inheritance | New Book 2024

one: formalities & funeral homes

CHAPTER ONE
Formalities & Funeral Homes

Before she got sick, my cousins and I would joke about who would inherit her house. As kids, we had no understanding of such things and dreamt of turning the old colonial mansion and its gardens into a life-size Barbie house or one big dirt bike track. As adults, we hoped our grandmother would simply leave the house to the wealthiest or most sentimental of our parents—whoever could pay the inheritance taxes without having to sell the family land to a stranger. When it came to that estate, none of us hated anything more than the idea of the keys to the property we had spent every holiday running around at being handed over to someone who wanted to renovate it into some HGTV farmhouse chic nightmare with shiplap and black light fixtures.

What none of them, myself included, expected was for Grandma to call one of us in to sit beside her soon-to-be death bed and sign contracts while she rambled in a wet, raspy voice, only pausing to cough or catch her fleeting breath. I certainly didn't expect it to be me holding her papery hand in my left and signing my name across a dotted line with my right.

Before I knew it, I was handing her a crinkled dollar bill, and her lawyer was shaking my hand.

She died that night.

When my family and I were all gathered into the drafty conference room of the funeral home to hear her will read, I was sweating. Grandma had instructed me to tell no one that I was sold the estate for a dollar—as close as you can get to gifting a home—and I had kept my promise. I hadn't even mentioned it to my son or my mom or my closest friend. I especially hadn't mentioned it to my ex-husband. Grandma must have told me to keep him out of the loop a dozen times—as if I would willingly speak to him in the first place. As if I would tell him she gifted me the estate. The courts could hand him that letter.

So, when the lawyer holding the will didn't hesitate to read to the room of my extended family that Grandma had sold me the house, I didn't have to feign shock. I thought it wouldn't be included at all. I thought we'd get to the end of the reading and my family would glance around and say, "What about the house?" and I'd have to sheepishly admit what happened.

But, no, it was right there. Everyone turned to look at me, including my son. He tugged on my sleeve.

"Momma?" he said. "He said your name."

I nodded at him with a small smile, and I hoped he couldn't tell I was shaking.

"Anna?" My mom said, looking borderline horrified. "You bought grandma's house?"

"I—Well, she asked me to."

"How could you even afford that?" She blurted out.

"I mean, I—"

The lawyer cleared his throat.

"Furthermore," he continued. "I bequeath Anaelise Reynolds five thousand dollars to be used to cover the first year of property taxes, according to the property's appraisal of seven-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars."

Silence. Unnerving, nauseous silence.

My aunt scoffed.

"Excuse me," I muttered, ducking out of the room. I feared they wouldn't go on without me and I'd come back to find them waiting on me before I remembered that the reading of the will was just a formality. Hopefully, they'd finish up without me. Maybe they'd all leave and I wouldn't have to speak to them or answer questions or defend Grandma or explain myself.

I ducked into the perfumed women's restroom and into a stall. I fumbled with the latch for a moment. When I couldn't get it to close, I smacked the door and went to the next stall over.