Page 10 of Until We Break

“Margot?” I jumped at the sound of another voice, interrupting my moment of shock and despair.

“Y-yes,” I managed to squeak out as I turned to face the intrusion. Did whoever it was see that one of my legs was soaked? That I was coated in nasty marsh mud?

I didn’t expect to stand eye-to-eye with a man in a full suit, not in this kind of heat. Certainly did not expect to stare at Dean Waters.

“I can’t believe it’s you. This is strange seeing you like this. I was your uncle’s attorney. Did he mention me?”

I shook my head still trying to digest the new look on my ex-summer boyfriend.

Dean continued, “I’m sorry about what happened with Walt. My condolences to you. And the rest of your family, of course.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t want to tell him I was the only one left. There was no one else to pass sympathies to in my family tree.

“It wasn’t easy finding you in New York. It took a few days.”

There had to be a better place to talk than in the middle of the parking lot where the sun blazed down on us. I wiped theperspiration across my forehead, making it worse instead of better. My dark blond hair wasn’t used to the humidity either.

“Is there somewhere with AC?” I asked.

He pointed me toward a building near the boat put-in. “Let’s see if the house is cooler,” he suggested.

That was the house?

Dean had a key and turned the double locks, before letting us inside. I was struck by stale air and an oppressive heat from the closed windows and stagnant air.

“Hold on. Wait right here.” Dean vanished into the narrow hallway. I heard the gears on the AC unit begin to crank before it quickly sputtered out. He returned. “That’s going to need to be replaced.”

I cringed at the thought of having to deal with anything mechanical.

“Maybe the porch?”

I followed him outside beneath the overhang. The back porch was the same length as the house. There was a ceiling fan and a slight breeze off the creek. I tried to ignore the rips in the screen and the number of spiderwebs.

“Sit.” Dean pointed to a wicker chair.

“Th-this isn’t what I thought it was going to be.”

“I sent the financials,” he argued. “I didn’t leave anything out.”

I held up the photo still clutched in my palm. I shoved it toward him. “You didn’t send an updated picture.”

His brow furrowed. “Not my place. I’m responsible for reports. Data. Documents.” He slid a stack of folders across the rusted table. “Like these.”

“What is this?” I lifted the top one. My eyes bulged. “Taxes?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, there are back taxes on the property. Along with a list of creditors who are going to expect some form of payment. They’ll give you some time to mourn and get your affairs in order, but you’ll need to pay them.”

I shook my head. “But, it’s not my debt. This isn’t my problem. How can they expect me to pay for something I just found out I inherited? I didn’t even know Uncle Walt had died.” I hadn’t meant to let that last admission out.

Dean continued. “This is the list of creditors.” He flipped a file around. “And here’s the last bank statement.”

I blinked. I inhaled too sharply, collecting a full breath of dust and pollen. I began to cough without stopping. Dean rushed to find water.

“Thank you,” I croaked. I needed more than water. “There’s a negative number in this account. There has to be another one.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Margot. This is the only one.”

“I don’t want the Blue Heron.” If I rejected my uncle’s will, maybe I could make this nightmare go away.

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