Women Who Stay, 23

Chapter 1 ... Chapter 22

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In the driveway once again, I thanked Mark for the tour.

"If you have any other questions about the house or Antonio, you know how to reach me," he said. "I feel like we only scratched the surface."

"Well, I think the focus of the book will be more on Janie. You know, what she knew. Why she stayed for so long."

He got a curious look on his face. "Yes, an interesting lens. You've got your work cut out for you. I never could work that out myself. It's funny," he said, then paused. "I think she kept coming back not just because she loved the house, but because she felt Antonio's presence here. Some of the mediums have said that. They could see him, or feel him. He's stuck around here. I wondered if she came back to feel close to him again."

"She didn't strike me as someone who believed in ghosts," I laughed. "She was far too logical for that."

"There's the brain, and then there's the heart. They don't always work together like they should."

We said goodbye, and I climbed back into my Zipcar to fight traffic all the way home.

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Upon my return, I found a letter waiting for me. Its return address was from the office of Millicent Clark -- Janie's lawyer, who had arranged our contracts. I sat with it before me on the kitchen table, nervous sweat springing up under my armpits. Had Janie read my email before she died? Had she retracted her permission just before her death? I turned the letter over in my hands, hesitating for long minutes before finding the courage to rip open the flap. I read it. I laughed in relief.

You have been named as a beneficiary in the Last Will and Testament of Janet Sewell Robichaud. The deceased has requested that a formal reading of the will be held in the office of Millicent Clark, Esq. Your presence is required on Tuesday, May 16th, 2017 at 10 AM. Please call the office to confirm attendance.

Janie, even in death, still had some tricks up her sleeve.

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When I walked into the office at 9:55 AM, the children were shocked to see me.

"What's she doing here?" Annabelle seethed. She turned to me. "Have you no shame? This is a private event."

"Hey, I was invited," I protested. "Like I told you at the funeral, your mother and I were --"

"If you scammed her out of anything, I'll sue. I'll press charges. I swear to God, I'll make sure you get nothing."

"Ladies, ladies," interrupted an elderly woman from the receptionist's desk. "If we're all here --" she counted us up with a trembling finger, "yes, I think we are, then please proceed to Ms. Clark's office. You can fight there."

Ms. Clark had the unfortunate visage of a bulldog. Annabelle seemed to deflate before her, all her waiting area bluster lost. Ms. Clark pulled out a folder and called roll, peering at each of us over her reading glasses as she read our names. Jacob seemed bored. Gordon seemed to vibrate with nervous energy. When she called mine, she smiled.

"For the purposes of this document, you will be henceforth referred to as 'The Journalist.' Is that ok with you?" I nodded. Annabelle snorted.

Ms. Clark gave a quick summary of Janie's assets. There was a condo in Somerset, a modest bank account, and a healthy retirement fund, all to be divided equally between the three children.

"Now, here's where it gets tricky," she sighed, putting down her glasses.

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Read on to Chapter 24