Lucky Love: A Lesbian Romance Read online

  "Who knows what you're capable of? You bake cookies for God's sake."

  "My cookies are darn good." I stood from my chair so she was no longer standing over me. I wasn't going to let her bully me.

  Surprise flickered across Lena's face before she could cover it.

  That's right, I wasn't some ant she could crush under her foot. I was a fully formed human being. If she wanted to crush me, she would have to bring me down first.

  "Ladies, ladies," Tom said. "Let's not let emotion cloud our judgment. I'm sure we can come to a reasonable agreement here. Lena, you signed the accounting indicating your approval of this. Why didn't you say something then?"

  "I'm saying something now."

  "I'm afraid the time has passed for objections to the will."

  Lena didn't have an answer for this. For the first time, she looked flustered, her eyes darting around.

  I folded my hands. "If you want, Lena, I can help you—"

  "I don't need your help," Lena spat.

  Okay. So she didn't like compromise. "I'll give you some time in the house, then, to sort through your inheritance."

  "Is there any way I can remove her from the will?" she said, as if I wasn't there.

  "I don't think that's necessary," Tom said.

  "Is there any legal way? Perhaps if I could prove she forced Lois into this?"

  "Tom," I said. "You know I wouldn't do that."

  He nodded, holding up his hand to me as he faced Lena. "There are a few ways at this point, but none of them are good. If you challenge her, it will only hold up your inheritance in court and drain the resources of the estate. That means less for you in the long run."

  Lena pursed her lips. "I'd like to get a second opinion on that."

  "Lena," I said. "Let's talk about this. I can tell you everything you want to know."

  Lena's hand rose in a firm wall between us. "I'd rather not. I'd rather deal with the facts of the law here. You might have been able to pull the wool over the eyes of my grandmother, but you're not going to do that with me." With that, she turned and stormed out of the room. Dust particles swirled in her wake.

  I turned to Tom.

  "She'll come around," he said.

  "What if she doesn't?" I was not only a beneficiary of the will, but the personal representative as well, which meant I was in charge of disbursing all the money to the beneficiaries. At the very least, I would be dealing with Lena by phone or email or letter for the foreseeable future. Could I do it? Could I do it and keep my temper?

  She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone who was no longer in my life for a reason.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LENA

  I'd decided: Alice wasn't going to get the house. Even if it was a falling down shack by now and worth very little, it was the principle of the thing. She had manipulated my grandmother, just as she had tried to manipulate me with that fake Stepford Wife act. It wasn't going to work. It wasn't fair or just.

  Keeping one eye on the road, I dialed my sister. She answered.

  "The will wasn't a mistake," I said.

  On the other end of the line, an avalanche of pots and pans clanged. "I'm sorry, Lena—what did you say? Chad is playing away on the drums, and it's hard to hear you."

  After my meeting with Lois's lawyer and Alice, my patience was running thin. Not that it was all that thick to start. More like a sheet of wet paper than a block of ice. "Did you read my email from last week?"

  "I haven't had the chance," Laura said.

  I sighed. "Lois left the house to a stranger. I'm thinking she had a touch of dementia neither of us knew about and this woman saw an opening and struck. She's a viper."

  "What?"

  I groaned out loud. "Is there anywhere you can go so we can talk? This is important."

  "Chad's two. I can't leave him alone. Just yell louder."

  The clanging sound sliced through my temples. I wanted to dive through the phone line and strangle Laura. My hand trembled with its tight grip on the phone. "I think someone manipulated Lois," I yelled. "Into giving her the house."

  "So what?"

  "So—" I coughed. "Don't you care?"

  "Didn't you see all this in the accounting we received in the mail? Why do you want to talk about it now?"

  Attorney Tom had asked me the same question, and my body was reacting the same way it had in that moment, growing hot with embarrassment. I didn't like to remember the time when the documents came. In fact, I couldn't, really. It was as if a sandman had come and erased those months from my mind. It was my signature on the document, but for the life of me I couldn't remember signing it.

  "I've been busy," I said curtly.

  Laura sighed. "It sounds like the house belongs to this Alice woman. Why does it matter to you so much? Grandma Lois left us money. How much do you really need?"

  "It's not about the money. It's about what's right. I swear to you, Laura, this smells fishy."

  Laura said nothing. Chad resumed his drumming, and Laura cooed to him. I was losing her, and I couldn't lose her. I needed her if I wanted an advantage here—two against one.

  "Listen," I said. "I need you to fly in for a day or two so we can deal with this. I'm thinking we should find a lawyer and petition the court to have her removed."

  The clanging diminished until I could barely hear it any longer. So she could go somewhere quieter.

  "I have three kids under the age of five. One still breastfeeding. What makes you think I'd be able to drop everything and fly across the country?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Well, I don't need you here. I just need your support. Do I have it?"

  Laura paused. "I mean... is it worth it?"

  "It's a six thousand square foot house. It must be worth... hundreds of thousands of dollars. We're just going to let that go? To some stranger who..." I paused, searching for the best word. "Manipulated Lois?"

  "Now you suddenly care about Lois."

  "No, I care about our rightful inheritance."

  Laura sighed dramatically. "You're too wrapped up in the capitalistic mindset."

  I shifted the Corvette into drive and pulled out into the street, heading toward Lois's house. It wasn't far, but it struck me it might be beneficial to see the place before I went any further. "Don't you want some place to live other than a trailer?"

  "We choose this life. It's cozy. It's small living. And it's not a trailer it's an RV." One of Laura's many children wailed. "I wouldn't take that monstrosity if you paid me. Too much baggage."

  Okay, so personal gain wouldn't work with her. I should have known that. Laura and her husband had requested donations to the World Wildlife Fund for their wedding in lieu of gifts. They didn't care about money.

  I needed to go about this a different way. "What about your kids? They're going to attend college, right?"

  "We've got a plan. The way we live there will be plenty of money."

  "College tuition is skyrocketing."

  "We'll be fine, Lena."

  "What do you think Mom would say?" I turned onto the Victorian's street. "She hated Lois."

  "She would tell you to give it up. Just like I'm telling you to give it up. I've gotta go, Lena. Bye."

  "Love you too, Sis," I said into the empty phone line. I hung up and focused on the road. It didn't take long before I realized I had passed the house.

  I turned around, and as I approached from the other side, I saw why I missed it the first time.

  The old woman had let it go.

  Fifteen years ago, the Queen Anne Victorian's paint had glowed eggplant purple, its tower pointing like a beacon into the sky. The roof had just been redone with its specially ordered hexagonal shingles, and Lois had kept the lawn perfectly manicured, like a soldier's hair.

  The largest problem, I discovered as I approached again, was the maple tree in front of the house. It had grown so fat it obscured one side of the house altogether with its gold and auburn leaves. The next problem was the paint. It had peeled and fa
ded, darkening with the moss and mildew from the humidity of the New England summers. Regional harsh winters had contributed also, tearing the gutter from the roof and heaving the sidewalk into a treacherous mounding landscape.

  Fifteen years ago, I'd promised never to return to this place. Yet, here I was.

  I parked my Corvette in the driveway and turned off the car, scanning the house for more clues. It looked barren in a way only empty houses could. Dark and dusty and... lonely in a way.

  I scoffed.

  Lonely.

  Look at me getting all sentimental. This was a house, not a human with feelings. Houses couldn't get lonely. I crossed to the walk and up the granite steps. The door was locked, so I produced the old key from my pocket and slid it into the lock. I hip-checked the door to open it, the movement coming back to me like I was sixteen again and had done this a hundred times. I opened the door and walked inside to find...

  A mess. In the entry hall alone, which was all I could see, dusty furniture crowded the floor, leaving only narrow passages like human-sized ant tunnels to different rooms of the house. The little light coming from behind me illuminated the sparkling particles in the air. It was so changed from when I had lived there years before that I had to step back and look at the outside again to make sure I had the right house.

  Yep. Couldn't mistake that purple anywhere.

  Shit.

  The old lady had left me a goddamned mess as her final act of revenge. I knew her. She had done this on purpose. She had left it to me as her last act of karma on earth, forcing me, one more time, to clean my room.

  She thought I would fail. She'd always thought I would fail.

  Well, I'd show her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALICE

  After meeting Lena, I did the only thing I knew would calm me: channeled my anger into baking. I crafted a batch of muffins, dumping in flour with a fury that sent it flying into the air, mixing in oats and chocolate chips and dried cranberries. Forming the dough into fat balls and staring into the oven as they puffed up and flattened out. There was something so perfect about baking. If you followed a certain set of rules, and your tools didn't malfunction, it would always be right in the end.

  Life wasn't like that. Life was a lot messier.

  I placed the finished muffins in the basket of my bike and set out for a ride toward the nursing home. I was still angry, and I often found doing good drowned out negative feelings. But on the way to the home, I cycled by Lois's—my—house, to find Lena's car in the driveway.

  That... darn... woman. I couldn't help but be a teensy bit angry with her. What right did she have to come storming into town at this point in the proceedings and try to blow it all up? I mean, sure, she was blood, but Lois and I had a deal. I was so close. This wasn't fair.

  Maybe, just maybe, if I could talk to her I could make her understand.

  I scooted off my bike and propped it up on its kickstand next to the house. Then I took my muffins and walked to the door. I rang the doorbell, since I hadn't brought my key, stiffening my stance.

  Nothing came from inside. I rang again, and tried the knob, but it was locked.

  "Hello? Lena? Let me in. I'm not leaving until we talk again. There are a few things I should explain."

  Silence.

  "I've been cleaning the house the best I could. I wanted to check that everything was all set for you," I ground the last bit through my teeth, the sweet sentiment hard for me to get out in my growing irritation. I stepped back, ready to retreat, when the door opened.

  "What do you want?" Lena folded her arms.

  I'd forgotten how striking her chocolate features were, and I found myself flashing to a scene featuring her. Without clothes. What the...?

  I managed to regain my senses, smiled, and lifted my basket to her. "Muffin? They're choco-craisin. I thought, since you didn't want any cookies yesterday, that you'd like muffins instead."

  "Nope. No." Lena unfolded her arms and started to close the door.

  "Wait." I lunged to the door and slid my foot inside before she could close it. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

  "I think you're the one who got off on the wrong foot. Who wears kitten heels on a bicycle?"

  "You know what kitten heels look like?"

  "I know that they're weak and impractical and if you want to keep your foot on the rest of your leg you'll remove it from the doorway right now."

  "This is my house," I said, my politeness seeping away. "I have every right to be here."

  "You're going to have to prove that in court." Lena pushed on the door, crushing the small bones on top of my foot and sending me yelping and bouncing backward. I cradled the basket of muffins like a baby, protecting them. One hopped over the edge and plopped on the ground, breaking in half. Soft. Warm. Moist. What a waste. As the pain diminished, so did thoughts of my muffins.

  The door wasn't the only way to get into the house. I could enter through the bulkhead and access the cellar stairs. Sure, it was dusty and dingy and dark in the old unfinished cellar, but as long as I kept my eyes away from the corners, I would be fine.

  I deposited the muffins back in the bike basket and walked around the house to the other side. As quietly as possible, I lifted the squeaking door of the bulkhead just enough to slip inside. Once I pushed through the inner door, I wouldn't be able to see much, so I took my last breath and dove in.

  Minutes later, I busted through the cellar door (well, crept), emerging into the relatively clear kitchen. Only then did I examine myself. No scratches. Some slight damage to my shoes, which only proved Lena's point that the heels were impractical. Well, forget her, they were worth more than just looks and function. They gave me confidence. This girl in these heels had outsmarted Lena. Now they'd done their duty, I slipped them off and tiptoed through the kitchen and den into the sitting room.

  Steps away from the front door, Lena examined an old ship's chronometer in the entry hallway. She looked innocent, curious. Maybe I'd had her pegged wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

  "That's an old ship's chronometer," I said. "Captains often had three or four of them to keep on track. It's worth five thousand dollars."

  Lena jumped, fear glinting in her eyes for a moment before she realized it was only me and her face reddened with anger. "Get out."

  "No. I'm not going to leave until you listen to me. You have the wrong idea about me."

  "Oh, I think I have the right idea. And it's gaining more steam as it goes. Now we can add breaking and entering to your list of offenses."

  "You can't break into your own house."

  "I'm not certain it's your house. Until then I'm not going to let you take anything. Leave. Now."

  I folded my arms, unable to keep the corners of my lips from tugging upward. "Make me."

  Lena moved slowly, then snapped into action, running toward me. I started to run as well, hopping around desks and bureaus and chairs. At first, she had the advantage. She was faster than me and wore shoes. But I knew the paths of the house. I slid around the corner, feeling a thrill wash through me.

  "This is ridiculous," I shouted over my shoulder.

  "Then stop."

  "You stop first."

  Her pounding feet followed, but somehow, I managed to stay away, sprinting through one door of the kitchen and out another into the antique-stuffed dining room. As I rounded the corner, I heard a crash. Images of a smashed Chippendale populated my mind. Lena moaned, and my mind shifted to her.

  Before I could reconsider, I wound my way back to her and knelt by her side. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm—fine." Lena cringed, holding her ankle. Her face was growing paler by the moment. I snapped into action, jogging to the fridge on my stockinged feet and piling ice into a clean dish towel. By the time I returned, she sat back, gingerly rotating her ankle. I handed her the ice packet.

  "Thanks," she said.

  "So you do have manners," I shot back.

  Lena grimaced and glanced up at m
e. She was so close I could kiss her. Her gaze lingered longer than average on my face.

  I felt it heating and looked toward her ankle. "Do you think it's broken?"

  "No," Lena said, rubbing it down. "I sprained it playing rugby last year. It feels the same."

  "You play rugby? Me too." Finally, we'd found something we had in common. Something I could work with. I'd never met someone with whom it was so difficult to start a conversation.

  "You?"

  "Every Sunday. Hey, you should come down and work out with us some time." What are you doing, Alice? I bit the inside of my cheek. It was like an instinct I had. When someone expressed interest in something I liked, I invited them. "When your ankle feels well enough, that is."

  "Well. Yeah, probably not."

  Sigh. It lasted a few seconds, at least.

  In that moment, I had a flash of brilliance. Maybe if I showed her how much her items were worth she'd forget about the house altogether.

  "Stay here." I stood, trying to remember where I had left a certain item. I pictured the mountains of antiques in the house. I had done so much cataloging I'd practically memorized a map of it all. Right. It was back in the den. I scurried to the den and reached around a mahogany chest of drawers and found what I was looking for. I returned to Lena and found her still sitting on the floor, holding the ice to her ankle. She was well enough to look back at me when I returned.

  "You could use this, to get around, if you like." I mimicked an old lady bent over her cane, careful not to put too much pressure on it. "Or you could sell it. It's what we call a folk-art cane. It's a hickory sapling with a hound lounging on top for the handle. See the delicate carving?"

  Lena blinked.

  "Can you guess how much it's worth?"

  Using the edge of a desk nearby, Lena pulled herself to a standing position, cringing.

  "Thirty-five hundred dollars. And that's just this one little thing. The entry hallway alone is filled with hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of stuff."

  Lena sighed, looking tired and giving a little shrug.