Page 63 of The Right Kind of Wrong

CHAPTER 23

Evelyn

I stormed out of the office, the burn of anger running through my veins. They were unbelievable. I breathed, walking to the living room as I tried to ignore the pain and anguish that their words had caused.

Nathan's eyes met mine, his calm expression morphing into one of anger when he saw my expression.

“Can we go to Nana's?” I asked, ready to bolt out the door. I didn't want my parents to stop me or another confrontation to happen.

“What happened?” Nathan asked, standing up.

“I don't know, I don't—ugh, I don't know. But I need to go to Nana's. Nathan, can you take me?”

“I—”

“We'll take her,” Deborah said with a tight smile. I looked back at Nathan, who seemed torn. I was missing something. “You do what you need to do son. We can meet somewhere else.”

As curious as I was I needed to keep my focus. If I wanted to find something out about what Nana had planned with the things that she owned, I had to do it with a clear mind. I could have cared less about what she had left me, or if she left anything at all. However, the thought of my family minimizing her wishes, just like they'd done in life, fueled me. There was no way I was going to allow that.

In the end, Nathan left with his dad while Deborah somehow managed to convince him to let us take his precious Mustang. She didn't ask any questions but was deep in thought as she drove; the same grey eyes that Nathan had would occasionally steal a glance my way, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

It wasn't until we arrived at Nana's house that I realized I had no fucking clue what to do or if I could even handle being there. Deborah apparently sensed my hesitance and opened her door, nodding towards Nana's house.

“You're not going to find what you're looking for in this car,” she said softly.

It was strange to set foot in the house, knowing that Nana wouldn't be there—that she'd never be there again.

“Is there something I can help with?” Deborah asked.

I shook my head numbly.

“Just…wait for me here?”

Without waiting for her reply, I walked toward my grandmother's bedroom. It still looked the same as that fateful morning. Being in her bedroom was the hardest part.

Ignoring the feeling of sadness that threatened to overwhelm me, I started looking through every folder and piece of paper I could find. If Nana had left a power of attorney it was likely she'd also left a will of some sort to let us know what would happen with her belongings. She wasn't the type of person to leave things unprepared.

No matter where I looked, I wasn't able to find anything.

An hour later, I was looking through one of the smaller rooms in the house with no luck. I groaned in frustration, sitting on the floor and placing my head in my hands.

“You need to relax.” Deborah's voice came from the door.

“I can't,” I said, shaking my head. “I need to find something, anything before my parents get to it. They'll mess up whatever her last wishes were.”

The woman leaned by the doorway, arms crossed over her chest like a mother about to scold her child. I swallowed, unable to break her gaze.

“You also need to learn how to ask for help, dear.” I opened my mouth to contradict her but didn't get the chance. A single raised eyebrow told me it wasn't my turn to speak. “I understand what you're trying to do and I admire it, but you can't do it on your own.” She walked over, taking a seat in a chair that was by the window, crossing her legs, her light brown hair falling over her shoulders. “I think you know I had cancer, right?” I nodded slowly. “Nathan was desperately trying to earn money, trying to find money no matter the costs. Have you seen where that got him?”

“I don't understand.”

“Let me explain,” she said with a small smile. “My son decided he'd do things on his own, try to solve the problem without asking anyone else. As a consequence, he got stuck in a loveless marriage which now he is desperately trying to get out of. He could have asked for advice, searched for help in a different way but this was his choice. This was what he decided.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, getting frustrated. “It almost sounds as if you're glad he's having trouble.”

“No.” Deborah shook her head with a laugh. “The fact that he's my son doesn't prevent me from seeing his mistakes. He's learning the hard way now because that divorce won't be easy, but he met you. He's happy, despite the circumstances. But you, dear, need to realize that the family to which you are born doesn't have to be your only family.”

Her scrutinizing gaze forced me to look away.

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