The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [170]
“What if I don’t believe it?” Blake asked.
“Well,” my mother said. “You’re a grown man. Believe what you like, Blake.”
“The will is real,” I pointed out. “Even if you don’t believe the rest, the will in your hands is real.”
“Why don’t you talk to Art yourself,” my mother suggested. “See what he says.”
“He’ll just deny it,” I said, certain suddenly that this was true. And what proof did I have of all he’d said—nothing but his words in the silence of Dream Master late at night. Nothing at all.
“Maybe.”
“Or he’ll just say it was an accident.”
“If the story is true, it had to be an accident,” Blake countered. “Art has his flaws, like anyone, but he’s not cold-blooded.”
I thought of Yoshi saying, It’s a moral problem, not a legal one.
“I’m going to tell Iris,” I said, folding the will and putting it back into its yellowed envelope. “You do what you have to, but that’s what I need to do.”
“She’ll have to know,” my mother agreed.
Blake sat back in the chair and gazed out across the water toward his boat, a muscle working in his cheek.
“This is unbelievable,” he said, finally. “Sell or don’t sell, Mom. Sell it to Art or to someone else. But this business with the will is just crazy. It’s probably invalid, being so old and stuck in a wall, but if it’s not, why bring it up? Why should a bunch of strangers end up with the things we’ve worked for all our lives?”
I left my mother and Blake on the patio. Yoshi was in the kitchen, reading an article on strip-mining in a copy of Harper’s that he’d bought at the airport, a cup of coffee on the counter.
“How’s it going out there?”
“It’s okay.”
“Really?”
“No, actually. It’s terribly tense.”
Yoshi nodded. “I’m sorry. Can I help?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Then can I change the subject?”
“Please.”
He pulled the laptop across the counter and flipped it open.
“I sent out a bunch of inquiries after we talked about jobs. A few people sent listings in reply. Mostly I don’t think they’re very interesting, but there are a couple that caught my eye. One in Papua New Guinea, and one in Cambodia.”
I scanned through the job descriptions, which were with aid agencies and NGOs.
“They sound interesting,” I said. “Hard, but good.”
“Different than we’re used to. The pay is okay, but they don’t have the same benefits, not by a long shot.”
“Right now we don’t have any benefits at all,” I pointed out.
After a second, Yoshi laughed. “True enough,” he said. “I wrote back, asking for more information, asking if there were other positions that might be interesting for you.”
“Okay. That’s good. I’ll send some queries, too.”
On the patio, my mother and Blake were still deep in conversation. I sighed, and found my phone, not sure if I was doing the right thing but knowing I was doing the only thing I could. Ned answered on the second ring, and seemed surprised to hear from me.
“Is your mother okay?” I asked.
“I think so, yes. She’s been absorbed by the letters. We haven’t really spoken of them in much detail. She hasn’t let anyone else read them, either.”
“I wanted to invite her to see the Westrum collection. When she’s ready. To invite all of you. And there is a chapel full of windows she ought to see as well.”
“Yes. Didn’t we discuss all that?”
“We did. I just wanted to confirm.” I hesitated. “And something else has come up since,” I went on, touching the envelope that held the will. And then I told him, carefully and concisely, everything I knew.
Chapter 21
IN THE TRANQUIL LIGHT OF THE WESTRUM HOUSE, IRIS looked less pale than she had at home, her eyes quick and vibrant. She was wearing a pale blue suit with a dark scarf tucked around her throat, and little pearl clip-on earrings. Her hair had been carefully styled. Ned hovered, helping her down the sidewalk and up the steps, but when we were inside she stepped away from him and went to speak with Oliver, who offered