Chapter 1 - The Day I Apparently Died
Margaret waited until I was carrying the tray.
That was what stayed with me afterward.
Not the sauce drying on my dress.
Not Daniel’s smile.
The fact that my aunt had watched me walk from the kitchen with both hands occupied and chosen that exact moment to stand.
She struck the tray out of my hands.
Porcelain hit hardwood.
Turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce went across the front of my dress.
Then Margaret shoved me between the shoulders.
My hips hit the long Christmas table.
I caught myself with both palms before my face followed.
“You still think you belong in this family?”
The room went quiet.
Daniel remained in his chair.
My older half-brother lifted his wineglass and watched me with the expression of someone enjoying a movie he had already paid for.
I pushed myself upright.
“I didn't come here to belong.”
Margaret's mouth tightened.
“I only came for what my mother left me.”
That did it.
For one second, she looked afraid.
Then she caught my wrist and yanked me away from the table.
“You came because you smelled money.”
“I came because Mr. Hayes called me.”
Her grip tightened.
I pulled free.
Margaret grabbed me again.
This time I shoved her.
She staggered backward, hit the table with one hip and caught a dining chair.
Daniel was on his feet immediately.
“Don't touch her.”
“She touched me twice.”
He crossed the room and grabbed the front of my dress.
I knocked his hand away.
He reached again.
I slapped him.
Hard.
His head snapped sideways and he stumbled into the chair behind him.
I stood between both of them, breathing hard.
“What are you hiding from me about my mother?”
Neither answered.
The front door opened.
All three of us turned.
Mr. Hayes entered carrying a cream-colored folder.
He was sixty-eight, silver-haired, and had been handling Carter family problems since before I was born.
He took in the food on my clothes.
Margaret gripping the chair.
Daniel holding his cheek.
His face tightened.
“I was gone seven minutes.”
“Bad timing,” I said.
He looked at Margaret.
“What happened?”
“Emma happened.”
Mr. Hayes ignored that.
He came to the table and placed the folder in front of me.
Margaret saw it.
Whatever anger had been holding her upright disappeared.
“Arthur.”
Mr. Hayes looked at her.
“No.”
One word.
Then he opened the folder.
The first page was a title confirmation.
I stared at the bold line near the top.
PROPERTY DEED — OWNER: EMMA CARTER.
I read it twice.
“What property?”
Nobody answered quickly enough.
My eyes moved toward the ceiling.
The carved staircase.
The ten-foot Christmas tree.
The dining room where my father used to carve turkey while Margaret corrected his knife angle.
I looked at Mr. Hayes.
“This house?”
“Yes.”
Daniel stopped touching his cheek.
Margaret looked down.
I laughed once because there was nothing else to do.
“My mother owned the mansion?”
“Rebecca became sole owner after your father died.”
“I know that.”
“What you didn't know is that she transferred the future interest to you.”
“When?”
“We'll go through it.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“That deed is being challenged.”
Mr. Hayes looked at him.
“I know.”
That got my attention.
“You knew?”
He opened his mouth.
A second sheet slid from the folder.
It landed faceup beside a silver serving spoon.
Mr. Hayes looked down.
Then stopped.
I had known him since I was six.
I had seen him at my father's funeral, my mother’s funeral, and one Thanksgiving when Daniel threatened to sue a neighbor over a driveway easement.
I had never seen him look confused by paper.
He picked it up.
“What?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
Then at the sheet.
“Emma…”
“What?”
“Someone filed your death certificate three days ago.”
Daniel turned toward Margaret so quickly that I saw it.
Margaret did not look at him.
She stared at the document.
I reached for it.
Mr. Hayes hesitated, then handed it over.
My name.
EMMA REBECCA CARTER.
My birth date.
My mother's maiden name.
My father's name.
The details were accurate enough to make my stomach turn.
Then I saw the date of death.
March 8.
I looked at Mr. Hayes.
“My mother died March tenth.”
“Yes.”
I stared.
The room seemed to get farther away.
“According to this…”
Mr. Hayes finished quietly.
“You died two days before she did.”
Daniel sat down.
Margaret still would not look at me.
I read the date again.
March 8.
Nine months ago.
On March 8, I had been in Chicago.
Alive.
Angry.
Ignoring my mother's second call of the week because I was tired of hearing about the same house.
I looked at Margaret.
“You knew about this.”
“No.”
“You won't even look at me.”
Her eyes finally came up.
“I knew something had been filed.”
Daniel swore under his breath.
I turned to him.
“What something?”
He said nothing.
Mr. Hayes pulled the deed closer.
“Everybody stop.”
Nobody did.
I asked:
“Why would somebody need me dead before Mom?”
Mr. Hayes looked at the deed.
Then at Daniel.
Margaret closed her eyes.
My lawyer's answer came very carefully.
“Because Rebecca named a second beneficiary.”
I felt Daniel stop breathing.
“Who?”
Mr. Hayes did not look away from him.
“Daniel.”
Christmas dinner was still steaming on the floor.
May you like
And suddenly I understood that the death certificate had not simply erased me.
It had been dated to place my brother exactly where I had been standing in my mother's estate.
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