Chapter 9: Eleanor Arrives
I was in the garden, cutting dead blooms from my father’s roses, when Eleanor arrived.
Her silver Mercedes tore up the driveway too fast, spraying gravel behind it.
Moments later, she stormed around the side of the house with legal papers clutched in her fist.
Her polished country-club calm was gone.
Her hair was windblown, her face twisted with rage, and one expensive heel sank into the damp soil near the stone path.
For the first time since my father’s funeral, Eleanor did not look like a woman in control.
She looked like someone who had finally realized the door she slammed was locked from the other side.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
I set the pruning shears down slowly.
“I didn’t do anything, Eleanor.”
Her hand tightened around the papers.
“You called that lawyer.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Dad did that long before you ever picked up the phone.” Continue Reading ⬇️
