Chapter Fourteen
Eliza awakened, covered in sweat. Had she just screamed out loud? It’s okay. It was just a dream.
She’d been in her childhood bedroom, alone, but could hear voices downstairs. She knew everyone was waiting for her, but she couldn’t find the right clothes. Every time she tried to put a shirt on, it was inside out or upside down. Her pants were too tight, or so loose they wouldn’t stay up and she couldn’t find a belt. Her sense of panic rose as she struggled to find a pair of socks that matched. And then a shadow loomed over her. She turned, and outside the window was a figure. Even though she was on the second floor and no one could be there, somehow, someone was. And they were coming in. And she had tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth...
She gulped in air and looked around her living room. She must have fallen asleep on the couch. She groped for her phone. It was just after five in the morning. What day is it? Thursday. It was Thursday. She had a day of work to get through before she went to Scott and Maren’s for dinner.
She’d followed the instructions on the note from the post office to arrange for redelivery of Carol’s letter, and it had been waiting for her when she arrived home from work the evening before.
Dear Eliza:
I am writing to you as executor of Jack Levinger’s estate.
She was immediately struck by the fact that Carol had not written “your father.” And her reasoning soon became clear.
You are named as a beneficiary in Jack’s will. However, as the will explicitly states “my daughter Eliza Levinger,” please consider this legal notice that I will be contesting this portion of the will, in light of the new information that you are not, in fact, his biological issue.
“His biological issue”? What was she, some kind of waste by-product? And the word “please”? It was like a mugger jumping out at you from an alley and saying Excuse me, but would you mind giving me your wallet, please?
She scanned the rest of the document. Apparently Jack had intended for his estate?—excluding the house, which went directly to Carol?—to be divided in thirds among Carol, Scott, and Eliza.
She was dumbfounded. Even for her stepmother, this was a new low. Shaking herself out of the numbness that had descended, she called Scott. He answered immediately.
“You got the letter from Carol,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Did you know she was doing this?”
“No. I just got a letter myself, telling me I’m a beneficiary and informing me that she would be contesting your inheritance.”
Eliza’s eyes stung. Hearing Scott say the words out loud was even more crushing than reading them in black and white, and it had nothing to do with money. It was the feeling that her existence as a member of the family was being erased. Carol had never wanted her around, and now she was excising her entirely, with surgical precision.
“Eliza?”
She realized Scott had been talking but she hadn’t heard him through the buzzing in her ears. “I’m here.”
“Are you okay?”
She heard the edge of panic in his voice and visualized him putting on his coat, telling Maren he had to go see her right away. That he was afraid of what she might do. She wasn’t going to cause anyone that kind of worry. Not again.
“I’m fine.” She choked out the words in as normal a voice as she could manage.
He clearly hadn’t believed her but let it go when she promised to come for dinner the following night. Now she looked at her phone again. Five minutes had passed since she’d looked at it the first time. She lay back down again on the couch, still unsettled by her nightmare.
Her apartment looked different in half darkness. She’d bought it soon after she started working for NOY?—using a chunk of the money her mom left her. When she realized how much she’d be spending on rent, buying seemed a sensible alternative. And she knew, even before she saw it, that this particular unit would be her home. Apartment 507. Laura’s birthday had been May 7. She had just turned forty-five a week before she died.
Eliza had baked her a cake. The same Hershey’s chocolate cake Laura used to make for her. Laura managed a smile and a couple of bites. Eliza forced herself to finish the small piece she’d cut for herself. Jack and Scott must have been there, too, but in her memory she could only see herself and Laura, choking down cake at the world’s worst birthday party ever.
She clicked on the TV. On the screen, a commercial for an antidepressant was playing out. Of course it is. Eliza had neither the energy nor the desire to change the channel, and she snuggled deeper into the sofa cushions. As the commercial ended, it gave way to an episode of Monk . Laura had loved this gentle, bloodless, funny mystery show. It felt like a sign.
Despite her better judgment, which struggled to keep its head above water, she emailed Vanessa to let her know that she wasn’t going to make it into the office today.
It was remarkably exhausting doing nothing. Eliza’s limbs felt heavy when she finally dragged herself off the sofa to shower and get dressed for dinner with Scott and Maren. If she hadn’t spilled tea on her sweatshirt, she might have trekked downtown in that and the leggings she was wearing, but once she was under the hot steamy water she felt marginally better.
A little while later, she was back at her brother’s apartment building, having stopped at the bodega on the corner for a box of chocolate-covered biscuits. As she rang the doorbell, she envisioned Josh on the other side of the door, as he’d been the last time she came.
“Hey, E.” And, lo and behold, there stood Josh. Again.
“What, do you live here now?”
He laughed. “Nope. But I’ve been invited for dinner.”
Would have been nice if someone told me. She tried to remember what clothes she’d dragged on after her shower. Why does it matter?
“Eliza!” Maren came down the hall toward her, her green silk blouse setting off her red curls, and enveloped her in a hug. “I can’t believe Carol’s doing this to you.”
“Yeah, well, I can.” But the truth was, no matter how bad the friction between them had been, she couldn’t quite believe it either. Was Carol really so mercenary? So vindictive? “Anyway, I brought cookies.”
Maren took the box. “I’m broiling lamb chops. Do you want something to drink?”
“What have you got?” She trailed after Maren into the kitchen.
“Water. OJ. I have a bottle of white open...”
“Sounds great.”
Maren turned to look at her, and Eliza realized her answer had been spectacularly unclear.
“Wine. I mean, wine sounds great. I’ll get it.” She retrieved a glass from the cabinet and poured?—resisting the urge to fill it right to the rim.
“You think that’s a good idea?” Scott observed her from the kitchen door, inclining his head toward her glass.
With all that she was dealing with, her brother’s words felt like a slap. “Don’t start,” she snapped back, even as her eyes filled with tears. She’d never felt more alone. Was her brother going to side with Carol? Was the fact that they were only half siblings going to change how he looked at her, too? She swiped quickly at her eyes and took a gulp of wine.
“Okay, guys. Out of the kitchen. Way too much crowding going on here.” Maren shooed them away. “And no fighting.”
Eliza followed her brother and Josh into the living room and sat in the corner of the couch, curling her body in on itself. A little voice inside her head commented on her defensive posture. Scott cleared his throat as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs. “I asked Josh to come. Figured he could give us some legal perspective.”
She glanced at Josh in time to see him raising his hands. “Whoa. Like I said?—trusts and estates isn’t my area. But I talked to one of my colleagues.” He sat, too, in the other armchair, as Maren came into the room with a glass of wine for herself.
“Could we please not jump straight in?” she asked, and then turned to Eliza as she sat on the couch herself. “How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “You know. It all sucks.” She didn’t want to start crying, so she decided to go with nonchalance. Although that was the last thing she felt.
Maren looked at her more closely. “Did you go to work today?”
Is it that obvious? The faded jeans were probably the giveaway. “Um. I worked from home.”
Maren raised her eyebrows, and Eliza caught the quick glance she shot at Scott. Maren and Scott had met in college, and Eliza had always assumed that her sister-in-law was fully up to speed on her coping skills?—or lack thereof?—at least through Scott’s lens. “Nice that they’re flexible like that. But it’s probably easier to get more done in the office, right?”
“Well, you know, sometimes it’s good to just have peace and quiet.” Eliza hoped she wouldn’t have to spin out this imaginary work-from-home scenario much longer.
“I wish work-from-home was a thing at my job,” Josh commented. “Not exactly law-firm culture.”
They chatted while Maren went in and out of the kitchen to manage the lamb, and Eliza joined her to help, draining the noodles she’d made as a side dish. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the meal that Scott brought them back around to the letters they’d received.
“So, we should talk about the will,” he began.
“Have you talked to Carol?” Eliza asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. And”?—he nodded toward Josh?—“consult an attorney.”
“I just can’t believe she’s doing this.” Eliza shook her head. “I mean. Dad just died, and...” She trailed off.
Scott’s face was impassive. “But isn’t that the whole point? He wasn’t your dad.”
“Scott!” Maren hissed. “As far as he knew, he was Eliza’s dad. Isn’t that the point?”
Josh interjected. “Legally, it probably is. According to my colleague?—if Jack believed Eliza to be his daughter and left her a bequest based on that fact, it’s likely the will will stand. But it’s a bit of a tricky legal puzzle given that the will reads ‘my daughter Eliza’ rather than simply naming her.”
Amazing how such careful legal language could obscure all of Eliza’s emotions.
“So what am I supposed to do?” Eliza addressed her plate, unable to look anyone in the eyes.
Scott spoke. “Well, you could just let it go. Is it worth the fight, Eliza?”
She looked up at her brother, not entirely believing what she was hearing. “ Is it worth the fight? Dad wanted me to have whatever he left me.”
“Are you sure that’s what he would have wanted if he knew the truth?”
“Scott!” Maren exclaimed again.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, just asking the question. Josh, what’s likely to happen if Carol’s challenge succeeds?”
“Well, again, this is all hypothetical and...”
“Yeah, yeah, not your area. I get it.”
“I suspect that the court would split what would have gone to Eliza between you and Carol.”
Is that what this is about? Is Scott just being greedy?
“So maybe one option would be to just accept it. And I’ll give Eliza what comes to me.” He turned to her. “So you’d get half of what you would have gotten, and we could avoid all this.”
No, it’s conflict avoidance. “But, Scott, it’s wrong! It’s not what Dad would have wanted. It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about, Eliza? I mean, you and Dad barely talked. Is it worth a fight?”
Her face got hot. “Yes! Carol can’t just erase me!”
“Come on, Lize. Are you being fair? It’s not like you ever gave Carol a fair shake. Maybe she’s just doing what she truly thinks Dad would have wanted.”
She wanted to smack him, and pressed her hands together in her lap. “Well, maybe this shows that I was right about who she is. I mean?—who does this? Until three weeks ago, I thought Dad was my dad. He raised me. And now he’s dead?—and instead of letting me grieve and deal with this crazy new information?—she’s taking me to court!” Despite trying to remain calm, she heard her voice become shriller and shriller as she spoke. “And now my brother is taking her side. And yeah, maybe I’m only your half sister now, but that’s still more blood than you share with Carol.”
“Jesus, Eliza. Calm down. I’m not taking anyone’s side.”
“Bullshit.” She drained her wineglass, even as she knew it probably wasn’t the best choice?—if for no other reason than that everyone’s eyes were on her.
“Look, I don’t think this is getting us anywhere,” Maren said gently. “Scott, if Eliza wants to fight this, it’s up to her.”
Scott looked at his wife. “No matter what it drags us all through?”
Eliza was genuinely puzzled. “What’s it going to ‘drag us through’?”
Her brother pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “I don’t know. I just don’t need all this shit. Do whatever you want.” And he left the room.
Eliza looked at Maren, whose forehead wrinkled. “He’s having a really hard time,” Maren said in a low voice.