Asylum

Chapter 47: A Long Goodbye

Monday morning

It was an irreverently glorious morning. The streets of the city gleamed from their seasonal drenching the night before, and the day dawned fair and glittering with potential. Not a single cloud dared to darken the late winter sky, and though the sun was not strong quite enough to completely chase off the morning chill, there was something different about the air, even here in the heart of congested Manhattan – a breath of newness, a promise of spring.

On mornings like these at the country house when I was little, my parents would take me out to wander the grounds around the copse of trees and the large pond, subtly guiding me to the hidden spots where I could discover the crocuses and irises and daffodils erupting from the fragrant earth and tiny, fuzzy buds on a few of the braver trees and bushes. The mallards would often be out in force, having endured the harsh upstate winter and bursting with new optimism as they strutted about in their bright mating plumage and foraged for materials for new spring nests. Mormor and Morfar would often trail behind our young family, reliving Torvid's childhood when they had begun many of these same cherished traditions with him.

But today was not for spying on ducks or hunting out early blooms. All the flowers I would see today would be oversized hothouse blossoms, wired up into elaborate but tasteful arrangements and jammed into vases and urns and frameworks and buttonholes; the only plumage would be in somber hues of mourning, adorning the hats of the socialites and business moguls and politicians, come to be seen bidding farewell to one of their own.

I stared out the town car's window, distracted from the city sights by the faint lingering of my grandmother's perfume in the car's upholstery. Sarah patted my hand where it lay on my lap. I had insisted that we ride to the memorial service together, and Kristofer had picked the secretary up from her Astoria home before coming to get me – the Hellström heir.

"You look lovely, dear," Sarah beamed, dabbing at her eyes. "So like your grandmother."

The resemblance was hardly coincidence. Not only was I a taller, slightly more refined version of Tilda Hellström, but I had chosen to honor my grandmother by donning a tailored black pantsuit and practical pumps reminiscent of the business style Mormor was known for, rather than the typical modest LBD and heels more commonly favored for this type of event. A wide ebony hat with a partial short veil and glossy raven feathers sat atop my abundant chignon, foraged by Sarah from Mormor's wardrobe, and my makeup was subdued and perfect – and waterproof.

Finishing the outfit was the black sapphire pendant that Mormor had worn every day for the year after her husband's death and on special family occasions thereafter. Sarah had given it to me yesterday when we met at the office; Tilda had insisted that the necklace be given to me first, before anything else was even discussed.

And there was quite a bit that had been discussed. All nonessential business had been postponed for the week, to allow me to catch up, and Hasse was handling any day-to-day small stuff that might come up and need a shareholder to sign off on. But even with my grandmother's consideration for my feelings and her extensive, careful planning, the load of work waiting for me was staggering. Without Sarah shepherding me through every bit of paper and electronic communique, I would have simply thrown my hands in the air and retreated to my unmade bed to hide.

The only things that I had definitively decided and set in motion on my own were that Sarah would continue on as my executive secretary (the older woman preferred that title to "assistant"), Tom and Sylvia Redburne would stay on as caretakers at the country house, and Kristofer would continue to act as my salaried driver, though when I would possibly have need of him beyond the next few days, I could not imagine. But the four of them had been Mormor's work family, and by extension mine, and I couldn't imagine dismissing any of them to the unemployment line.