I didn’t make a scene. I just opened the cedar box.
Inside was a brass key, a folded letter in Grandma Iris’s looping handwriting, and a USB drive labeled “FOR HANNAH — PLAY IF THEY START.” My hands shook, but my voice didn’t. “Aunt Lorraine, Grandma asked me to play something if today went a certain way. I think today qualifies.”
I walked to the old television cabinet, plugged in the drive, and pressed play. Grandma Iris’s face filled the screen, oxygen tube in her nose, eyes sharp as winter glass.
“If you’re watching this, Brielle is probably already measuring the curtains. Lorraine, put your wine down. I had Mr. Abernathy redraft my will six weeks ago, after I overheard you on speakerphone calling me ‘the old crow with the lake view.'”
Brielle’s glass slipped an inch. Lorraine went the color of cold oatmeal.
“The lake house, the orchard, the Whitmore Trust, and controlling shares of Iris Bloom Nurseries go to Hannah. The only grandchild who showed up. The only one who learned the names of my roses. Brielle, you get the porcelain doll collection you mocked at Christmas. Enjoy dusting them.”
Gasps rippled across the room. Uncle Cal actually laughed into his napkin.
Grandma wasn’t done. “Lorraine, the twenty-two thousand dollars you ‘borrowed’ from my checking account in March? Mr. Abernathy has the bank records. He’ll be in touch about repayment, with interest, or we can let the district attorney sort it out. Your choice, dear.”
The screen went dark. Silence pressed against the walls.
Brielle turned to me, lips trembling. “Hannah — cousin — we can talk about this, right? Family is family.”
I slid the brass key into my pocket and picked up her abandoned wine glass. “You’re absolutely right, Brielle. Family is family.” I smiled for the first time in three days. “Which is why I’ll give you until sunset to get your suitcases off MY porch.”
The lake glittered behind me like Grandma Iris was winking.
