“Come on, Trent. Let’s unload and we’ll drop you at the coffee shop while we go over to the bank.”

He smiles. “Hell, yeah. Hot chicks are always in there.”

I just grin and shake my head. I notice my sister roll her eyes.

***

Serena and I file into the conference room with Hale Reed behind us—box in hand. He’s been our family’s attorney for as long as I can remember. He’s been in and out of the hospital so it’s understandable that we haven’t connected until now. My sister takes a seat at the table and I choose to stand at the window. Hale sets the box down and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, along with a pair of reading glasses. He clears his throat. “Serena and Ben,” he says, as he slips his glasses on and then unfolds the document in his hand. “This is your mother’s will. She hadn’t updated it in a while. It was drafted more than ten years ago, but I am confident these were still her wishes.”

I lean back against the sill and thump my fingers nervously on it.

He unlocks the box and takes out a dark blue bankbook. I walk over and glance in the metal case to see if it contains anything else, but there’s nothing there.

“Hale, what’s with the formality of meeting us for a bankbook? I already have all her account information. Ben and I just haven’t sat down yet to figure it all out,” Serena inquires.

“No, Serena, you don’t have everything. I manage this account. I’m the trustee.”

“Okay, why?” Serena asks.

He clears his throat again. “This account contains a ten million dollar settlement fund issued to your mother. She never touched the principle; but rather she lived off the interest. Your father didn’t have life insurance, so this was how she supported you both. Every year since the year your father died, I’ve dispersed the interest to her but she never wanted more. She said it was for you both.”

My mouth drops and Serena pales. I make my way to the table and sit next to my sister and take her hand in mine. I’m speechless. Ten million dollars. How could we not have known this?

There are sounds sputtering out of Serena’s mouth, but none are comprehensible. I make an effort to speak. “Hale, why would our mother have ten million dollars from a settlement? And why wouldn’t she tell us?”

He slides the box to the side and pushes the stack of papers toward us. “Ben, Serena, a couple of weeks after your father’s death his boat was found.”

My heart pounds at the news. “Was he alive?” I ask.

“No, son, he wasn’t. The boat was new and when he took it out and tried to raise the sail, one of the lines malfunctioned. Faulty mechanics—so the company stated.”

I look at him feeling terrorized by this news and squeeze my sister’s hand tighter.

“He was . . . ,” he pauses before saying, “hung by the sail’s ropes.”

I don’t say anything, I can’t.

Serena’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God, my Daddy,” Serena cries.

I hear a voice that I think is mine comforting my sister. I pull her to me and hold her. After a few moments I lean away and look at Hale. “Why wouldn’t Mom have told us?”

“She didn’t want her children to picture their Dad the way you are right now.”

I nod and draw my sister back in to my arms. All the while hushing her cries and trying to will away my own.

***

The shock took us both a while to absorb. Over the past few weeks we discussed in detail why Mom would never have touched the money. All we could surmise was that she didn’t need it. We’d talk about our parents again and again and how lucky we were to have had them. We talked about Dad’s surf shop and our parents’ love for each other. We talked and helped each other through the rough spots. It took us months to be able to go back to the bank and transfer the money into three separate accounts—per my mother’s will. But we did it last week. And now, as we sit together at the kitchen table in the house we grew up in, we watch through the glass as fireworks shoot off into the dark sky and the country celebrates Independence Day.

Trent closes the pizza box in shock. “We’re f**king rich?” he asks.

Serena snaps her head toward him and my eyes dart to his.

“Trent!” we both say.

He shrugs. “We are,” he answers.

We hadn’t told him about the money when we first learned about it. We both needed to wrap our heads around it first. And also, truth be told, we were watching him, looking for signs of any possible relapse. But there were none—he was clean and as far as I can tell, he was going to stay that way.

Serena reaches across the table and pushes the hair from his eyes before putting both her hands on his face. “Honey, we are not anything. That money has been split between the three of us as Grandma wished, but yours will be put in trust until after you finish college.”

“But, Mom . . .”

“No buts, Trent. After college we’ll discuss your best investment opportunities.”

He stands up and tosses the paper plates in the trash. “For the record, you should know I think that sucks.”

“Trent . . .”

I leave my sister and nephew to argue about the fairness of having money and not being able to spend it. I pass through the family room and see that the TV is on. The news report catches my attention. Bass called me earlier and informed me about the news. But I still stop in my tracks to watch the reporter share the details.