Patricia Kay - Secrets of a Small Town

The minister dribbled a handful of dirt over the bronze coffin. “Benjamin Arthur March, we commit your earthly remains to…”

Sabrina tuned out the rest of the words. They were meaningless. Nothing anyone said would change a thing. Her father was dead.

She wished she were anywhere else but here. She didn’t want to remember her father like this. Didn’t want to see his coffin lowered into the ground. Didn’t want to believe she would never see him again.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of crying since those few minutes in the park.

What good would crying do?

Her father was gone. Never again would she see his smile. Never again would he bring his optimism and good humor home. Never again would she feel the comfort and support of his strength.

Oh, Daddy, what will I do without you?

Next to her, her mother stirred. Sabrina glanced sideways. Isabel’s profile was calm and dignified, her chin raised, her posture straight.

“Rockwells don’t air their emotions in public,” she’d said more times than Sabrina could count.

Resentment bubbled inside. Her mother hadn’t broken down once. Not once. Not even when Sabrina had given her the news, a fact that had shocked Sabrina and made her wonder if her mother had ever loved her father. Then she felt guilty. She knew she shouldn’t judge her mother simply because Isabel didn’t show her grief the way Sabrina showed hers.

It wasn’t just that her mother was a Rockwell and felt she had a certain position to live up to. Isabel had never been able to show her love easily. Some people were like that. They held their emotions inside, unable to share them. It didn’t mean they didn’t feel them.

Only once had Sabrina ever seen her mother lose control. It was a memory long buried, but today it surfaced and Sabrina remembered how, as a twelve-year-old, she had heard her parents arguing.

She’d been upstairs in her room studying and the raised voices had drawn her to the top of the stairs. Ben and Isabel had been in the library—which was on the first floor near the stairway—and the door had been partially open. Neither had noticed, so caught up in the storm of emotion that their usual caution when Sabrina was nearby had been forgotten.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give you a divorce,” her mother had been saying.

Sabrina had gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Divorce! No! Not her parents. They couldn’t get a divorce.

“Isabel, be reasonable,” her father said. “Whatever love we once felt for each other is gone, and you know it.”

“Rockwells do not divorce.”

“Just to save face, you’d rather be miserable the rest of your life, is that it?”

“Who says I’ll be miserable?” her mother had shot back. Then she’d stalked out, heading for the stairs, and Sabrina had scrambled to get back to her room before her mother discovered her listening.

That night Sabrina’s father hadn’t been home for dinner, and the next day her mother had left for a skiing trip. The skiing trip where she’d had the disastrous accident that had so affected the rest of her life.

From that day on, Sabrina’s father had been a devoted husband. No one would ever have known the March marriage had been on the brink of dissolving, not from Ben’s actions and certainly not from Isabel’s. In fact, over the years, Sabrina had often wondered if she’d imagined that whole scene in the library.

Today, though, she knew she hadn’t. No, her father’s patience with, compassion for and devotion to her mother had been his penance. For Sabrina knew he’d blamed himself for the accident, even though he hadn’t been there and hadn’t caused the accident physically.

Nevertheless, she was sure he felt responsible, because if her mother hadn’t been so upset, she wouldn’t have been foolhardy enough to ignore the warnings and ski in conditions that were less than favorable.

Sabrina sighed. It wasn’t right to judge her mother. Until you walked in another’s shoes, you couldn’t know how you would behave in similar circumstances.

Dad wouldn’t want me to be bitter toward her, she thought. If he were here right now, he’d tell me he was depending on me to be understanding and kind, that Mom will need me now more than ever.

As that realization sank in, Sabrina could feel the weight of the future pressing down upon her. Now she could never leave the newspaper. Never try something different. Never have a life of her own.

After the last of the food had been eaten and all the guests had finally gone home, Leland Fox, her parents’ longtime friend and the family’s lawyer, asked if they were up to going over Ben’s will.

“If you’re too tired today, we can do it another day,” he said gently, smiling down at Isabel.

“No, let’s get it over with.”

Sabrina would have preferred to wait, but the decision was her mother’s, so she settled herself in a chair and waited for Leland to dig the will out of his briefcase.

“I’ll just go give Florence a hand in the kitchen,” Sabrina’s Aunt Irene said. She smiled at Sabrina, then left the room.

There were no surprises in the will. The family home had belonged to Isabel’s parents. After their death, she had bought out Frank’s and Irene’s shares, so the house was already in her name. Her and Ben’s bank accounts and investments were held jointly with survivorship benefits. As for Ben’s company, Sabrina and Isabel already held twenty-four percent of the stock apiece. Of the remaining fifty-two percent, eighteen percent belonged to Bob Culberson, Ben’s general manager, and thirty-four percent was in Ben’s name with the provision that upon his death, any stock held by him would be divided equally between Isabel and Sabrina.

In addition, there were two cash bequests: one to Florence and one to Jennifer Loring, Sabrina’s cousin and the daughter of Irene.

For a few moments, Leland discussed the logistics of transferring money and stock, then he kissed Isabel goodbye and Sabrina walked him to the front door.

As he was putting on his coat, he dropped his voice and said, “Sabrina, could you stop by my office in the morning? I need to see you about a private matter.”

“Of course.” She wanted to question him, but she could see he didn’t want her mother to know about this, so she only said, “What time?”

“Ten?”

“All right.” Standing in the open doorway, she watched as he got into his car and drove off. What could he want that couldn’t be said in front of her mother? A bequest, perhaps, that her father wanted kept secret? That seemed unlikely, but it was all she could think of.

For the rest of the day, as she helped Florence clean up after their guests, as she tended to her mother and helped get her ready for bed, and as she finally had some time to herself and was able to take a soothing bath before climbing into bed in her old room—she was staying at her mother’s for a few days—she thought about Leland Fox’s request and wondered what it involved.

The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over and her mother and aunt were ensconced in the sunroom with a pot of tea and their knitting, Sabrina said she had some errands to run and would be back for lunch. She kissed her mother’s cool cheek with only a twinge of guilt.

She arrived at Leland’s office, conveniently located next to the courthouse in the town square, ten minutes early.

“He’ll be with you shortly,” said Betty Treehorne, his longtime secretary.

Sabrina settled herself on to one of the burgundy leather sofas. Less than five minutes later she was ushered into his office.

“Have a seat, my dear,” Leland said. He stood—a tall man with dark hair turning gray and friendly blue eyes—until she was seated in one of the chairs flanking his desk. Only then did he sit, too. “How are you holding up?”