twins’ plates were equally bare, Briar made a mental note to cook something nutritious for dinner. RJ, ever the odd man out in their family, was shoveling long strands of fettuccine into his mouth.
In any other family, a successful career on Wall Street would have made RJ the golden child, but instead, he was surrounded by eccentrics.
The same shrewdness that made him so valuable at work, also isolated him from the family in ways that Briar hadn’t worried about until recently, when her texts about him finding a therapist had gone unanswered for several weeks. She resolved to try again tonight.
Then there was the matter of the twins. Susan had first gotten sick when they were still in high school, leaving Briar responsible for them in the formative years of starting college.
At least they’d have each other, staying with their father through the summer to ease the transition from university to postgraduate life.
She didn’t know what she’d do when they all left, how she’d cope.
‘Bri?’ Briar blinked, turning to her father. He’d taken the seat next to her without her noticing.
She cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, what?’
He leaned closer and Briar was struck by the deep-set wrinkles lining his mouth and greying hair at his temples.
There was a time she had seen her father every day, and then after the divorce she’d seen him during the summers and at Christmases, but slowly the time between her visits had stretched.
She tried to remember the last time she’d seen him, and decided it must have been two years ago, for her twenty-fifth birthday party.
Something in losing one parent made noticing the signs of ageing in the other terrifying. An urge to reach out and take her father’s hand nearly overwhelmed Briar, but she didn’t, not wanting to alarm him.
‘I know this isn’t an ideal time to discuss your mother’s estate,’ he said, and the urge dissipated.
‘You’re right,’ Briar said coolly, grabbing one of the twins’ wine glasses and taking a sip. ‘It’s not a good time.’
Her father pressed on. ‘It’s important you know all your options. I’ve a solicitor friend whose firm has a branch here in Washington. I could make some phone calls for you, help things get settled.’
Briar pinched the bridge of her nose. This part of death had truly blindsided her.
In the movies, there were always dramatic scenes of wills being read while the petty siblings squabbled over inheritances.
The movies never showed what happened after, when all of Susan Elwood’s worldly possessions, her house and the camp that was her livelihood, were left to Briar and Briar alone.
Briar shouldn’t have been surprised. It was how their family functioned: Susan as the one with the grand ideas, and Briar as the one pulling the strings, making sure everyone got what they needed.
It made sense that Susan would continue the tradition in death.
And Briar would do right by her siblings, even if she wanted to scream at the thought of making a single decision about her mother’s estate.
She took a deep breath, staring at her hands clasped on the table, and nodded. ‘Thank you, that would be helpful.’
Her father blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree.
‘Oh, well, in that case, we really ought to get an appraiser out to the camp. A plot of that size would be a worthwhile investment for the right buyer.’ He put his hand over Briar’s, squeezing gently.
It was maybe the most comforting he’d ever been.
‘It’s too much for you to take on by yourself. ’
Briar nodded again, any fight seeping out of her.
Her dad meant well, dealing with their mother’s death in the only way he knew how: by giving financial advice.
Not for the first time, Briar wondered how her parents had ever made it to the altar, let alone stayed married long enough to have four children.
Money, she supposed, was the end of them.
And now, her father was trying to convince her of what he could never convince her mother to do: sell the bloody camp.
‘I’m gonna get another drink,’ Briar said, only to get her father to stop looking at her.
She went to stand in line at the bar, observing others being served. Nothing sounded appealing and she thought it would reflect poorly to ask the bartender for whatever would get her drunk the quickest. Her eyes caught on a familiar mop of blond hair down the bar, and Freddie beckoned her over.
‘Hiya,’ Freddie said, pulling her into a tight hug. ‘What are you drinking?’
She shrugged and he flagged down the bartender, ordering them each a gin and tonic.
‘You ready for the summer?’ she asked, taking a sip. Now that the funeral was nearly over, Briar could focus on the next disaster.
Susan’s passing had left much of the camp’s future up in the air. Besides an email drafted in the wee hours of the night affirming wholeheartedly that the camp would still open for the summer, Briar had done little to actually prepare. She had no idea how she would manage.
‘The sous chefs have dropped out, and we’re still down a few counselors… but no worries!’ Briar said quickly as Freddie opened his mouth to respond. ‘Cook is calling up some contacts he has.’
‘Cook’s contacts?’ Freddie echoed. ‘I don’t know—’
‘Everything is absolutely fine,’ Briar reassured him. ‘We’ve still got a couple weeks.’
‘I know you’ve got it handled,’ Freddie said, squeezing Briar’s shoulder. ‘But me and Sierra and everyone, we’re here for you too.’
Freddie, Sierra and the other counselors in attendance had been coming to the camp since they were kids and Briar and Alice had been their counselors. At least Briar knew she’d have friendly faces surrounding her as camp director. She’d certainly need all the help she could get.
‘We’ll make it the best summer ever,’ Freddie declared, clinking his glass against Briar’s. ‘For Susan.’
Briar’s heart squeezed terribly. ‘For mom.’
She spent the rest of the night with drinks materializing in front of her. At some point someone co-opted the AV system to put on one of Susan’s playlists. An ’80s power ballad warbled fuzzily through the speakers.
Briar found herself alone at the bar for a moment, a pleasant buzz building up in her head, and while she couldn’t say it was happiness she was feeling, it was the closest thing to it she’d felt in weeks.
She looked out at the sea of people who had known and loved her mother, feeling Susan’s spirit acutely in the room.
And then she felt a presence behind her, and despite every instinct in her body telling her not to, she turned around.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, loud enough to be heard over the music, resting her body against the bar to prevent herself from swaying.
Alice looked very serious, and it reminded Briar of the times they had gone to parties together in school.
It had always been Alice reining her in before she got too crazy, but Briar had also always known how to get her to let loose. ‘You need a drink.’
‘I don’t want a drink,’ Alice said, crossing her arms. Briar’s eyes traced the muscles of her arms, her gaze getting lost in the dip of Alice’s clavicle. Her skin was dewy from the heat of the room, giving her a glow.
‘Suit yourself,’ Briar said, meaning to turn back to the bar. Somehow, however, she miscalculated and stumbled. Alice reached out to steady her, gripping Briar’s upper arm. The touch burned and Briar shook her off. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re not,’ Alice said. ‘Of course, you’re not.’
‘Right,’ Briar said dumbly. Alice was looking at her with those stupid, big blue eyes again, her face full of a concern she shouldn’t be allowed to have anymore. ‘Of course.’
‘What can I do?’ Alice touched her arm again, imploring. ‘How can I help?’
‘Help?’ Briar stared down at where Alice was touching her. She had the distinct feeling of being outside her body. ‘You can’t.’
‘I want to.’
Briar wanted to argue, to say that if Alice had wanted to help she should’ve shown up a hell of a lot sooner than the day of her mother’s funeral.
That, in fact, there had been several opportunities Alice could’ve taken to fix their friendship, and she hadn’t taken any of them.
Briar wanted to blame her for every single thing that had gone wrong in her life since she’d left.
But while staring at Alice, the words died on her lips.
‘Freddie said you’ll need help at camp,’ Alice said. ‘You need a co-director.’
‘Camp.’ She felt a small sense of satisfaction that the word came out flat, and not as another question.
But still, she couldn’t refute it, because she did need help with camp, pretty desperately.
And Alice – perfect, organized, annoyingly competent Alice – could be exactly what she needed to survive the summer. ‘You want to co-direct with me?’
As angry as she was at Alice, another part of her wanted to give in, to let Alice do what she had done best before she’d left, which was to fix Briar’s life for her.
It would be so much easier that way. And Briar was tired – of taking care of her family, of pretending like her whole world hadn’t just been shattered, of taking on every responsibility her mother had left for her.
It was too much. And yet no one except for Alice could see how much it was weighing on her.
‘Yes.’
Briar didn’t know what to say to that. Everything felt unreal about the current situation: Alice standing before her and her mother’s ashes sitting in an urn in the next room over. If there was anything Briar could be sure was real, it was that Alice would leave her again.
So she had no idea why her next words came out. They certainly weren’t ones she’d thought through.
‘Um, okay.’