“Your father sounds like an extraordinary man, Ms. Lowell.”
“Oh, he is. He raised me when my mother died. If she’d lived, I can’t imagine her doing a better job. Now, tell me why you’re here and what I can do for you.”
The attorney removed his overcoat and laid it on the side of the sofa. He looked puzzled. “Did I hear you right just now? Did you say your mother died?”
“Yes, the day I was born. Thirty-four years ago. That’s her picture on the mantel. It’s the only one we have. Her name was Allison. Why are you here, Mr. O’Brien? Does this visit have something to do with my dad?”
“Not directly.”
While O’Brien walked over to the fireplace and studied the picture on the mantel, she eyed the briefcase on the sturdy pine coffee table. It looked old and well used, with scuff marks and gouges in the cowhide. She wondered how many lawsuits it represented. She waited, her gaze taking in the familiar room, while the lawyer, who had returned to stand by the coffee table, riffled through his case for whatever it was he was going to show her.
She loved this room, she really did. One wall was her own personal rogue’s gallery, as her father called it. Every inch of space on the wall was covered with pictures of her from the day she was born. The massive stone fireplace, with a hearth so wide and deep she could have positioned a sofa on it, took up another wall. Her father had allowed her to carry the irregular fieldstones in from outside, making the building of it a joint effort. In the winter they made roaring fires, popped corn, and toasted marshmallows. They even grilled weenies on sticks on occasion. The green plants and fica trees were her contribution. She trimmed and watered them weekly. All were lush and green, thanks to the three skylights that graced the ceiling.
She’d had sleepovers in this very room when she was young. She wondered where all those old friends were these days.
Olivia was jolted from her thoughts when the lawyer cleared his throat. “What I have here in my hand is the last will and testament of your mother, whom you probably know as Allison Matthews Lowell, although she changed her name to Adrian Ames soon after divorcing your father. I can read it to you, or you can read it yourself.”
Olivia threw her hands in the air. “See? See? I knew this was a mistake. You have the wrong person. My mother died when I was born. I guess there’s some other Olivia Lowell out there. I’m sorry you wasted your time, Mr. O’ Brien.”
The attorney cleared his throat again. “I didn’t waste my time, Ms. Lowell. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your mother did not die thirty-four years ago. She died two weeks ago and left her entire estate to you. And whoever that is in the picture on the mantel, it’s not Adrian Ames.”
Olivia’s heart thundered in her chest. She reached out to grasp the arm of the chair she was sitting on, only to see Cecil perched there. She picked him up and brought him close to her chest. She was so light-headed she couldn’t think. “No! No! Don’t tell me that. My father…my father…would never…he wouldn’t lie…This must be some kind of cruel joke, and I don’t appreciate it. No, you’re wrong.”
Prentice O’Brien inched the will in its sky-blue cover across the coffee table. It glared up at Olivia like an obscene blue eye. She made no move to reach for it. She struggled with her voice. “I think you should leave now, Mr. O’Brien.”
“Ms. Lowell, I’m sorry about this, but my firm represented your mother for many, many years. This is not a mistake. Once you know the story behind all this, I’m sure you’ll understand it is not some cruel hoax. I understand your being upset, so I’m going to leave. I suggest you contact your father and talk with him. After you’ve done that, please feel free to call me.”
Olivia watched in a daze as the attorney stood up and put on his overcoat. Faster than a lightning bolt, both dogs chased him to the door. Olivia heard the little pinging sound made by the alarm system when the door opened and closed.
She burst into tears.
If what the attorney said was true, her whole life was a lie. A big, fat lie!
She cried harder. She had a mother. Had had a mother. A mother she never knew. A real, live, flesh-and-blood mother like all her friends had, like Sara Kelly’s mother. Olivia bolted from the chair and raced to the powder room off the great room. The dogs huddled and whimpered at the strange sounds emanating from behind the closed door.
Ten minutes later Olivia literally crawled out of the powder room on her hands and knees, her face splotchy and red. She crawled across the slick hardwood floors she’d helped her father install. Tongue-and-groove. She’d thought that phrase so funny as a child. Her father had allowed her to hand him the pieces of wood and showed her how to lay them down. She’d been so proud that he allowed her to help. “It’s just you and me, kid,” he always said after they finished a project. Just you and me, kid. Yeah, right. I think you left someone out, Daddy.
It wasn’t until she was back in her favorite chair that she saw that the will was still on the coffee table. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to touch that. No way was she ever going to touch that. Absolutely, she was never, ever going to touch that.
Alice pawed her mistress’s leg for attention. When there was no response, the dog ran to the kitchen for her food bowl, carried it back, and dropped it at Olivia’s feet. Cecil barked. Olivia looked at her watch. It was time for Alice’s supper. Cecil, too, since she was dog-sitting. She felt a hundred years old when she heaved herself to her feet and made her way to the kitchen.
Olivia reached into the cabinet for the dog food. Her father had allowed her to screw the knobs into the cabinets. Just you and me, kid. A duo instead of a trio. She started to cry again, the tears rolling down her cheeks like a waterfall. She sniffed as she scooped out the food into two bowls and watched as both dogs gobbled it down. She let them outside. It was snowing harder. It always snowed in February. Her father was probably basking on the deck of his boat, sharing a glass of wine with Lea at this hour. It was probably warm and balmy, and they were probably both wearing shorts and T-shirts.
She needed to call her father. What should she say? How should she say it? Just you and me, kid. Now it was her father and Lea. And, she wasn’t a kid anymore.
Nothing was what it seemed. Not even the picture of “her mother” on the mantel.
Alice scratched against the door as Cecil tried to nip her ear. Olivia opened the door, towel-dried the dogs, handed each of them a treat. She should think about her own dinner. She reached for a box of Cheerios and carried it back to the great room. She set the box down and made a fire.
Olivia was a little girl again as she hugged her knees to her chest and watched the flames dance behind the ornate grate. She picked at the dry cereal, sharing it with the two dogs sitting next to her. She had to think, but her brain suddenly wasn’t working.
Just you and me, kid.
Liar! Liar!
Both dogs crawled into Olivia’s lap and snuggled with her. How warm and comforting they felt. Suddenly, a red-hot streak of rage, hot as the fire she was looking at, ripped through her. What kind of mother would…would…ignore her daughter for thirty-four years? Who was this woman who had left her entire estate to a daughter she’d ignored all her life?
Well, the only person who could answer those questions, other than possibly the attorney, was her father. And only he could tell her who was in the picture on the mantel.
Olivia got to her feet and rummaged between the sofa cushions for the portable phone. For some reason she always stuck it between the cushion and the arm. Most times the battery was dead, and she had to recharge it or use her cell phone. She took a mighty, deep breath and dialed her father’s cell phone. She wasn’t surprised when Lea answered, sounding happy and relaxed. Well, why