The Red Strokes

Chapter 4 - Lilah

The modest office smells of books. Old books. And even older cigarette smoke. I want to excuse myself to fresher air while my sisters wait for our father's attorney to join us, but I'm afraid if I do, I won't return. I'm certain Val's thinking the same thing as I catch her mouth the words, "kill me now," into the stale air.

My eyes trace a pattern beginning with the imitation wood-grain paneling, across the built-in bookcases, and over the mahogany furniture. The monotony of browns in the over-stuffed office adds to my discomfort, and I feel myself slouch a bit in my chair.

"I wanted to make this appointment for later, but Harold insisted on 9 A.M." After an exaggerated glance at her Rolex, Mia adds, "It's now twenty after. Where is he?"

"What exactly is the point of a rhetorical question anyway?" Val asks.

Mia ignores her and stares straight ahead, her eyes fixed on one of the many yellowed diplomas on the wall behind the cluttered desk.

Without looking at either of them, I ask, "Can you two please get through this like adults? You can go back to being your bickering selves the minute you walk out of here and head your separate ways."

"I hope you weren't including me as part of that your. I don't bicker."

"You may not have invented it, but you've spent your life perfecting it." Val speaks without looking at Mia.

"You're wearing on my last good nerve," Mia says.

The door behind me swings open barely missing the arm of my chair, and cutting off the catty word-sling between my sisters.

"Good morning, ladies." He doesn't wait for a reply. "First, let me say I'm sorry we have to meet under such mournful conditions. And I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Years of smoking are evident in the grit of the attorney's voice.

"Thank you for your condolences, Harold, but there's no need to apologize. We didn't notice you were late."

I look at Val who rolls her eyes at Mia's blatant lie.

Harold turns his attention to a stack of papers on his desk and rubs a meaty hand over his chin. The sound of his fingers raking across his gray-tinged stubble causes an involuntary shudder to run up my spine.

Without taking his eyes off the disorder on his desk, Harold continues, "Have any of you attended a reading before?"

I answer, "I have."

As the flicker of recollection crosses Harold's face, he nods and says, "Ah, yes. I'm sorry."

I hold my breath and say a silent prayer he won't embark on a trip down memory lane and will get straight to the reason we're here. My nerves have been on fire since yesterday, and a round-table discussion of my late husband will surely drive me to tears.

When he begins to speak, I let out the breath I've been holding. "The reason I ask is that I don't know what each of you is expecting here today, but your father wasn't conventional when it came to his will."

"Dad, unconventional? Who knew?"

I recognize Val's attempt to lighten the increasing tension, but I also recognize Mia's growing impatience as she re-crosses her legs and bounces her foot in front of her.

"I have a meeting at one. Can we expedite this, please?" Mia cuts in.

At least she said please.

"Certainly." Relief passes through Harold Patterson's eyes.

He picks up the top file, opens it, and takes a calming breath. "You will each receive a copy of your father's will once we're through, so if you don't mind, I'm going to skip the formalities and begin addressing his wishes."