Closer Home Read Online Free Page B

program.
    The young woman sets the tray on the coffee table and crosses the room to open the blinds. As she expertly adjusts the strings, warm light pours into the room. “Ricken said I was to bring you breakfast and let you know that everybody will be here by eleven to go over the will.”
    “Everybody who?”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know. Can I set up your tray?”
    She doesn’t wait for approval, lifting lids and arranging pretty little glass bowls of fruit, yogurt, and oatmeal. I swallow again and shake my head. “I don’t think I can eat. Coffee, maybe?”
    “I’d be happy to get you some.”
    She closes the door just in time for me to make a mad dash to the toilet and heave repeatedly, and uselessly, into its perfect porcelain whiteness. My empty stomach tries to turn itself inside out. When the nausea eases, I cross to the sink and rinse my mouth, then splash cold water on a face that is far too pale. There are bags under my eyes that weren’t there a couple of days ago. I look old and tired. My whole body feels heavy and strange, like it doesn’t really belong to me.
    The girl returns with a carafe, a cup, and a little silver pitcher of cream. My stomach is still iffy and the first swallow is touch and go, but by the bottom of the cup I begin to feel vaguely human, enough for my brain to start engaging with the day. I can’t face some sort of meeting without getting cleaned up a bit, and I don’t want Callie’s people to think I’m a total backwards hick. I should shower and put on makeup and try to find something decent to wear. I opt for a long soak in the Jacuzzi instead.
    I’m only five minutes late, but when I limp down the spiral staircase and find my way into the study, four sleek, shiny-looking people are already there, waiting for me. Ricken has shed the suit but manages to look even more pretentious in blue jeans and a silky black turtleneck. He makes the introductions, not bothering to get out of his chair, and I try to file their names away for future reference.
    Morgan Jensen, attorney, is a suit-and-tie guy who could be typecast for a legal thriller. He gives me the tips of his fingers to shake, and his pale eyes don’t hold my gaze for more than a heartbeat before sliding away. Genesis, the accountant, is young and curvy and giggles as she air-kisses my cheeks. Her fingernails are a high-gloss pink with sparkles, and her blue eyes are a hue not known to nature. Callie’s agent, Glynnis, looks like a woman to be reckoned with. I’m pretty sure her sharp gray eyes don’t miss a solitary detail about me, including the run in yesterday’s stockings. She looks like she might even know things that haven’t happened to me yet.
    Everybody has a drink in hand, and Ricken goes to the sideboard and pours one for me without asking what I want. It’s amber colored and tempting, but I just sit there, holding the glass, feeling disembodied and out of place. A tray of appetizers sits on the table—tiny toast and cheese and what I think is caviar. My eyes focus on the shiny purple-black spheres. Somebody is talking, but the words fade as I drift into another memory.

    Blue sky overhead. Bright sun on water. A breeze thick with the smell of the lake. Small waves slap against the sides of the boat and wash up against the shore. My fishing rod feels alive, the tip bent, and my skinny arms feel the strain of trying to hold it and wind the reel at the same time.
    “Catch a big one,” Callie squeals, bobbing up and down. The boat rocks and she sits down, fast and hard, catching hold of the side.
    “Easy,” Dad says. “You’ll have us over the edge. Just sit still.”
    There’s a glint of silver as the fish breaks the surface of the water, shining in the sunlight before going back under. I crank the reel faster, my arms aching with the effort. A piece of hair is stuck in the corner of my mouth, but I can’t let go to fix it. Again the fish breaks clear, and then it’s beside the boat, flipping