I hope she’s not up to something, coming here. I mean, she’s not clever. Maybe she wants to talk, you know, kick back and have fun like the good old days. No, that’s not what she wants. She thinks I hurt her dad. She’s just here for her things, with muscle waiting in the driveway. Ha.

As I stand in the kitchen waiting for her to leave, admiring her boyfriend’s biceps as he carries her stuff out to his car, oppressive heat pours from the ceiling vents. My house is out to get me again. I pull out my phone and find the icon for the app I downloaded last night. I thought I’d finally reset all of the thermostats. How can it be blasting heat again?

“Wow, it’s hot in here.” Ashlyn joins me in the kitchen. “Feels like hell.”

I push open the window above the kitchen sink and take a moment to conceal my frustration. “Yes, my thermostats have been on the fritz. And you know your dad. He wanted the smartest of smart homes. I guess it’s just outsmarting me.” I keep the tone light, but I’m seething. And then I get an idea. I’ll put this home on the market. I want a place that no one else has the key to. A place that’s all mine.

“Dad did love technology. You know he has all the apps on his phone. I may be able to help you.” She tilts her head. “Where’s his phone?”

Good question. Where is his phone? I don’t remember seeing it, or thinking about it, since the horribly long and boring memorial service. “It’s probably in my black Gucci. I haven’t used it since the funeral.” I assure myself as much as Ashlyn that I have it. “Do you know the password?”

“Of course.” She leans against the kitchen counter. “Don’t you?”

As a matter of fact I do, how else would I read all his texts? But I’m not telling her that’s the reason. “Of course I do. I’m just talking about the stupid apps, you know, the lights, the temperature, all the smart home stuff. I don’t have those passwords.” Why didn’t I think to find his darn phone sooner? I’ve been busy, and tired. So tired. My stupid house keeps me up all night.

“I know how to get into all the apps. You can go on his phone and turn down the heat. I’ll show you how. Where is it?” She’s persistent, I’ll give her that much. But why would she want to help me?

I’m trying to ignore the fact that his daughter has his app passwords, but his wife doesn’t. Moot point now, I know, but still.

“Let me go search for that purse. I’ll be right back. Is that Seth outside? Do you want to invite him in?”

“No. He’s fine in the car.” She seems to be favoring her left arm.

“Is something wrong with your arm?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head. “Nothing time won’t fix. My car freaked out while I was driving home.”

I keep my expression neutral and say a silent thank you to George. “Wow, that’s scary. You’re lucky you’re not really hurt. Electrical failures are so dangerous.”

“How did you know it was electrical?” Ashlyn asks. I’m not afraid of her. She’s a weenie, with empty threats.

“Just a lucky guess,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

As much as I hate leaving her alone in my kitchen, I need to be able to control my house, and if she can show me how to do it, it’s worth it. I hurry upstairs and pull open the door to my purse closet. Yes, an entire closet just for my purses. Can you even?

I grab the black Gucci and shove my hand inside. It’s empty. Maybe it was the black Chanel? I yank each and every black purse out of the closet and search them. Nothing.

I’m certain the memorial service was the last time I saw it. I’ve been so distracted by other things. Where is his phone? Did someone take his phone?

The familiar anger is beginning to build. I don’t need his damn phone. I’m selling this place soon. Good riddance.

Downstairs Ashlyn stands where I left her. Even if she searched my kitchen, she wouldn’t find anything. I’m not stupid. She’s texting and smiling. Is she making fun of me?

“No luck.”

“What do you mean no luck? You can’t find Dad’s phone?” Ashlyn asks.

I don’t really care where his phone is. I mean, the trade-in value is nothing. Why do I need an old phone around?

“I have no idea. I must have misplaced it. No big deal.” She needs to leave. I’m so tired of her right now. The way she’s looking at me is bothersome.

“He could have EventCo business on that phone, you know, and other secrets.” Ashlyn blinks at me. “At least all of his photos are on the cloud. He was such a great photographer.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes fill.

I need to be sympathetic. I need to be sad, too. “I’m glad you can get to his photos.” I pretend to dab under my eyes as I wonder if he took any photos that last day in Telluride. Or that last night? I need to check. But I don’t know how.

“How do I get to those photos? I’d love to print out some of the best ones of us and frame them.” I am lying, but it sounds good.

Her eyes dart around the kitchen, no doubt noticing there isn’t a single photo in here. None in the other rooms, either. I never took time to print out any of the two of us, although the funeral home did a good job of framing a few for the service. Never really thought it was that important—and I still don’t. But I do wonder if there are any photos from that weekend.

“You go onto iCloud. If he shared his albums with you, you can find them there. I have to go, but um, Tish?” Ashlyn wipes away a tear.

“Yes?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me about my dad’s death?” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m just trying to understand how it could happen. I know you two weren’t getting along. He was going to dump you the night he died.”

“This again? You’re being ridiculous. And I don’t appreciate it. We were enjoying a romantic getaway when his heart attack happened. Sudden cardiac arrest. End of story. Period. Got it?” Ashlyn is on my last nerve.

She sighs. “He was under so much stress, and yet you took him to the mountains, a place where he never felt well.” She shakes her head. “It’s just odd.”

I hate bitchy girls. “We were getting along perfectly fine. He was under a lot of stress, that’s true, but he loved me more than anything or anyone. Including you.”

“You know he sent texts to people that night. Photos, too.” She pulls open the trash bin and spits her gum into it.

“Your dad loved to text.” I smile at her. It’s fake.

“I’m just going to take all the things I care about from my room. I’m moving out. I won’t be coming back here ever again,” she says.

“Good. Good riddance. You can leave your key by the front door.” This chitchat makes me realize I need to find John’s phone and look at his photos. Read through all of his texts.

“No way. This is my house,” she says, which is odd because it’s clearly mine.

“What do you mean this is your house?” I ask.

“Oh, you’ll see. Anyway, will you do me a favor?” Ashlyn turns serious.

“Sure, anything for you.” I lie. The little brat thinks everything is hers. Nothing is.

“Leave my mom alone. Leave the company alone. Leave me alone. Just go away.”

I want to tell her it’s the reverse. That her mommy should leave me alone, just accept the new world order. They all should. But instead, I say, “Why don’t you grab your stuff and get on your way? Now.”

“Sure,” she says and hurries down the hall. A couple of minutes later, she’s carrying a corkboard pinned with photos, concert tickets, memorabilia from a perfect high school life. The spoiled brat doesn’t have any idea how good she has it. She should make sure she has everything she wants from this house, my house. I’ll destroy anything she leaves here.

Ashlyn heads toward the front door and I follow behind, fuming. Here’s the thing—the line between love and hate is so thin. So very precarious. I loved her. I thought we would be a family, the three of us. Silly dreams, Tish. I shake my head.

She stops and turns around. “It’s so hot in here. I don’t know how you deal.”

“I can’t control it. I don’t know where your dad’s phone is. I know there are apps on it. I’m not stupid.” I am, however, yelling. I take a deep breath. That outburst made me sound like an idiot.

“Well, then, I guess you aren’t dealing.” Ashlyn laughs as she walks out the door.

It takes every part of me not to slam the door after her. I march into the kitchen and make a call to Uncle George.

“Hello, sugar pie.” George answers after only one ring. “I took care of the little princess’s car for you.”

“I know, thank you. She’s bruised, her arm’s hurt, but otherwise, she’s fine. I like the warning,” I say. “She still had the nerve to come over here tonight.”

“Gutsy. What did she want?” George asks.

“She said she wanted her stuff from her room, but I think she also was snooping. There wasn’t anything for her to find. Did you deal with my momma?”

“Yes, she understands if she talks to anyone up there again, it won’t turn out well for her. She does want to talk to you,” George says.

“Never.” I shake my head. “I can’t find John’s phone.”

“I don’t know why you need his phone when you have a perfectly good one of your own.” George chuckles. “Getting greedy again are we, Tish?”