“She’s already gone,” I said. “The only thing left is the truth. And apparently, none of you can look me in the eye when you lie.”
I walked out into the damp parking lot like I had just slammed a door on the first act of a play I hadn’t agreed to be in.
Harroves Diner sat wedged between a nail salon and a dry cleaner. My best friend Kayla and I had been coming here since middle school. Now she sat across from me, curls piled on her head, glasses sliding down her nose, watching me try not to shatter.
“Of course they were relieved,” she said. “The way your dad and that lawyer looked at each other—that wasn’t grief. That was choreography.”
“She told me she was leaving everything to me. Not once. Over and over. She said I was the only one she trusted not to sell the company for parts.”
