Chapter 6
NOW
Crickets are the only sound on the porch after Matt finishes telling us what’s in the will. Literal. Crickets.
“She left it all to … all of us?” repeats Sammie.
Matt nods, looking uncomfortable. “Yes. Birdsong and everything in it have been left to the two of you, and then for some reason, also to Austin and … to me.”
“Damn,” I say.
Austin, who has been scratching behind Birdie’s ears, sits up now, planting a palm on one of his knees and looking to Sammie and me. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I should apologize.”
“Ha,” I say, pointedly.
He gives me a look. “I don’t think we should start the apology game, there, Red. Not with so little time left in the night.”
“Oh, stop calling me that.”
Nora starts climbing into Sammie’s lap, and Matt says, “Nora, sweetie, let’s leave Sammie alone, why don’t you—”
“It’s okay,” says Sammie, gazing down at the little girl.
“Babe left a letter,” says Matt.
It’s the kind of thing you don’t necessarily get when someone dies. When people are elderly and have time to plan their wills, sure. Usually, a relatively young mother of fifty doesn’t have time to plan this kind of thing. Babe never did do things like other mothers. Like other people.
No one speaks at first and Ms. Collie looks uncomfortable, though I have to assume she deals with this kind of thing all the time.
“A letter,” says Sammie, wistful. “I’d hoped there’d be something like that.”
“Does someone want to read it?” asks Matt.
I volunteer.
Ms. Collie gives me a small smile.
The front of the letter says, in Babe’s slanting handwriting: For the Kids.
I stare at it for an extra beat, and then flip it over and crack the wax seal that’s there, pulling out the paper within, steadying my hands as I do. Years of using kitchen tweezers to place delicate garnishes without error has trained me to ignore all internal turmoil.
Kids,
What a funny letter I have to write for you. Like we all do, I had assumed this day would come a long, long time from now. But it’s here now and I have no choice but to accept it.
I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat, and then go on.
You will have learned now that I have left the house to you all. I hope you girls aren’t too upset with me about that (especially you, Sammie). But Matt, you’ve been like a third child to me. And Austin, the house wouldn’t be what it is without you (that damn bottom step!).
My one request is that you stay the whole weekend.
What you choose to do with the property on Sunday is up to you.
You’ll have Saturday to think about it. I hope you enjoy the little break from reality.
Summer solstice, you know. The longest day of the year.
Consider it a little borrowed time to slow down and remember your old selves.
I guess I have a second request too, but I’ll leave that to Miranda. You can get mad at her instead of me.
Love you all, more than you’ll ever know.
Babe/Mom
“What’s the other request?” asks Austin, a slight tone of amusement.
Ms. Collie holds out a basket she must have picked up while I was reading. “No screens.”
“No … screens?” I ask. “Like no phones?”
Miranda nods.
Austin doesn’t hesitate and tosses his phone in the basket without glancing at it.
Sammie smiles. “That’s so Mom. She hasn’t liked any technology since the iPod. Give me one sec, Miranda, I have to go get mine.”
That leaves Matt and me. We look at each other. Clearly neither of us can do it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hand over my phone,” I say. “I can turn it off for the most part, obviously have it on silent, but I’m going to be getting work texts. I already took off for this weekend, which I really shouldn’t have done.”
“Shouldn’t have done,” repeats Austin with a tone of confusion.
I understand why. You’d think mothers dying would be a good enough reason to take off work. But what he doesn’t know is that I didn’t tell anyone why I was leaving. Hungry chefs hoping to replace me can smell weakness.
“I have a morning meeting tomorrow about a big case. I’ve got clients I need to be available for. Maybe I can turn in my phone, but not my computer. Unfortunately.”
Ms. Collie gives him an understanding look, but shakes her head. “Unless everybody stays and plays along, the house goes to nobody.”
Sammie comes back at that moment, a look of horror spreading across her face.
“I understand that,” says Matt, “and I respect it, but surely as executor, I—”
Ms. Collie shakes the basket at him.
He sighs. “Let me drop a line to my partner and the firm letting them know. When exactly will we have them returned?”
“Sunday morning,” she says. “Before the celebration.”
“The celebration,” I repeat. “Right.”
“It’ll do you good,” says Austin.
I roll my eyes and then pull my phone out of my pocket to jump on the restaurant group chat.
Now that dinner service is in full swing, there are more texts than on the way over.
Pastry—location on the lime pearls?
Has anyone seen the backup pillar candles? Ivory, not white?
Table 12 is a VIP, check folio in the office for deets
And then some specific off-group texts. One from my sous:
Can we chat in the morning about tomorrow night’s menu? I’m worried the crudo is too samey for the carpaccio, maybe we move one to Sunday?
Another from the expo:
Varnay still moving too slow. Give me the go-ahead to let him go if he doesn’t step it up this weekend.
I try to answer everything as quickly as I can and then send balong several things to keep in mind while I’m gone.
Sammie returns and tosses her phone in the basket with an irresponsible clatter. I glance up to see that it’s caseless and has a crack down the middle.
Finally, I give my phone one last look before shutting it off and setting it carefully in with the others.
“Just right in?” asks Matt, holding up his laptop.
“Right in,” says Miranda.
Once all our devices are put away, Miranda clears her throat and goes over a few more logistics.
I can barely listen. My overweary brain is starting to process what’s happening.
Not the fact that Babe’s actually gone, I haven’t really been able to emotionally touch that yet.
But the fact that I have to stay here. With them.
No phone, no work. And that Babe left the whole house to all four of us.
In the frenzy with work and Babe’s death, it hadn’t really occurred to me that something like this would happen. And it never would have occurred to me that it would happen with all of us.
In a way, I’m not surprised. It’s typical Babe to do something mystifying like this. Sure, why wouldn’t she leave her beloved family home to her daughters and their childhood friend and an ex-boyfriend?
That letter too. Of course she had a specific, personal throwaway line for each of them, but not for me. Sammie, she thought might be upset about the house being shared. Matt was like a child to her, she said. And Austin, something about a step?
But nothing for me. No little anecdote or joke for me. No worries about how I might feel.
Of course not. Because I’m always fine.
Except for my temper. Which I admit is something I still need to work on.
And when I say temper I don’t mean like, I might snap and stab someone in line at the grocery store.
It’s more like, if I drop a Ping-Pong ball and it repeatedly bounces just out of reach for longer than three seconds I’m going to lose my shit.
I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world, is all I’m saying.
It hadn’t occurred to me at all that we might inherit anything.
But of course. Birdsong couldn’t just sit here as it always had.
Something has to be done with it. Which means Babe really is gone.
Of course I knew that, but something about her assets being transferred to us makes it feel all the more real.
A surge of questions and problems and issues and worries rises in me like bile and I stuff them down. No. Not for now.
“And are there any parameters in place for that?” Matt is asking Ms. Collie.
“No, not really,” she says. “But there will be property taxes due toward the end of the year. You’ll need to at least address those.”
Nora is on the ground now with Birdie, and she’s singing a tiny, whispered song to her. Sammie watches them, arms wrapped around her shins, cheek resting on her knee.
“Great, okay, so if we have questions I’ll have those ready for you on Sunday. There’s always something.” Matt laughs, and Ms. Collie chuckles back.
“I hope you all have a healing weekend,” she says, smiling at all of us and doing a toodle-oo wave.
“She’s leaving?” asks Sammie.
“Seems like it,” I say.
“But…” she starts, but then her sentence dies in the air.
I know what she means. I have a million questions but nothing to ask. How? Why? Really? More why?
A breeze picks up and carries with it the rich smell of basil and tomato vines that have been successfully growing on the right side of the house for years.
I shut my eyes at the smell and it only makes it more potent.
I can smell the fuzzy skin of peaches and the crisp aroma of mint.
There’s usually a little light out there that makes the alley completely magical. It’s off now. Babe always kept it on.
I stand up and flick the switch and sit back down.
Austin hangs his head. He knows it was always on. Eventually, he was here often enough to memorize the place and all its patterns too.
When Matt returns, he says, “I’ve never seen this group of people quieter.”
We respond with more silence.
“It’s a lot,” Matt goes on, “but depending what we want to do with the property, it can be fairly straightforward. If we want to keep it, we’ll come up with arrangements that work for all of us.
If we want to sell it, property here sells extremely well and extremely fast. Babe turned down offers all the time. ”
This gives me a start. “Did you talk to her?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“Like … often?”
He hesitates and then nods again.
I look around, and then land on Austin. “What did she mean about the step?”