“Oh, please, all of that is in the past now,” she said, flicking one hand as though brushing away an annoying insect.
“Everett forgave him, and they continued to go to the country club together every Sunday right until the very end.”
The end had arrived too quickly for all of us.
Only three weeks had passed since we buried my father after an eight-month struggle with illness.
I had not had enough time to tell him everything I wanted to say or ask why my brother, Kyle, had pulled away from me and moved closer to Calvin.
“My father didn’t leave Calvin a single cent,” I said firmly, certain that my father had many flaws but foolishness was never one of them.
For an instant, Tabitha’s confidence flickered.
“We will see about that tomorrow, especially since Kyle doesn’t seem to agree with your assessment.”
A chill ran through me at the mention of my brother.
“Have you been speaking with my brother behind my back?”
She moved closer and lowered her voice into a private hiss.
“Let’s just say he has helped me understand your father’s true mental state during those final months.”
I tightened my grip on the shears until my knuckles whitened and my fingers began to ache.
My father always said roses should be handled firmly but never harshly because even their sharpest thorns served a purpose.
“Get off my property, Tabitha,” I told her, “before I forget how to be polite to a guest.”
She released a short, dry laugh that scraped against my nerves.
“Your property? How sweet of you to think that you can keep this fortune all for yourself while the rest of us just sit back and watch.”
“My father built every inch of this house and planted every tree with his own hands, so this isn’t just about money to me.”