Clara stared at her phone. Dawson had texted her. She didn’t want to open the text message, because when she did, he’d know that she’d seen it.
She closed her eyes and dropped her head onto her hands. All the lights were off in her apartment, and the rain was coming down hard outside. It was just as well. The rain matched her mood and her life perfectly.
She was completely miserable.
So much for finding herself.
She’d been sitting on the couch the last couple of hours, wrapped in a blanket, watching the rain. With a sigh, she opened the text and read Dawson’s message.
First of all, I wasn’t planning on texting you because I know you need space. But I just left my parents’ barbeque before the food was even served because seeing Paula again made me remember things I’d hoped to never remember. So I think I understand some of what you’re going through. And I’m really sorry you’re struggling. I want you to know I’m here for you—as a friend. Anytime. Day or night. With anything you need, even if it’s just my truck to move your stuff. I apologize for anything I might have said or done that made you feel anything other than you deserve. I hope you’re okay.
Clara blinked back the tears. The thing with Dawson was that she knew he was sincere. He really did hope she was okay. She leaned back on her couch and adjusted the blanket over her. She wasn’t cold, but the blanket gave her a small measure of comfort. She took a deep breath and typed back: I’m okay. Thanks.
Then she turned off her phone so she wouldn’t be tempted to call him. But, strangely, she felt a lot better. Dawson’s text hadn’t made her feel more distressed; it had actually been a relief, because now she knew he didn’t despise her.
He was a resilient guy, and she started thinking about what it must have been like walking into his mom’s house and being confronted by his old high school girlfriend. Clara felt bad for him and sort of wished she could ask him more about what happened. From what little Clara knew of his mom, she wouldn’t be happy with him ditching the barbeque.
Clara was sort of proud of him. He’d gone from burning his ex-wife’s letter to leaving his mom’s barbeque when he didn’t want to be around his other ex.
Clara lay down on the couch, tucking one of the throw pillows beneath her cheek, and closed her eyes. She didn’t know if Dawson would still be available when she had found her own healing, but she hoped he would be. And if not, she hoped he’d find a great woman and be happy. He deserved it.
The next thing Clara was aware of was waking up in the early morning on Sunday, still on her couch. She didn’t move for a moment, as she remembered the events of the previous day. Her misery had faded, and she didn’t feel as much regret as she thought she might. In fact, she felt some hope.
She decided she’d call the spa at the Alpine Lodge and see if there were any openings. She’d treat herself and then finish reading My Lady Jane. Maybe if she happened to run into Dawson about town, she could at least tell him she’d read it.
By Monday morning, Clara was feeling even better. She’d been able to get a massage and a facial the day before, and both had been rejuvenating. Then, she’d spent a lazy afternoon and evening just reading.
She opened the office early and was already in the thick of returning emails when Jeff Finch came in.
“You’re here early,” Jeff said. He was dressed up more than usual, wearing a navy suit over a dress shirt and tie. In fact, he was wearing what Dawson might wear. “I would have grabbed you something.”
“It’s okay,” she said as he set a paper sack on his desk that was labeled Main Street Café. “I’ve already eaten. The coffee’s on if you want some.”
“Great, thanks,” Jeff said, still gazing at her.
Clara kept typing away, hoping Jeff would get to work. When she called him Saturday to apologize for being incognito that morning, he’d just told her to take the whole weekend off. Now she wondered if Dawson had said anything to Jeff.
“Everything okay?” Jeff asked.
“Yep,” she said. “I went to the spa yesterday. It was amazing.”
Jeff’s brows shot up. “Good for you.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then his phone buzzed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and turned away, answering it. While he talked to whomever had called, Clara continued through the emails.
The front door opened, and a client walked in. Clara didn’t recognize the man in the pale-green shirt and khakis, but she only knew most of Jeff’s clients by phone conversation. He carried a large envelope and a clipboard.
As the man drew closer, she could see that his shirt had a label on it—like a uniform.
“Miss Benson?” the man asked.
Clara met his gaze with surprise. “Yes?”
“I have a delivery for you,” he said, holding out an envelope. “And I need you to sign here.”
The envelope had her name on it, but no address. “Are you with the post office?”
“No, a courier service.”
“Which courier service?” Jeff asked. He was off his call now.
“Speedy Couriers, sir,” the man said, looking over at Jeff. Then he held out the clipboard toward Clara. “If you can sign here so the sender knows you’ve received the envelope.”
Clara hesitated, but there was no reason not to sign for the delivery, so she took the clipboard and signed her name. After the courier left, Jeff walked to the front of the office and looked out the windows.
“He’s not driving a marked car or anything,” he said, turning to face Clara. “Were you expecting something?”
“No.” She turned the envelope over and opened it. Then she slid out what looked to be a stapled document of about four or five pages. Sure enough, the top page was addressed to Clara Benson.
She started to read the first paragraph, and felt as if her heart had frozen.
“What is it?” Jeff asked, coming to stand by her desk.
But she couldn’t even explain. This letter had been sent by a lawyer who was acting in behalf of her father—a man she hadn’t seen since she was six years old. A man who hadn’t even been in contact with her, or his parents. And now, he was claiming that he stood to inherit his parents’ property.
She turned to the next page with trembling fingers. The legal text was barely decipherable, especially through her tears.
“Clara?” Jeff had crouched so that he was eye level with her. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, then pushed the document toward Jeff. “It’s my . . . dad. I haven’t heard from him in years. My grandparents raised me, you know. There has been no contact between my grandparents and my father. And now . . . this.” She released a slow breath. She couldn’t remember what she’d told Jeff about her background, and she knew she’d told Dawson a few more things, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain everything right now.
Her father had found her. Her father had known about Grandma’s death. And now he wanted the proceeds from the sale of the estate.
Jeff skimmed through the pages, then returned to the first page and read it more slowly. “Do you have a lawyer representing you?”
“No,” she said in a shaky voice. “Of course not. I’m the named beneficiary in my grandparents’ estate. My grandma told me. Everything seemed in the clear when I listed the estate and accepted the offer.”
“Yeah, I remember I looked over the offer for you,” Jeff said. “When’s the closing date?”
“Ten days.”
“Do you have a copy of the will?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her eyes burned, and she wiped at them, trying to stop the tears.
“Hey, we’ll get it figured out,” Jeff said. “If you’re named in the will, then there’s no problem.” He tapped the pages. “I’ll call Dawson and find out what—”
“No,” Clara cut in. “I—we aren’t exactly on speaking terms. It can’t be Dawson.”
“He’s not an estate lawyer, if that’s what you mean,” Jeff said. “But he’d be able to refer us to one. That’s all. You don’t have to talk to him.”
Clara dropped her head into her hands.
Jeff waited, not saying anything. Then, finally, he said, “I won’t call Dawson if you don’t want me to, but I trust him to give us a good referral.”
“Just wait.” Clara lifted her head. “I need to go through line by line, then see if I can get a copy of the will. I’m going to do some research online too.”
Jeff nodded. “Okay. Do you want to take the day off?”
“Maybe the afternoon,” Clara said.
“Whatever you need, just let me know.” Jeff straightened. His phone buzzed, and when Clara waved him away, he answered it.
Clara focused on breathing for a while. Then she read through the entire document, line by line, as Jeff took various calls, poured her a cup of coffee, and even fed the stray cat.
By noon, Clara had finished all the work emails, made a few calls, typed up two offers for Jeff, and had gotten nowhere on her research on what to do when your reject dad tries to steal your inheritance. She’d looked up a couple of estate lawyers. She’d call them when she got home.
“I’m meeting the Lovells in a few minutes at a property,” Jeff said. “You can leave whenever you need to.”
Clara looked up from her computer. “Okay, thanks. I’m pretty much finished, so I’ll lock up the office.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Jeff said, a sympathetic look in his blue eyes. “I’m happy to make phone calls.”
“I’ll let you know what I find.” She offered as much of a smile as she could manage. “Thanks, Jeff.”
“Sure thing.” He moved to his desk and gathered up some paperwork, then headed out the back of the office.
Clara was finally alone, which probably wasn’t a good thing, because the tightening in her chest returned, and she felt like she was going to hyperventilate. She knew if she stayed in the office much longer, she’d probably start crying again, and how would that sound when she answered the phones? So she powered down the computer and set the answering service on. Then she locked the front door and put up the sign: Showing properties. Please call or text us.
Clara flipped off the lights and went out the back door, locking it behind her. All of the rain the last two days had made the air cool, crisp, and clear. Now the sun had heated everything up, and Clara tugged off her sweater before she climbed into her car. She rolled down her window and drove back to her apartment, trying not to think of anything.
But the tears had started by the time she got home, and she hurried inside. She made herself a sandwich and took a couple of bites, but she wasn’t hungry at all. So she started calling the estate lawyers. After her third conversation with a receptionist, explaining why she was calling, and being promised that she’d have a return call, Clara decided to go on a hike to clear her head. And to do something to keep herself from going stir-crazy.
Just as she got into her car, her phone rang, showing the area code of her hometown. It was the realtor who’d handled the sale of her property.
“Clara, this is Deb Stansbury. I’ve got a notice here that there’s a lawsuit pending on the estate.”
Clara exhaled. “I received a letter this morning from my dad and his lawyer,” Clara said. “I knew nothing about this until now.”
“We can’t close if there’s pending litigation,” Deb continued.
Clara knew this, but hearing it made it all the more final. “Okay, what do you suggest I do?”
“Do you have a lawyer?” Deb asked.
“I’m working on that.”
“Good,” Deb continued. “Your lawyer can see if there’s any validity to the claim, and then we’ll go from there. I’m just obligated to tell you that I also have to notify the buyers. There’s a possibility they’ll back out.”
“I understand.” When Clara hung up with Deb, she wanted to throw her phone and yell at something. Mostly her dad. The man who’d decided that drugs were more important than his daughter and his parents. Was he sober now? Or was he still an addict looking for a way to finance his habits?
Her phone rang again, and Clara answered. A few minutes later, she had an appointment with an estate lawyer on Thursday. She didn’t really want to wait that long to get things going, so if one of the other lawyers could meet with her earlier, she’d cancel this appointment.
Then Deb Stansbury called again. “Sorry to call again. I was actually going to call you today with another matter, and I forgot to tell you in the course of our conversation. The buyers on your property have a partnership with a commercial company. There’s a good chance that once the property closes, the house will be torn down within a couple of months.”
Clara knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but it felt like a blow nonetheless.
“You still own it until the closing date, and I know you got out all of your belongings and furniture, but if there’s anything else you need, you should pack it up.” Deb lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t normally tell a client this, but you could even sell the appliances, or cupboards, or countertops. There are salvage companies that will buy used items to resell.”
“Okay,” Clara said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
After hanging up the second time with Deb, Clara felt as if she’d been run over by a car. She had no desire to go on a hike. Who knew how many other phone calls she’d have to field? She just didn’t know how much worse this day could get.