Georgie burst into laughter, drawing shocked looks from both of her siblings. But she couldn’t help it—she’d never once heard anyone refer to her father as funny.
“See?” Dottie said, taking the pitcher and continuing to pour. “Even Georgie knows how silly that was.”
Georgie continued to laugh. The idea of someone calling Prescott Buchanan both funny and silly was too preposterous to bear.
Or maybe the stress of it all was getting to her.
“Georgie,” Adalia said in a concerned tone as she rested her hand on Georgie’s forearm. “Are you okay?”
She nodded as she wiped tears from her face.
“Look what you’ve done, Prescott. Now the poor girl’s crying.” Dottie tsked, continuing to move around the table. “She’s grieving over the damage those bottles do to the earth.” She stopped and shot Prescott a glare. “Plastic is the devil’s mischief. Don’t youforgetit.” Then she gave Georgie a knowing look. “Georgie girl gets it.”
“Georgie girl?” Lee asked. “Just what were you doing down here to earn a nickname, Georgie?”
“You were down here?” Adalia asked. “In Asheville?”
Georgie cringed. “Grandpa Beau asked me to come visit.”
“When?” Adalia demanded.
“A few weeks ago.”
The hurt look on Adalia’s face said she was upset Lee had known and she hadn’t. Not that she ever picked up any of Georgie’s calls.
“Now, now,” Dottie said, pouring water into Lee’s glass. “All this squabbling isn’t healthy.” She set the pitcher down on the table, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal. Setting it on the table, she began to wave her hand over it, as if wafting its essence toward Prescott. “Let’s get rid of some of that negative energy.”
“What the hell are youdoing?” Prescott demanded, rolling his chair back so hard it hit the wall. The clock overhead fell off and landed in his lap.
Dottie pursed her lips and shook her head as she eyed him with a worried look. “That’s a bad omen. I told you that you should learn more patience.”
Then she walked back to the end of the table and resumed her seat, leaving the pitcher on the edge of the table between Prescott and Lee.
Prescott picked up the wall clock and stared at it as though intimidating it to give him an explanation for daring to jump off the wall and into his lap. Pushing out a breath of frustration, he put the clock on the conference table. “Can we please get this going?”
Mr. Manning’s entire face was red and covered in sweat, but he nodded to his assistant.
She opened the lid and handed the attorney several pages stapled together.
“Beau had a trust,” he said, loosening his tie, “but he thought it might be easier for some of you to digest the terms if they were delivered in his own words.”
That suggested the will might not be as straightforward as her father expected. Georgie wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or horrified. Her father’s narrowed eyes suggested he wasn’t expecting good news. The excitement in Dottie’s suggested she was fully aware of what was about to happen.
Oh mercy. Had her grandfather gone and given everything to his employees?
A little voice in the back of her head said they were probably more like family to him than his own family had been. She’d seen it herself when she’d toured the brewery. They’d loved Beau Buchanan, and it had made Georgie acutely aware of how much she didn’tknow about him. She’d spent the rest of her visit asking him everything—about the brewery, his late wife, raising his only child. He’d shown her photos and told her stories that had made her sides ache with laughter. He’d been a charming man, and she’d found herself wondering how she had gone thirty-three years without getting to know him better. His conflict with her father was theirs, not hers, and despite not knowing all of the details, she suspected she knew who was at fault.
When she’d left, she’d promised to keep in touch and return soon. She’d called him last week, and he’d told her that he had a cold but not to worry. He’d be fine.
Three days later he was dead. Her heart ached with the loss.
Mr. Manning pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and perched them on his nose. He shot Georgie a forced grin. “Eyesight’s not what it used to be.”
She gave him a tight smile, her stomach doing flips.
“If Henry’s reading this to you, that means I’m dead, but don’t mourn me. I’ve lived a long, full life with few regrets, and those few I do have I’m hoping to rectify with this will.” Mr. Manning picked up a glass of water and swallowed several gulps.
“Good boy,” Dottie said. “Flush away the bad karma.”