“She sure did.” Paul nodded.

Flynn was only five feet, eight inches tall, but Nessa was even shorter. Her curly red hair was pulled up on top of her head, adding about three inches, with springy curls going every which way. She marched across the floor with the same no-nonsense expression he remembered her having when they were kids. The sunlight coming through the window lit up every one of the hundred freckles on her square face, a face the same shape as Nanny Lucy’s. He hadn’t seen Nessa since Nanny Lucy’s funeral six months ago, but his cousin hadn’t changed a bit. She gave the impression that she could spit in a charging bull’s eye without hesitation.

April was a different matter. She was only four months younger than Nessa, but she looked ten years older. She’d always been tall and thin, but today her clothes hung on her like a burlap bag on a broomstick. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, but a few strands had escaped to stick to the sweat on her narrow face, and her green eyes looked haunted as they darted around the restaurant. She finally managed a weak smile when she locked eyes with Flynn. He hadn’t seen her in at least ten years, and she’d definitely changed—a lot.

“Sorry I’m late. I got stuck in construction traffic around Wichita Falls.” Nessa pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“And I’m running on a prayer and four bald tires, so I didn’t dare go very fast.” April sighed as she slid into a chair beside Nessa.

“So this is it, Mr. Jones,” Nessa said. “Is Daddy still cussin’ you through his lawyer? He’s tried every way in the world to find a loophole to appeal this will.”

“Please, call me Paul. There are no loopholes. Miz Lucy O’Riley made sure of that when she had me draw it up,” he said, “and you ladies aren’t late. We’ve only been here a few minutes.” He adjusted his bifocals and focused on April. “You’re the youngest one of the grandchildren, right?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m April, born in that month. Nessa was born in January, and Flynn on the last day of February, so I’m just barely the youngest, and I’m pleased to meet you.” April’s eyes seemed to be glued to the last bite of pie on Paul’s plate.

“Do y’all want a cup of coffee or a fried pie?” Flynn asked. “I’m going to wait until we get done here before I order.”

“I’ll wait, but I am hungry. I skipped lunch so I wouldn’t be too late,” Nessa said.

“I’d like a sweet tea,” April said.

Flynn caught the waitress’s attention and ordered tea for April and refills for Paul and himself.

“Are we ready, then?” Paul handed each of them a folder. “This is a copy of her will. In simple language, it says that you three grandchildren inherit her entire estate to be held jointly, which is the two-bedroom house, her quilting shed, the four and a half acres that it sits on, and everything in the house. The property cannot be sold. She wanted it to always be there in case one of you needed a place to live or just wanted to use it for a vacation home. There is a quilt in the frame out in her work shed, and before any of you can leave, you have to hand-quilt it. She was adamant about that part of the will. It cannot be quilted on the sewing machine. If any of you fail to work together, then you forfeit your third to the other two.” He flipped through a few more papers. “There is a hope chest, also known as a cedar chest, that you will put the quilt in when it is completed. That hope chest is now in the care of Jackson Devereaux, her friend and nearest neighbor, and it will remain in his care until one of you gets married. The person who marries first inherits the chest. Jackson also has the key to the hope chest and will open it for you when the quilt is finished. You can see whatever is inside when you open it, and at that time, the contents will belong to you three grandchildren. She didn’t even tell me what’s in the chest, so it will be your surprise.”

“It’s probably some of her extra pillowcases,” Nessa said.

“Or maybe she kept all her money in there rather than burying it in quart jars out in the backyard.” Flynn chuckled. She had to have money hidden somewhere. She’d lived frugally and sold her quilts and quilt kits for a high price, so what had she done with the profits?

“What if we don’t give a damn about the hope chest or what’s in it?” April asked.

“That’s your choice, but I would advise you strongly to at least finish that quilt and find out what Lucy has left you. Now, the last thing we need to consider is her car. It is part of the estate and cannot be sold. The keys are on this ring with the house key.” He handed the ring to Nessa and then laid out a stack of papers with yellow, red, and blue tabs. “Each of you need to sign on every sheet. This is acknowledging that I have explained the terms of the will and that you are accepting them. April, you are yellow. Flynn, you are blue. And Vanessa, red.”

Nessa picked up the pen first and began flipping pages and signing on the appropriate lines. “What if none of us want to leave at the end of the quilting stuff?” She tucked an errant strand of curly red hair behind her ear as if focused on the document, but her steely blue eyes floated in tears.

Leave it to Nessa to ask that question. She’d always been Nanny Lucy’s favorite of the three, even when she rebelled against her father’s strict religion and did not marry the guy he had picked out for her. Nessa looked like Lucy and was the daughter of her favorite child.

“Then I suggest you learn to live together in harmony,” Paul answered as he pulled envelopes from his briefcase.

“Did she leave any money at all?” April asked as she took her turn with the pen.

That’s April, Flynn thought. When Nanny Lucy’s only daughter, Rachel, died just four days after April was born, Granny had taken her in and raised her, given her a home until she graduated from high school and moved to San Antonio to live with a group of her friends. She had been a pretty little girl with a round face and blonde hair, but from the looks of her now, life had not been too good to her.

“There’s a thousand-dollar check for each of you up front,” Paul informed them. “Beginning today, you will be responsible for the electric bill. I’ve taken care of having the bill put in Nessa’s name. Y’all can figure out how you want to split the payment. The propane tank is full, and the water comes straight from a well. I’m not sure what there is in the house in the way of food. She died quite suddenly, as you all know.” Paul passed the three envelopes around, one to each of them.

“On Christmas Day.” April wiped a tear from her cheek with the sleeve of her chambray shirt. “I didn’t even get to come to the funeral.”

“That’s on you.” Nessa glared at her. “I tried to get in touch with you.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” April said. “You’re not God. I lost my job, got kicked out of my apartment, and was living in my car with no phone. Not all of us—”

Nessa’s finger shot up so fast it was a blur. “Don’t start with that poor, poor, pitiful me crap. It’s not like I was royalty. I worked hard to get my teaching degree. I’ve taken care of myself since I was eighteen and Daddy cut me off. Granny raised you herself, so you had it better than me or Flynn, either one.”