Page 21 of Just (Fake) Married
“The reading of the will.”
I was not following this at all. “Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“I saw Harmony Calloway driving in,” I said. An image of red curls and sassy green eyes filled my vision.
“Yeah? She give you another taste of her right hook?” Tag asked.
“Hilarious.”
“I’d imagine she’s stretching out so she can dance on Dad’s grave,” Carter said.
“I’d imagine all of them are,” I said. “Dad hated the Calloway women. What possible reason would he have had to put them in his will?”
“I don’t know,” Carter sighed and took a sip of his whiskey. “That’s what we’re scared of.”
FOUR
HARMONY
Harmony: Hey. There’s been some news in town.
Sunshine: Let me guess… a cow got out of its pen and stood in the town square and wouldn’t move. The whole town had to vote about what to do with the cow. Now the cow is Mayor. Mayor Gallup is very perturbed.
Harmony: No. This is serious.
Sunshine: Did you adopt another pet?
Harmony: No. Leroy McGraw died.
Sunshine: Really? Really…
Harmony: We’re going to the will reading.
Sunshine: What? Why?
Harmony: Don’t really know. Guess we’ll find out.
What didone wear to a will reading? Should I dress like it was a party? Something glittery?
I had on a New Year’s dress from a few years ago that made me sparkle. I imagined showing up in that dress and delighting in their reaction. Ethan’s, in particular.
“You can’t wear that,” Bliss said. She was laying across my single bed. The same bed I’d had since I’d been kicked out of the crib by Bliss. The quilt Mom made out of my old t-shirts had fallen on the floor. “It’s a funeral. Not a rave.”
“Do we care?” I asked.
“True,” she said, with a shrug. “Wear it.”
Leroy McGraw’s lawyer, one Gordan Prescott, Esquire, a sweaty, nervous fellow, showed up at our house yesterday afternoon with a letter for my mom from beyond the grave. Leroy McGraw had written a letter. To. My. Mother. On his death bed, with the intent that it be delivered after his death.
My mom had read the letter, started crying, then looked at me and said, “Tell your sisters. We need to be at the will reading tomorrow at noon.”
Just that. Nothing else. She wouldn’t let me see the letter, wouldn’t talk about what he’d written. Nothing.
Now my sisters were crammed into the house, while we prepared to make our way over to the Swinging D to hear what Leroy McGraw had to say as part of his final will and testament.
“I don’t know,” I said, pulling a sweater and a bra off the full-length mirror so I could see my reflection.
