Page 90 of Wicked Promises
I shrugged. I just wanted to go home, but home was different now. Colder. Margo was gone, too, and I couldn’t figure out why. Her parents were gone. Mom hadn’t said a word about it, just locked the door to the guest house and… walked away from it.
She’d tucked the key into her pocket, and I wasn’t sure where the Wolfes had hidden their spare. If Mom caught me digging around in the grass, in their planters, she’d yell and cry.
Margo’s house was collecting dust, and my soul was, too.
It was dramatic. Ian would say I was being a sissy, but she had pulled a piece of me out when she left, and I was… abandoned to rot.
“Lydia,” Uncle David greeted her, straightening up.
“Did you come all the way to Rose Hill for this?” She sniffed.
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He winked at me.
I didn’t know what that meant, but Mom yanked me closer to her.
The lawyer walked into the room and paused beside Mom. “Good to see you again, Lydia. I wish it was on better terms.”
She nodded.
“My son is transferring to Emery-Rose next year.” He looked down at me, then got on my level. “Would you do me a favor, Caleb? Keep an eye out for Eli Black. I’m sure he’ll be needing a friend when he goes to a new school.”
I nodded.
“Caleb might not be at Emery-Rose next year,” Lydia informed him.
Mr. Black shrugged. “Perhaps not. I guess we’ll see.”
He crossed to the table and opened his briefcase. There were chairs around the room, but no one was sitting. Relatives I didn’t know very well were scattered around, plus Uncle David and Aunt Iris. Mom at my back.
“No matter what happens,” Uncle David whispered to Mom, “you have a place with us.”
She stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Careful, dear,” Aunt Iris cooed. “The wolves may come out of the woodwork if you show… weakness.”
Mom glared at her. “How dare?—”
Mr. Black started talking, silencing the room. It appeared that no one wanted to miss a word of this. “‘I, Benjamin Asher, am of sound body and mind…’”
I zoned out. It sounded like gibberish, and my attention was on the window. On the way the light reflected through the prism hanging from the window lock, casting a pale rainbow on the floor.
“‘To Lydia Asher,’” Mr. Black read, “‘I leave only the dust beneath my shoes. You…’” He cleared his throat. “‘You deserve nothing, not even our son.’”
Gasps filled the room.
I looked up at Mom, whose face was… horrified.
“No,” she whispered. “That bastard.”
“Mom?”
“It’ll be okay, honey,” she said.
Mr. Black coughed behind his fist. “‘To my son, Caleb Asher, I leave in a trust my shares of Prinze Industries, all monies and investments, and physical properties, to be matured when he turns eighteen years old.’”
My mouth dropped open. “What does that mean?”
“He left you… everything,” one of the relatives said.