The House

“Great. Tell me about it later,” he said, sounding harassed and anxious. “I'll call you tonight after the gym.” He clicked off before she could say good-bye, or tell him anything about the house, or the photograph of Lilli, or the history she'd learned about the house from Marjorie. It wasn't Phil's kind of thing anyway. He was interested in sports and business. Historical houses had never been of interest to him.

Sarah parked her car in the garage at work, and gingerly put the photograph of Lilli in her purse, careful not to damage it, or ruffle the edges. Ten minutes later she was sitting at her desk, took it out, and stared at it again. She knew that somewhere in her lifetime she had seen this photograph, and she hoped that wherever Lilli had gone when she disappeared, she had found what she was looking for, or escaped what she'd been fleeing from, and that whatever had happened to her, life had been kind to her children. Sarah propped the photograph up on her desk, debating about whether to show it to the heirs. The face that looked across her desk at her was unforgettable, full of youth and beauty. Lilli's face, like Stanley's warnings to her over the years, reminded Sarah that life was brief and precious, and love and joy were fleeting.

Chapter 6

By Thursday, Sarah had heard from all of Stanley's heirs save two. They were the two elderly cousins in New York, who were in nursing homes. She finally decided to call them herself. One was the subject of a conservatorship and had severe Alzheimer's. Sarah was referred to the man's daughter. She explained to her about the reading of Stanley's will, and the bequest he had made to her father. Sarah explained to her that the money would presumably be held in trust, depending on the probate laws in New York, and would pass on to her and whatever siblings she had, whenever her father died. The woman cried, she was so grateful. She said they were having trouble paying for the nursing home. Her father was ninety-two years old, and unlikely to last much longer. The money Stanley had left had come in the nick of time for all of them. She said she had never even heard of Stanley, or a cousin of her father's in California. Sarah promised to send her a copy of the portions of the will that applied to her, after the official reading, assuming there would be one. The man she had spoken to the previous week, who had called her from St. Louis, had assured her that he would come to San Francisco, although he too had never heard of Stanley. He sounded vaguely embarrassed about it, and given his position as a bank president, Sarah had the feeling he didn't need the money.

The second heir who hadn't responded to her said he was ninety-five years old, and hadn't answered her because he thought it was some sort of joke someone had played on him. He remembered Stanley well and said they had hated each other as children. And then he laughed loudly. He sounded like a character, and said he was stunned that Stanley even had any money. He said the last time he had seen or heard from him, he was a crazy kid, heading for California. He told Sarah he had assumed he had died by then. She promised to send him a copy of the will, too. She knew she would have to be contacting him again to ask how he wished to dispose of the house.

By late Thursday afternoon, the reading of the will had been set for the following Monday morning, in her office. Twelve of the heirs were coming. Money had a way of making people willing to travel, even for a great-uncle no one knew or remembered. He had clearly been the black sheep of his family, whose fleece had become white as snow, as a result of the fortune he had left them. She was unable to tell any of them how large an amount it was, but she assured them it was a sizable sum. They would have to wait to hear the rest on Monday morning.