I couldn’t speak. My throat felt too tight. Paul continued, ‘Margaret, who’d also gone blind, asked the nurses for detailed descriptions every time a pie arrived. She’d guess the flavors from their smells. She insisted on saving slices to share with the other patients.’
‘My client also kept a journal about them, where she wrote down which pies arrived each day and tried to guess what kind of person the baker was. She even tried to guess your age. I was there when she once said, ‘Whoever she is, she’s quiet, young, and grieving. But she still knows how to love.”
I was beyond shocked!
‘Could you tell me a little more about Margaret?’ I asked softly, feeling a connection to a woman I’d never met and would never meet.
‘She guessed that you’d ask,’ Paul replied, obviously smiling at Margaret’s correct prediction. ‘Margaret was a retired librarian. She was widowed and had no kids. She had stage 4 liver cancer and spent her last year in hospice. According to the staff, she barely spoke to anyone until the pies started showing up.’
Paul promised to stay in touch and keep me updated about the transfer of the estate.
I kept the news to myself for a while. I didn’t even tell the other girls at the shelter. I was scared that saying it out loud would make it vanish. But then Aunt Denise found out. I wasn’t sure how, but it didn’t take long to figure it out.
Margaret’s estate had to be publicly listed through the local probate court. It showed up in the legal notices section of the city newspaper. Denise subscribes mainly for the crossword and the obituaries. She saw my name. She called me that evening. I didn’t even say hello.
‘You owe me,’ she said immediately. ‘I raised you after the fire. I gave you everything. I’m your family!’
‘You gave me nothing,’ I said. You don’t deserve it! And I lost your mother, too. That house should’ve gone to me. That money should’ve gone to her sister. To family!’
I hung up. Then I blocked her number.
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