We went into the kitchen where Daisy opened a bottle of champagne, laughing as it bubbled over into the glass she held. She topped off two flutes and handed one to me. "To us," she said. "To moving on."
I raised my glass. "To moving on," I repeated. God, I only hoped I could. I still felt like an empty shell, breakable, and too delicate to step out into the world. When would that feeling start diminishing? When would I start feeling whole again?
"Oh, hey, something came in the mail for you," Daisy said, nodding to a large envelope that sat at the end of her marble counter. I frowned slightly. Who knew where I was staying? Who knew me at all for that matter? I was completely unconnected to anyone except Daisy. And distantly . . . Ginny.
I set my champagne down and picked up the envelope. No return address. Tearing it open, I pulled out the stack of papers. I sucked in a breath and sagged against the counter as I read.
"What is it?" Daisy asked, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she walked quickly to me.
I brought two fingertips to my lips as my eyes scanned the pages, flipping through them. "Brogan, he signed De Havilland Enterprises over to me," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, my hands beginning to tremble. What did this mean?
"Let me see that," Daisy said, taking the stack of papers from me and looking through them as I stared ahead, unseeing.
"Lydia, he also signed your old house over to you, and," she flipped through the stack of papers, "it looks like he's set up an account to pay for property taxes," she paused, reading, "upkeep, lawn and grounds maintenance, etcetera." She set the papers down on the countertop, looking at me. "Do you think he's trying to make up for what he did?"
I shook my head, a pit opening up in my stomach, a fresh wave of anguish making me feel as if I couldn't breathe. "I don't know," I whispered. "Maybe he does feel some guilt for what he did. But," I shook my head back and forth again, "either way, it's him officially writing me off. There's not even a note in here," I said, tears threatening. I took a deep breath, determined not to cry. "Nothing, but these documents from," I picked up the stack of papers, reading the names at the top, "Shaw and O'Malley, Attorneys at Law."
Daisy's brow furrowed. "Lydia, maybe he doesn't know what to say. Maybe this is his way of reaching out to you in the hopes you'll reach back."
I turned that over in my mind, confusion and hurt warring with a small flicker of hope. In that moment, holding Brogan's fifteen-million-dollar gesture—whatever the gesture meant—I was suddenly certain of one thing. I didn't want the business back. I didn't even really want the house anymore. I wanted my brother back. I wanted . . . Brogan back. Neither one was possible. And none of it meant anything with my heart shattered in a million pieces. With the acknowledgment came more grief because it could never be. Everything was ruined and there was no way to fix it.
"He shot my brother, Daisy." My voice sounded small.
She was quiet for a moment. "I know, Lydia, but you read the police report. You know Stuart all but forced Brogan to shoot him," she said, her expression nervous as if she was afraid to broach this subject with me. "Do you really think he planned that?"
I didn't know. I had seen Stuart earlier that day. I'd known he was paranoid and half crazy. And the toxicology report that had come back from the medical examiner confirmed my suspicions that he'd been using heroin as well.
I'd gone over it and over it in my mind, wondering if my reaction that day had been born of grief and confusion, the pile-up of all that had hit me at once: Stuart's suspicions, finding out Brogan was hiding things from me, at least one being the purchase of my old family estate, Courtney's visit, her vile words, and then Stuart's death. I had only looked at it from the vantage point of shock and mistrust. God, I was so tired of trying to figure this out, of going over and over it in my mind and thinking I might come to some conclusion, some answer.
"Maybe—" Daisy started.
"No," I said, rejecting it all. "I can't think about this tonight. I can't wonder. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have made that happen. If he wanted to provide me some answers, he would. But he hasn't because either this was his intended ending or he knows that even if it wasn't, this is not something we could ever move past. There is no way for us to recover from this." Was there? I picked up my glass of champagne and downed it, closing my eyes for a moment, attempting to regain my composure.
Daisy chewed at her lip for another moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then raised her glass, apparently rejecting the idea. "Well okay, then. Let's get out of this house, have some fun, and we'll revisit this when you're ready." She downed the last of her champagne. "Let's do this." And with that we headed for the front door, stopping to grab our wraps and small evening bags.
Daisy's driver was waiting for us out front. We had another glass of champagne in the car on the drive to the city, and when we got to the art gallery where the exclusive charity event was being held, I was feeling better. We got out of the car, laughing and clutching our wraps against the cool October air.
Inside, people drifted from one display to another. I did my best to turn off my mind. I wouldn't think about what Brogan's unexpected gesture had meant. He hadn't had the decency to tell me, had made the choice to leave me guessing, and so I wouldn't spend a moment of my time obsessing. It was too painful.