Tears filled his eyes and Carlie felt her own eyes sting again. She had been named for this man, her mother’s beloved older brother. Except for her twin sisters and their sons, Carlton Burke was her only remaining relative. A retired attorney who had taken too many pro bono cases to amass a fortune, he was almost twenty years older than Mom and the closest thing to a grandfather the three sisters ever had. Carlie adored him.
‘‘Mom left this house to me?’’ She looked past the archway of the dining room where they sat to the front parlor, now denuded of its rosewood chairs and antique dollhouse, and tried not to feel a surge of hope. After her father’s death, his pension and a series of part-time jobs had enabled her mother to continue living in the two-story Victorian house and finish raising Carlie. Unlike for her two older sisters, though, college for Carlie had meant student loans and working every minute she could spare from the books. Two days after she graduated with a degree in French medieval history, her mother had stepped out in front of a delivery truck without looking and was thrown into the path of an oncoming car. Both drivers were horrified and remorseful, but clearly not at fault. It was assumed that Genevieve Andrews had been on her way to the nearby bodega, full of hope and optimism, to buy her weekly lottery tickets.
Carlie had planned to work a year before going on to grad school. Instead, she had spent the last five weeks shuttling back and forth between the hospital where her mother lay in a coma and the house where Buster, Mom’s elderly dog, needed daily insulin shots.
Mary and Marsha both wept and then excused themselves for not pitching in more. ‘‘Our jobs. Our sons. Our husbands. Oh, it’s so lucky that you’re still unencumbered, Carlie.’’
Trying not to feel bitter, Carlie took a deep breath. The house was shabby now. It needed paint and a new roof, and the plumbing was unreliable. All the same, if it truly was hers to sell, then maybe she could register for fall classes immediately instead of waiting a year. Or maybe she would even spend this year studying in France.
Uncle Carlton shook his silver mane regretfully. ‘‘I’m sorry, honey. You’ll be lucky to get enough to pay her debts. And it’s all my fault. I should have written another will for Genevieve.’’
‘‘I don’t understand. You just said the house was mine.’’
‘‘It is. When I wrote the will after your dad died, the twins were out of college and she knew it was going to be a struggle for you to go. The house was appraised at a quarter million back then, so she left fifty thousand to each of your sisters and the rest- including all the contents of the house-to you. She thought you would end up with at least a hundred and fifty thousand.’’
‘‘But if the house is only worth half that now?’’
‘‘I wasn’t thinking, Carlie. Instead of a dollar amount, I should have phrased it so that your sisters each got a fifth and you got three-fifths.’’
Carlie had always been good at mental math. ‘‘That’s okay, Uncle Carlton. Maybe the house is worth more than you think. And even if it isn’t, that still leaves me with… what? Twenty-five thousand?’’
Again he shook his head. ‘‘Not after all her medical bills and funeral expenses are paid. Well, maybe your sisters will be fair-minded about the situation.’’
They both sighed then, knowing just how unlikely that was.
‘‘Oh, Carlie, how perfectly awful for you,’’ said Marsha when the will was read to them after the funeral two days later.
‘‘The fair and equitable thing would be to sell the house and its contents and split anything left over after your mother’s debts are paid,’’ said Uncle Carlton.
‘‘I wish we didn’t have to take the money,’’ said Mary, ‘‘but the boys will be starting college themselves in a few years.’’
It was no less than he had expected. Nevertheless, he was disappointed by their self-centeredness and fixed them both with a stern eye. ‘‘Just remember that the things you took from the house belong to Carlie, and she’s going to need every penny for her own education. You must return them immediately or else pay her their worth.’’
‘‘But Mom always said I was to have her silver and her diamond pin,’’ Mary protested.
‘‘And she promised me those rosewood chairs and her gold bracelets,’’ said Marsha with a stubborn look on her face.
Under different circumstances, a widowed and childless uncle might have wielded considerable influence, but a widowed and childless uncle who barely had enough to live on? When Carlie was his favorite? They would never be openly disrespectful, but as far as they were concerned, he could whistle down the wind.
‘‘It’s okay,’’ said Carlie, who hoped to avoid a rift with her sisters. ‘‘But I do want the dollhouse back.’’
‘‘Of course, sweetie,’’ said Mary, prepared to be gracious and sisterly now that talk of fairness was behind them.
‘‘We’ll even send the boys over to help you clear the house,’’ said Marsha. ‘‘They can start by getting rid of all the junk mail Mom saved. Coupons and contest forms stuffed in every cranny. ‘You may already be a winner!’ Right. And I may already be the queen of England. Do you think she was getting a little senile?’’
‘‘There was nothing wrong with your mother’s mind,’’ Uncle Carlton said sharply.
‘‘But all those magazine subscriptions from Publishers Clearing House? Come on, Uncle Carlton! Who needs twenty magazines coming into the house every month? She gave me three trial subscriptions for Christmas.’’
‘‘I know,’’ said Carlie, sensing how much their cynicism cut at the old man. ‘‘I told her that she didn’t have to buy anything to enter their sweepstakes, but she thought that increased her chances.’’
‘‘Did she honestly believe that the Prize Patrol was going to show up on her doorstep someday with a check for a million dollars?’’ asked Mary.
‘‘Hope springs eternal,’’ Carlie said lightly. ‘‘You know Mom. Remember how happy she was when the lottery finally passed last year?’’
Marsha rolled her eyes. ‘‘Not half as happy as I was. No more weird magazines. My birthday card had five scratch-off cards in it this time. I actually won seven dollars.’’
‘‘I won twelve with the ones in my card,’’ Mary said smugly.
‘‘Lucky for us that she was such a penny-ante gambler,’’ said Marsha. ‘‘I was afraid she might get in over her head, spend her grocery money on Powerball tickets.’’
‘‘No,’’ said Carlie. ‘‘Five dollars a week was her limit. She loved checking her tickets against the winning numbers. Remember how close she came to the jackpot back in January?’’
For a moment, they were united in the memory of their mother’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes as she told them how she had held her breath when the first five numbers precisely matched the first five on her ticket. How certain she’d been that it was her lucky day.
‘‘Eleven million dollars,’’ Carlie sighed, thinking of France.
‘‘The new jackpot’s fifty-three million,’’ said Marsha, equally wistful.
‘‘Split four ways,’’ the ever-practical Mary reminded her.
‘‘That’s still over thirteen million apiece,’’ said Carlie, doing the math in her head. ‘‘Wonder why the fourth person hasn’t come forward to claim it? It’s been at least three weeks since they announced the winning number.’’
‘‘Probably consulting an investment banker first,’’ said Uncle Carlton. ‘‘Taxes are going to take a big chunk and if they don’t have a game plan in place, the rest will melt away before they know it.’’
‘‘I’ve heard that every leech you’ve ever met comes crawling out of the woodwork,’’ said Mary as she gathered up her things to go. ‘‘ ‘I shared my candy bar with you in kindergarten, so why don’t you give me a half million for old times’ sake?’ I read about one man who won forty million and was broke and back on welfare three years later. If I ever won, I wouldn’t tell a soul.’’