Hometown Family. Mia Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ pinned Caty with a hard look. “Isn’t it?”

       “We’ll go through all that later,” she hedged.

       “We’ll go through some of it now.” Handing Lisa a steaming mug, Marianne sat down with her own. “I know Dad redid everything about a year ago, and since you were his lawyer, I assume you helped him do it. Next week, I’m supposed to start prepping my room for my new class. Kyle starts school the week after and Emily’s registered for pre-K. If we need to move, I have to know. Now.”

       Caty hesitated. There were good reasons for not releasing estate details so soon. Emotions were too raw, and people needed time to deal with their loss before they got practical. Another reason was that if they got caught up in the provisions in the will, they put off grieving, sometimes with very serious consequences.

       There were steps in the process, and it was best to go through them in the order dictated by psychologists who were experts in the field. In a psych class, Caty had learned about Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, who put the stages of grief into a nice, neat list: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. The Sawyers were still in denial. Intellectually, Caty knew they should go through the others before she told them anything.

       Then she thought of Ethan, how deeply he loved his family. He wouldn’t want Marianne and her kids worrying about where they were going to live.

       She began by giving Marianne a reassuring smile. “I can tell you all the buildings and land within three acres of the main house are yours. Provided you let John live in the carriage house as long as he wants.”

       Marianne visibly relaxed. “Thanks, Caty. I should’ve known Dad would do it that way.”

       “What else can you tell us?” Lisa asked.

       They’d finally gotten Matt’s attention. He didn’t join them at the table, but he’d turned and at least appeared to be listening.

       “We’re all here,” Marianne added. “And I’m sure you know the important things. Why not handle it now?”

       Pushing aside her misgivings, Caty relented because she knew it was what her client would want. “Ethan’s major assets were his life insurance and the farm, which goes to the four of you. Whatever you do with it has to be a unanimous decision.”

       Matt moved to the island and leaned in, looking like a drowning man who’d found a rock to cling to. With his bitter comment about staying away from Harland so fresh in her memory, she suspected that was exactly how he felt.

       “You mean we can sell the farm?” he asked.

       Caty circled the table with a somber look. “Provided you all agree, yes.”

       “Well, I don’t want to.” John crossed his arms stubbornly, glaring at nobody in particular.

       “There’s two thousand acres here,” Lisa chided.

       “Twenty-two hundred and four,” he corrected her.

       “With the price of land these days, it must be worth a fortune,” she continued. “You can’t knee jerk such a big decision.”

       “I’ll buy you out then,” he insisted, looking to Caty for support. “I can do that, right?”

       He looked so hopeful, she didn’t have the heart to remind him he didn’t have nearly the amount of money that would take. “If the others agree, yes.”

       Marianne was toying with her spoon with a pensive expression. “If we keep the farm, who’s going to run it?”

       “I will,” John volunteered. “I know every inch of this place, and all the guys like me.”

       “Which is why they never listen to you,” she responded. “You’re one of the Indians, not a chief.”

       “Dad must have had someone in mind,” Lisa said with a puzzled expression. “But who?”

      * * *

       Caty’s gaze landed squarely on Matt, and he thought his heart thudded to a stop for a few seconds.

       When it started up again, he bit back a curse, because in his mind this was still his father’s house. Standing on the other side of the island, he was outside the circle at the table. Suddenly, it felt much too close.

       “Not a chance,” he growled. “I’m not moving back here.”

       “Matt, be reasonable,” Marianne said in that because-I’m-the-mom voice every kid hated. “Someone has to run this place, and Dad chose you.”

       “We’ll hire a foreman.”

       She gave him a doubtful look. “In the middle of harvest season?”

       “You can do that,” Caty explained. “Ethan paid himself a salary, and proceeds from the life insurance can be combined with that to hire extra help. After twelve months, whatever insurance money is left goes equally to John, Lisa and Matt, and into trusts he set up for Kyle and Emily.”

       “I’ll just take it out of my portion,” Matt offered. It would be worth every penny to keep his sanity.

       Frowning, Caty shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. Any remaining funds will be divided equally among the five of you.”

       Matt barely stifled a groan. Without much in the way of living expenses, he could step in and run the farm for almost nothing. Hiring someone on such short notice wasn’t impossible, but the price was bound to be astronomical. If he chose to do it anyway, he’d be stealing money from the others. His father knew him well enough to be confident Matt would never do that.

       While he searched for some kind of compromise, he stalled for time. “How much are we talking here?”

       For the first time, Caty looked uncomfortable with the conversation. They’d put her in a tough spot, he suddenly realized, asking her to be professional while they sat around their kitchen table nibbling on leftovers. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head while she shuffled through information only she knew. After a long silence, she finally answered.

       “Half a million.”

       Marianne gasped something incoherent, and Lisa squeaked, “Dollars?”

       “Yes.”

       John didn’t say a word. Rocking back in his chair, he stared across the kitchen at Matt, waiting.

       The invisible noose was back, crushing Matt’s throat until he could barely breathe. They all expected him to backtrack and embrace the life he’d escaped fifteen years ago. Sure, he could do it, but it would drive him crazy, getting up at dawn every day for fourteen hours of backbreaking work that could all be wiped out by a single hailstorm.

       He was not, and never had been, a farmer, rooted to the ground he walked on, worrying about blight and insects. Watching the sky and hoping for rain, watching the rain and hoping for sun. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

       The last eyes he connected with were Caty’s, and he finally found what he was looking for. Sympathy.

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