7. Gilbert
7
GILBERT
For our next meeting, Bonnie proposes we meet somewhere other than Will’s office, and I can’t say that I disagree with her. Ironically, she picks a café that offers a welcome change of atmosphere from his stuffy office.
This place is quiet, with soft music playing in the background. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sweet scent of pastries. It’s a neutral place, a place where we can have a calm and logical discussion away from the tension of the lawyer’s office.
It also happens to be located near Brookfield Performing Arts Academy.
Ashlynn’s dance school.
It’s just after 5 P.M., so she’s there now. I know this because her town car is currently parked outside the school. I can’t help but wonder if Bonnie picking this place is intentional and if this is meant to be some sort of intervention.
Since I’m early, I pick out a corner table so we won’t be disturbed, but one with a direct line of sight to the café entrance. Bonnie arrives shortly after I do, so I know it’s not a coincidence. She said 5:30 P.M., so the fact that she’s also here this early speaks volumes. I can tell she’s still peeved that I won’t give her a definite answer, even with her usual calm demeanor firmly in place.
As she settles into the seat across from me, she gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. We exchange pleasantries, place our drink orders, and then the conversation shifts to the matter at hand.
Sort-of.
“So, are you staying?” Bonnie asks, cradling her teacup in both hands.
I could tell the question had been bursting at the seams. Might as well keep her in suspense a little longer.
“It depends,” I tell her.
She picks up her cup. “The question was rhetorical. From what I heard, you’re retired. Or retiring, or taking a leave of absence, depending on whom you ask.”
“You heard wrong. Aspen Grove Psychiatry does alright, so why would I want to?—”
“I wasn’t talking about your practice,” she interjects. “Apparently, you are too valuable to lose, so somebody high up the food chain is dragging their feet on your paperwork.”
Oh.
“And… how would you know that?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets.” She sets her cup down, then folds her arms over her chest. “I still need an answer, Gilbert.”
Uh-uh.
She can’t just drop that on me and expect me to let it slide. There’s a reason people think I work with Doctors without Borders. I’d prefer to keep it that way, in the interest of National Security and all.
“Nobody knows who I work for or what sort of work I do. So either there’s a breach that I’m obligated to report, or your secrets and my secrets overlap, and I need to know how.”
A beat passes, then she lets out a weary sigh. “Unofficially, I happen to be one of the cogs on that food chain. One of the hats I wear is handler. If you must know, I was the reason Everett joined in the first place, except I’m not one for fieldwork, and neither are you. So I’ll ask again, are you staying?”
I nod, convinced for now. We still need to discuss the logistics of Ashlynn’s guardianship, except Bonnie isn’t done.
“Good, ‘cause that would’ve made this next part awkward.”
“What part?” I ask, stirring my coffee absently.
She shrugs. “Your house.”
I don’t follow. “What about my house?”
“I’d like to buy it,” she says as a matter of factually.
“It’s not for sale, and I just told you I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not today, but someday. For Lynn, of course. As a birthday gift.”
I still don’t follow. “It’s a house. Four walls and a roof. What’s so special about it?”
“You have no idea, do you?” She tilts her head, a smirk playing on her lips as she studies me with a quizzical expression. “But that’s not possible since you knew about them the whole time.”
I lift a curious brow.
She shifts in her seat. “I knew about your arrangement with Rachel. How that came to be.”
My lips thin out. I don’t answer her — not that there was ever a question.
Besides, what’s there to say?
It’s complicated doesn’t even begin to describe the relationship Rachel and I had.
Bonnie continues to watch me, and her expression shifts to thoughtful. “I always believed someone like you was too good to be true. It feels good to be proven wrong.”
“I truly have no idea what it is that you’re trying to say. Contrary to popular belief, psychiatrists are not mind readers.”
“Fair enough. Rachel told me you two were getting a divorce, and that you were giving her the house. She had planned on proposing to Hannah that weekend. I even helped her pick out the ring long before that. Seeing as it wasn’t with Rachel’s personal effects, I assumed she actually did propose and that Hannah was buried with it.”
“I knew all that already. Rachel and Hannah called me afterward to give me the good news. I still don’t see what that has to do with the house.”
“See, that’s the thing. It’s not just any house.” At my puzzled expression, she adds, “It’s a ballerina’s dream house, Gilbert. I know you bought it sight unseen, but Rachel renovated it. As a former dancer, I’m a bit envious of all the amenities she managed to fit in there. It’s a shame that it’s just been sitting, unused, for the last five years. If you ever decide to part ways with it, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”
“Who would want their dead teacher’s house as a gift?”
“Lynn would. She practically grew up in it… and from the expression on your face, you had no idea. When was the last time you did a walk-through of your house?”
Truthfully?
Never.
I was never around long enough to truly appreciate what she had done with the place. The house belonged to Rachel, and I had every intention of leaving it to her in the divorce. Now that I think about it, Hannah and Ashlynn would have moved in with her. Knowing Rachel, she would’ve wanted to adopt Ashlynn eventually. She would’ve wanted her to have the house, should anything happen to her or Hannah. So, technically, the house belongs to Ashlynn.
Personally, I’m not attached to the house, but I can see why Ashlynn would be. I’ll have to do something about that.
As an idea forms, a smile plays at the corners of my lips.
Bonnie picks up on it. “What just went through that shrinky brain of yours?”
Of all the things I could possibly say, I settle on, “You look nothing like your sister.”
She chuckles into her tea. “That’s because I don’t have a sister. I had a sister-in-law, and the displeasure of sharing DNA with Everett.”
Oh. “Still… Walsh?”
An indecipherable look passes through her eyes. “I was married, briefly.”
“Was?”
“She died.”
Oh. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m not, and it’s ancient history.” She waves me off. “I’m not one to condone cheating, but Hannah and Rachel were soulmates. Sure, they kept their relationship under wraps, but it would’ve all come out anyway, had they lived. Just as I know my brother would’ve fought Hannah on custody, even if deep down he knew that Ashlynn would’ve been better off being raised by both of them.”
Leaning back in my seat, I fold my arms. “Really.”
“Yes, really. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Kinda, yeah. He was your brother. Still can’t wrap my head around that.”
“Yeah, well, he was a douche,” she counters. “Being perceived as a family man did wonders for his career, so that’s exactly what he did. To him, they were just objects meant to bolster his image. And, for the record, this is me speaking ill of the dead.
“My brother expected Hannah to be a stay-at-home mother, so it really pissed him off when she took the teaching job at Brookfield. Then again, I’m not sure what he expected when he knocked up a professional ballerina, married her, stuck her in a gilded cage, and expected her to stay in it while he picked up and left anytime he wanted.”
Everett Crane sounds a lot like my own parents. Control freaks.
“Hannah wasn’t a pushover or a doormat,” she continues. “And once he realized he couldn’t control her the way he wanted, he turned to Lynn. He didn’t want Lynn doing ballet, as he didn’t consider it a ‘real sport.’” She puts air quotes around the words. “He wanted her to play hockey, a sport she hates, just to appease his inflated ego. Even though he knew he would never be around to watch her play. I doubt he ever saw her dance. I know for a fact that he’s never been to any of her competitions. The only reason he didn’t pull her out of ballet after Hannah died is because the Blackwells are footing the bill for it. That, and I told him that if he so much as interfered with Lynn’s dreams, I would personally relieve him of the family jewels.”
The mental image that forms has me shifting in my seat. “Point taken.”
She levels me with a stern gaze. “Same goes for you, Gilbert. As much as I’d like to believe you really are the stand-up guy Rachel said you are, interfere with Lynn’s dreams and I won’t do you the kindness of killing you.”
Jesus Christ, this woman. “Bonnie, if you know the truth about Rachel and me, then you’d know I am the last person to get in the way of anyone’s dreams.”
She relaxes, albeit slightly. “Truth is, I’m not sorry Everett’s dead. I’m just sorry Lynn’s grieving the loss of a man who never deserved a daughter like her. And that her whole life is being disrupted because the jackass ignored protocol and got himself killed?—”
Will’s arrival brings the conversation to an abrupt halt. Apart from being slightly disheveled, he’s also clutching his signature leather briefcase that looks somewhat out of place in the relaxed environment of the café.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Bonnie teases, tapping the seat next to her.
As he does, the blush that creeps down his neck is adorable. “Sorry. I got held up at the office. I take it you two have come to an agreement?”
“Yes, Gilbert is staying, and Lynn is moving in with him. We didn’t quite get to the part where we break the news to her.”
Will sets his briefcase on the table and pulls out a file. “You know, I could’ve sworn I heard you say the bastard got himself killed.”
She shrugs. “I did say that, but I called him a jackass. Why? You going to lecture me on speaking ill of the dead?”
“Why bother? It’d be lost on you,” he says as he hands me the folder. “Let’s wrap this up quickly, shall we? I’d rather not be here when Ashlynn rips you two a new one for this little ambush.”
For the next thirty minutes, we discuss the legal details of how Ashlynn’s guardianship would work at length, ensuring that every aspect is covered. It is atypical and more than just overseeing her finances until she turns twenty-two. Most of it is tied to the terms of the settlement and has no bearing on her being an adult or a minor.
As a psychiatrist, I understand the importance of not just meeting legal obligations but also addressing emotional needs. Ashlynn’s grief and feelings of loss must be factored into our approach. Bonnie and I agree that we want her to feel secure and loved, and that this arrangement is for her benefit, not to restrict her freedom.
As we wrap up our conversation, I glance out the window and see Ashlynn and three girls emerging from the dance studio across the street. They part ways, and she heads for the town car where Russ is waiting. She looks exhausted, her usual grace replaced by weariness. Her shoulders are slumped, her steps heavy, and her tote bag sways against her side.
When was the last time she got a decent night’s sleep?
Even so, she’s still stunning, breathtakingly so. The sight tugs at my heart, and I feel a pang of something I shouldn’t. Attraction and desire — both inappropriate given the circumstances, and who she is. I push the thoughts away, but they stubbornly linger.
“Time to face the music,” Will speaks up, nodding towards the window.
Bonnie turns to see her niece, concern evident in her eyes. “She hasn’t been sleeping much. She’s also been avoiding me since the reading of the will, even though I’ve been staying at the house.”
Will begins gathering the papers on the table. “I don’t suppose Bonnie told you that Ashlynn comes here three times a week.”
“No, she left out that part.”
I watch as Russ takes Ashlynn’s tote bag from her. Something he says makes her face light up, and she lunges into his arms, taking him by surprise. She steps away and heads in the direction of the café, moving with the grace of a seasoned dancer and the confidence of someone who’s spent a lifetime on stage.
To no one’s surprise, Ashlynn spots us within seconds of entering the café. Her eyes narrow in suspicion and confusion, clearly unsure what to expect. A beat passes before she makes a beeline for us with purposeful strides.
Will stands, briefcase in hand. “And that’s my cue to flee. Good luck.”
If that wasn’t enough, Will whispers something to Ashlynn on his way out. By the time she reaches us, a look of wariness is stamped on her face.
“Lynn,” Bonnie begins softly, “it’s not what you think.”
“No?” Ashlynn crosses her arms, her expression guarded. “You’re not checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t dancing?”
Bonnie’s gaze falls to Ashlynn’s feet. “I know you weren’t.”
“What’s this about then?”
“Paperwork.” She glances in the direction of the main entrance, specifically at Will as he exits the room. “What do you think Will was doing here?”
Her expression softens slightly, but the wariness remains. “Mr. Greenfield has a massive crush on you, and you feed into it. When are you going to put the poor man out of his misery?”
“Lynn!”
I disguise a snicker under an ill-timed cough, and Bonnie’s piercing gaze turns on me.
“You know I’m right,” Ashlynn continues. “He’s not your type, and it’s not nice of you to keep leading him on.” Bonnie’s lips part as if to admonish her a second time, but she quickly adds, “If you three were really discussing ‘paperwork’ about me,” she puts air quotes around the word paperwork, like her aunt does, “shouldn’t I be present for it? One minute, you say I’m an adult; the next, you treat me like a child. You can’t have it both ways, Aunt Bonnie.”
“She has a point,” I chime in.
As enlightening as it is to watch Bonnie squirm under her niece’s discerning eye, Ashlynn seems open to having this conversation now. It could be weeks before an opportunity like this comes along, so it is best that we not get sidetracked.
Bonnie looks between us, her brow furrowed as she weighs her options. “Fine,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “We’ve been discussing how to make this situation work better for you. Your mom’s wishes are important, but so are your feelings on the matter. Our goal is to find a balance that honors both.”
Ashlynn’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there’s a hint of relief in her posture. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because we care about you,” I offer, trying to keep my voice steady. “Bonnie and I want to support you in a way that respects your needs. Also, Ballet will always come first. Everything else will be shuffled around it.”
She turns to me. “Does this mean I have to live with you?”
“I’m afraid so,” I say sincerely. “Tell you what? Give it a week, as a trial. If you absolutely hate it, we’ll try something else.”
She worries her bottom lip as she looks between us, the conflict in her eyes clear. Finally, she sighs and nods slightly. “Okay. Let’s talk.”