Austin exchanged a look with Sawyer and knew he was thinking the same thing. That, ironically, Heather had ended up choosing her own casket.
Earl ran a palm over the top. “As you can feel, it’s smooth as glass.”
When he paused and looked at them, Austin realized he was waiting for them to feel the glassy surface. So, they obliged.
“Nice,” Sawyer said.
“If you want to stay green—”
“We do,” Austin said.
“Then you have a choice of organic cotton, linen, hemp, or Lyocell, which is a soft wood pulp-based fabric.”
Heather was the seamstress and weaver. She would know which to choose. Feeling in over her head yet again, Austin went with the organic cotton.
“Good choice,” Earl said. “Though not as upscale as the velvet or crepe most people end up choosing.”
“Heather and Tom weren’t most people,” Austin and Sawyer said together.
The price was higher than Austin would have expected. Death, she was discovering, was not inexpensive.
“Did I mention the company also plants one hundred trees for every one of these caskets they sell?” Earl asked as he wrote up the sale.
“That’s a lovely gesture.”
“It’s also wise business practice since they’re ensuring themselves material long into the future. This is their third decade in business, so they’re no fly-by-night like some others out there.”
“That’s good to know.” Sawyer’s flat tone suggested that he was about casketed out and had no plans to be shopping for body boxes again anytime soon.
After the selection, they went into Earl’s office (which also had a smaller version of the outdoor fountain, which Austin guessed was intended to soothe ragged nerves) to go over what turned out to be mountains of paperwork. Not only was death not cheap, it came with myriad complicated hoops to jump through. Fortunately, despite their not having chosen the Cadillac of caskets, Earl took his time, walking them through the guidebook the funeral home had put together.
Two exhausting hours later, after he’d helped them prepare the forms necessary for Sophie’s and Jack’s Social Security survivor benefits, arranged to get the necessary copies of the death certificates they’d need, and assured them he’d write the obituary for the
River’s Bend Register
from the facts she gave him, she and Sawyer were on their way with a to-do list stretching into the next county.
“Damn. I could use a beer after that,” Sawyer said as he drove back down the hill toward Eureka Way.
“I could use a dirty martini.”
He shot her a look, reminded yet again that, while they’d known each other forever, there was a lot about her he didn’t know. “I didn’t know you drank martinis.”
“I don’t.” She rubbed her temples where he suspected a headache mirroring his own had begun to throb midway through the funeral meeting. “I’m not even sure what, exactly, a dirty martini is. I just saw Daniel Craig drink one in
Spectre
, and it looked very good.”
“By good, you mean sexy.”
“He’s James Bond,” she pointed out. “The man can’t be anything but sexy. But it seems the olives would add a salty tang.”
“They do.”
“So you’ve had one?” She sounded surprised, which made sense because, while alcohol was readily available at those Saturday night parties on the river, he’d always stuck to beer. While Austin, who was much more of a straight arrow and had probably never been drunk in her life, had stayed with Coke.
“Yeah. On my last deployment. But the vodka tasted like kerosene, so I’m not sure that counts.” One of the U.N. soldiers he’d served with had managed to smuggle the rot gut in from Turkey that had him puking up his guts the next morning.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” she said. “But I’m beginning to see the appeal.” She reached out and touched his leg, the way she had the first day when they’d ridden out to see the foreman’s cabin. “Thank you for helping me with all this.”
Sawyer shrugged. “No problem. It’s a lot for one person to do.” Although he’d rather be dodging bullets in Afghanistan than making funeral arrangements for two more dead friends, at least he was feeling somewhat useful for the first time in a very long while.
*
C
OLTON
K
ANE WAS
Ryan Murphy’s age, and after graduating Willamette Law, he’d landed a prestigious job at a top Portland firm where, after an initial year clerking, he’d begun to gain a reputation for being a rainmaker, which had him fast-tracking up the ladder to an eventual partnership.
But to hear him tell the story, the constant need to acquire more business, along with eighteen to twenty billable-hour days had cost him any semblance of a life outside work and caused him to begin to lose sight of what had made him go into law in the first place. Which had been to help the law work for ordinary people who found themselves understandably perplexed by the often byzantine legal system. And who never could have afforded his Portland fees.
So, he’d sold his condo with its doorman, concierge, two pools, saunas, gym, twenty-four-hour security, and incredible views of the city, Mt. Hood, and Willamette River, and returned home to River’s Bend, where his family had been running Hereford cross cattle since shortly after World War I near lower Glass Lake.
While he lived in a house he’d had built on the lake, which allowed him to spend Sundays fishing from his front porch, he’d set up his office in a 1907 Craftsman with two round white pillars flanking a wide front porch.
All the beautiful original wood detail was intact, including the pocket doors closing off what would have been a formal front parlor from a dining room. Colton was using the parlor as a reception area, and Brody had combined the dining room and a second family parlor to create a spacious office.
After offering them something to drink, which they turned down, rather than sit behind the desk, he chose one of the armchairs that was diagonal to the sofa they’d taken.
“First, as I told you on the phone,” he told Austin, “Heather and Tom were more than clients. They were friends and I’m devastated I’m having to do this. Writing wills is a steady source of business, but I always hope the people are pushing a hundred before I have to have this sit-down meeting with the heirs.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is just wrong.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that,” Austin said. “So, the first question on the table is obviously guardianship of Jack and Sophie. Heather asked me if I’d be secondary guardian, after his parents, back when Jack was born. Of course I said yes, but I don’t know if she ever did anything official about it.”
“She and Tom both named you in their wills,” he confirmed. “As you said, behind his parents, who aren’t up to taking on the care of two young children.”
“Have they been told?”
“I’m planning to call them later today. There’s a three-hour time difference between here and Hawaii, and I have a contact name for Tom’s mother’s niece. I worked with her when Mary needed to be moved into a care center, so it would probably be better if she told them. Though I’m not sure his father will understand.”
“That’s so sad,” Austin said.
Sawyer, she noted, didn’t say anything. As soon as they’d entered, she’d felt him retreating back into whatever place he’d been going to since returning home. Which wasn’t encouraging and made this very bad, horrible situation even worse. Having him provide emotional support and serve as a surrogate father would be an enormous help during this difficult transition time. But if he did take a role in the children’s lives, he’d have to stick with them. Abandoning them, the way he’d abruptly cut himself off from her after that kiss, would only make things worse. They’d already lost their parents. Once again she wondered if she could risk them getting attached to a man who might not always be there for them.
On the other hand, she also had to think of Sawyer’s well-being. How badly had the war damaged him? Not just his physical wounds but any emotional ones. Would putting the pressure of helping to care for two minor children only make those issues he’d admitted to worse? Which wouldn’t be fair to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head when she realized she’d missed what Colton had been saying. “Could you please repeat that?”
“Sure.” Colton’s easy attitude suggested that he was accustomed to clients’ minds wandering. After all, people didn’t tend to need lawyers when their lives were going smoothly. “Generally, what happens after parents of a minor child die is that anyone wishing to claim guardianship, who, in this case, would be you, must petition the court to be appointed guardian. Since you’re named in the will, that’s evidence that the children’s parents wanted Sophie and Jack to be with you, so the judge will grant this pretty easily.”
“How do we petition?”
“It’s similar to a divorce or adoption and takes place in family court. First you need to hire a lawyer.”
“Who would be you.”
“Okay. Great. I’d be glad to take it on. Pro bono, because, quite honestly, it’s not a lot of work, and I figure I already made my fee when I wrote their wills. Not that you’ll run into any problems, but I can also attest to their sound state of mind when they made the wills.
“I’ll have the niece email me Tom’s parents’ medical records, and will have a local attorney get his mother to sign off on any claim. Since the judge will rule in the ‘best interest of the children,’ you shouldn’t expect any problems. You’re a lifelong resident of the community, you’ve got a stellar reputation, you were close friends with the parents, and the kids love you.”
“I’m also their godmother.”
“Even better.”
“And Sawyer is their godfather.”
“Interesting.” Colton put his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his hands as he turned his attention toward Sawyer. “Are you planning to petition, as well?”
“No.” The quick, one-word response spoke volumes, and Austin saw something that looked like panic momentarily flash in his whiskey eyes. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “But I’m living at Green Springs, so I’ll be there to offer any support I can.”
“Good, good,” Colton said. “So, you’re staying in the house with Buck, Austin, and the kids? For now?”
“No. I’m living in the foreman’s place.”
“I’m not saying it will definitely happen,” he warned. “But you might want to be ready for a visit from the DHS caseworker.”
“To me? Why?”
“Because you’re their godfather and you’re living on the property with them.”
“Not
with
them,” Sawyer argued. “They’re going to be in the ranch house. With Austin and her dad.”
“I understand. But the fact that you’re here right now and went to the funeral home demonstrates that you’re going to take an active part in their lives. Which is a good thing. But, since the court has to dot all the i’s and cross the t’s, you may have to be checked out. Not that there’ll be any problem.”
He paused a moment and gave Sawyer a long look. Realizing that Colton had probably been at the party, Austin wondered if he might have witnessed something that could prove a cause for concern.
Sawyer lifted his chin. Squared his shoulders as if standing at attention. Any fear or panic was gone, and in their place was steely Marine fortitude. “No problems at all.”
“Great.” The lawyer blew out a quick breath. “Okay, moving on, Tom and Heather left a few smaller bequests to people, which we’ll get to at the official reading of the will after the funeral. Which will be when?”
“We’re going to the church to figure that part out next,” Sawyer said.
“Probably Monday,” Austin said. “I don’t suppose, when they wrote their wills, they mentioned anything about buying cemetery plots.”
“No. And just in case, I called John Breebart at Evergreen Memorial Cemetery. He assures me that he’s got a double space not far from Heather’s parents with a nice view of the lake that he’ll save for you to come by and see.
“Meanwhile, I’ll pencil Monday in and just let me know if it changes. If for no other reason than I want to be there as a friend.”
After agreeing there was no point in having the children attend the official reading of the will, Colton turned back to legal details.
“Except for those bequests I mentioned, Tom and Heather left everything of value to the kids in trust until they’re eighteen. If you choose, you can also assume fiduciary guardianship of the estate. Which means dealing with the house, other personal property, paying bills, whatever else comes up. And, of course, reimbursement for the support of the children.”
“I’m not taking money for that,” Austin said.
“It’s an option.”
“No.” About this she was very firm. “Whatever money comes in, from Social Security or the estate, it’s going to be put away for them. This isn’t like a foster parent deal, Colton. I agreed to try, the best I can, to be Jack and Sophie’s mother. Last time I looked, that’s not a paying job. Nor would I want it to be.”
“Children aren’t cheap.”
“Nor is friendship. Heather was the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister.” Emotions clogged her throat as she folded her arms. “The children are family and that’s that.”
“Fine. We’ll deal with the details another day. In the meantime, as soon as the court approves your petition, I’d advise you to at least use the money in the checking account to pay current bills. Which,” he pointed out, “you know Heather would want. She wouldn’t want to stick you with her bills any more than you’d want to leave her with yours.”
“Point taken,” Austin said reluctantly. There was also the fact that both hers and the ranch’s checking accounts were getting down to the bottom as they neared the end of the month.
“Sometimes creditors will void the accounts in case of a death, but not always. And you’ll probably want to have Brody finish the remodel so you can sell the house. And bank the profit from that for their future,” he said before she could state that she wasn’t going to take any of the house money. “I can also arrange for a fund to handle construction draws.”
“Brody and I already talked about him finishing,” she said. “I think the idea makes sense. When can we petition the court?”
“If the funeral’s Monday, except for thirty minutes or so to wrap up the will reading with everyone, you’ll probably want to be with the kids that day. I should be able to get a court slot for Tuesday morning to start the proceedings.”