Page 8 of An Endless Memory

“Have a seat.” I carried Kellan through the laundry area and the small dining room to the living room and sat on the couch to unbuckle him. Pressure was building in my boobs. I hoped whatever my aunt and uncle needed to talk about was over by the time he needed to eat.

Cali sat next to me, scooting right into my side.

Aunt Linda hovered under the plaster archway that separated the living room from the dining room. If I could ever afford to remodel the house, I’d open up the wall between the dining room and equally small kitchen so everything wasn’t so compartmentalized.

My grandma’s cat, Pebbles, sauntered by Linda. My aunt’s face softened when she looked at the cat. She loved the old kitty, but Darren hadn’t wanted to take Pebbles. So the cat had stayed. She was mine.

Honestly, Pebbles had made the move easier. My ex had gotten our dog and cat in the divorce since they’d been his before we married. He’d thrown a fit about my corn snake, Flakes, when I’d moved in and had gladly given him up—along with the kids. He’d made it clear he’d ship Flakes on my dime to my parents. My dad took Flakes on another trip, and the snake was in Grandma’s old room.

Pebbles jumped on the arm of the couch and curled up.

“Come on,” Darren said, guiding his wife with a hand on her back. He held an old-fashioned leather briefcase in his hand. “Let’s get this over with.” He let her sit on the threadbare recliner that was probably older than Grandma’s mattress.

“What’s going on?” I propped Kellan against my shoulder and patted his back.

Everything was fine. It had to be. I’d gone through enough, right?

“I’m just going to come out and say it,” Linda said, fanning her hand over her dyed-brunette hair. She swallowed hard and my anxiety grew until I wanted to squirm off the couch.

Whatever it is, make it go away!

“I’m the executor of my mother’s estate.” She licked her lips. “And it’s come to my attention that while yes, you get the house…” She closed her eyes. “She made a trust. With stipulations.”

“A trust?” Grandma hadn’t mentioned one.

Darren huffed. “Yes. It stipulates that you have to be married for at least a year between when she passes and when you can fully inherit the house. Otherwise, we—Linda—controls the estate.”

A nervous giggle left me. “Right. Married.”

They both stared at me, no humor in their expression. I barely registered Cali tickling Kellan. My world was narrowing on my aunt and uncle’s serious expressions.

“No,” Darren said. “I’m afraid Annie had it in her head that including marriage parameters in her will was a good thing.”

Annie Duke had been a fierce romantic, but this sounded ridiculous. And highly inconvenient.

It couldn’t be legal. “She wasn’t in her right mind?—”

“She did this years ago,” Aunt Linda said hoarsely. “She was healthy, and well, she probably thought it wouldn’t be an issue, especially with you and Carter.”

My laughter came out like a hyena. Pebbles’ expression turned alarmed. Carter would’ve crapped himself in public and rolled in it before he entertained the notion of moving to the town where I’d been born. But he would’ve gladly sold the house and funneled the money into his mismanaged vet clinic.

“Why would she even think it was a good idea in the first place?” My voice was pitching up. My ex’s voice filtered through my head. Come on, don’t overreact. The hit of anger was swift.

Kellan let out a cry as if he sensed my stress. Darren flinched. Pebbles scurried off.

Linda folded her hands. “She, uh, apparently liked the story West told her about his old boss.”

West was my dad. Weston Duke. He’d taken over King Oil in Billings for the previous CEO and owner, Gentry King. I’d met the man, but what story would he have that inspired my grandma to screw me and my siblings over? They were all single and now I was too.

“Gentry King’s late wife left a trust for each kid, but they couldn’t access the money until they’d been married for a year and it had to happen before they turned thirty. In their case, it was a trust fund. In this case, the land and all her properties are included in the trust.”

“But I’m thirty, and I’m the youngest.”

Darren’s scowl deepened. “Annie gave a time period of six years before the trust lifts and we can sell.”

“It’s actually seven,” Linda clarified. “Whoever marries last will need to do it before the six-year mark so they can have a year. Then we sell. And donate all the money.”

Everything my grandparents had worked their entire lives for would be gone? If I didn’t marry? The good news was that I had six years.

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