Natalie came into the room, a folder in her hand. She wore a cute light-gray suit and black pumps. Jessica rarely got to dress up anymore. As a physical therapist, she wore a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers—the uniform of her trade.
Natalie smiled at her. “Hi, Jessica. Thanks so much for coming today. I’m sorry I left you waiting.”
“This is my friend, Sebastien. Sebastien, this is Natalie Kimball.”
“I was admiring your postcards,” Sebastien said.
“Thanks,” Natalie replied. “I collect them. I love learning about the local history.”
“It’s interesting that the beachfront arcades look nearly the same a hundred years later,” Sebastien remarked.
“Take a look at the panels with the turn-of-the-century citizens strolling the boardwalk.”
“I saw them.” Sebastien smiled. “Great old bathing suits.”
“I sometimes wonder what people back then would think if they were transported here to modern times,” Natalie mused. “Bikinis. Flip-flops.”
“Tattoos,” Sebastien added, laughing.
Natalie smiled. Jessica sincerely doubted that Natalie had any tattoos. Jessica had a small one, well hidden. She wanted another, but it seemed as though Sebastien was sort of horrified by the idea.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve wondered why I asked you here,” Natalie said, seating herself at the table across from Jessica. “The reason is that Joe Mansell has left you a half share in the twin ice rinks, together with Kyle Northrup, and—”
“No, thank you.” Jessica pushed back her chair and stood. “Kyle can have the ice rinks. I’m not interested.”
But Sebastien gave her a look. He glanced at Natalie and raised a brow.
“Joe left you a letter,” Natalie said kindly. “Would you like to read it before you make your final decision?”
“No, thank you,” Jessica repeated. She looked at Sebastien to back her up on this.
“I’ll read it,” Sebastien replied, seating himself at the table.
“No.” Jessica took the letter that Natalie offered and stuffed it in her purse.
“Why, Jess?” Sebastien asked, turning in his chair. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You’re not even willing to listen.”
Tears pricked in her eyes. It was wrong that her boyfriend thought that of her. She’d assumed after their conversation yesterday that he’d understood how painful this topic was for her. She’d told him she’d been here before. Literally here, in this room. She’d been seventeen years old. Jessica had read in the newspaper about young athletes who’d emancipated themselves from their parents. Her mother was...well, she was figure-skating royalty. She’d won a gold medal in the Olympics, and she wanted her daughter to follow in her footsteps. Jessica had wanted to please her. In the beginning, it had been fun. But in the end, she was suffocating with the pressure and expectations.
“Sebastien, could I talk with the lawyer alone, please? I don’t want to work in an ice rink. I thought you understood this.”
“Do you realize how much that property is worth? I’m saving you from yourself here. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Sebastien turned to Natalie. “Tell Jessica what it’s worth.”
Natalie pressed her lips together. “Close to two million dollars,” she admitted.
“Jess, don’t you understand what kind of money that is? How much work it takes to earn that outright? How many hours I have to spend traveling and not even come close to that?”
“Technically,” Natalie said, directly to Jessica, “you would be required to work with Kyle for six months to try to make the business a success, in good faith, before you’d get your half. In addition, if you don’t agree to this term, then the land and the rinks will be sold, immediately, and the money given to charity.”
“There you go—please do give it to charity. I prefer a children’s charity, if at all possible.” Jessica said it with a deadly calm. Then she looked pointedly at Natalie. “I talked with your father once. He knew about my past history and my concerns.”
“Jess, be reasonable,” Sebastien murmured.
She gritted her teeth. Her mother used to talk to her this way. And Jessica had listened, coming as close to being destroyed as she ever wanted to come again.
She’d had thoughts of suicide at the time, which had terrified her. Her mother had icily told her there would be no legal emancipation, but that Jessica could do whatever she wanted, her mother was going back to the West Coast, convinced Jessica would never make it in Wallis Point on her own.
But Jessica had. She’d cut her hair and changed her looks. Stopped the training regimen, the diet. In the early summer she’d moved herself into a cheap studio apartment in an old motor inn near the center of town. She’d waitressed at a busy beach restaurant. People didn’t recognize her. She’d felt free. She felt herself healing. In the autumn she’d gone to community college, taking whatever courses interested her. And because she really had sustained injuries over the years and she wanted to understand her body, how to stretch and heal, she had studied physical therapy. Eventually that led to her current career.
She hadn’t wanted to come to this office today—Sebastien had convinced her. The first time she’d come here, Asa Kimball, of the Kimball Family Law Firm, had convinced her to start with a simple conversation with her mother instead of filing emancipation papers. So they’d both come in and he’d mediated a discussion between them. Her mother had been furious with her but a verbal deal had been struck. Her mother never reneged on it and neither had Jessica.
And they hadn’t spoken since.
“Why did Joe Mansell leave the ice rink to Jessica?” Sebastien asked Natalie.
The young lawyer took a deep breath, but her smile stayed on her face. “Why don’t we review the terms together and then we can talk about that?”
Jessica covered her solar plexus with her arms and leaned forward. She was developing her own suspicions regarding Joe. She hadn’t quite understood when he’d first come in, insisting that she be his physical therapist after his knee operation. She’d tried to refuse, but her boss believed that clients should choose the therapist they felt most comfortable with, and Joe had remained adamant that his therapist should be Jessica.
“Why?” she’d asked him.
“Kyle was responsible for your injury when he deliberately flooded the ice that day,” Joe had said. “It’s his fault you were hurt and left skating.”
Her blood had turned cold. Kyle had had nothing to do with her injury or her decision to pull out of skating.
She pulled Joe’s letter from her purse, took her time opening it, drawing one finger inside a crease in the envelope flap, making a long, slow, jagged tear in the heavy paper as she eased it open.
“What are the terms?” Sebastien was asking Natalie. He drummed his fingers on the table. “May I read the will?”
“Yes, of course, if Jessica would like.” Natalie nodded at Jessica. “First, though, let me give you an overview, in layman’s terms.”
“Great.” Sebastien crossed his arms. “We’re listening.”
Natalie pursed her lips. “As I explained to Kyle Northrup, his stepfather’s intent was to keep the skating rink open to the community. As such, he believed it