“You’ve told us this, like, ten times. We get it,” replied Maggie, rolling her eyes like a teenager, which was probably why Tricia was treating her like one. “And I think Liza and I can handle asking a few questions ourselves. She’s our half-sister, too.”

“Oh, please. This isn’t about sisterhood. She’s a journalist and we don’t know how she’s going to process all of this,” Tricia explained, sweeping her hands around the room to mean the legacy of the deep relationship between Cap and Bill Sweeney, and the cozy relationship that the three of them had with Cap and all the people at Richardson & Blix (except Blix, who’d been dead for decades). “She could have a story online tomorrow about her true parentage. For all we know, she’s been working on something for months, so let’s not get all ‘Oh, she’s my sister.’ She’s probably on the hunt for a story, not a sister.”

Rose, the firm’s administrative assistant and one of Tricia’s classmates in elementary school, popped her head in the door. “Serena Tucker is here.”

Cap stood and straightened his tie. “Please show her in, Rose.”

Because of her work, Serena had walked into rooms with high-ranking diplomats and generals. She’d met with war lords, Nobel Peace Prize laureates, even Pope John Paul II as a young reporter on a pool trip to the Vatican. But nothing had quite prepared her for this moment, knowingly meeting her three sisters for the first time. She had watched tearful family reunions on daytime television for years as she’d killed time in hotel rooms before an evening press event. This was not going to be that, she knew. The sterile law office setting and the formal greeting from Cap Richardson made that clear. Even still, the emotion, the prick of tears, surprised her as she entered.

She had been so nervous about making the right impression that she had made a last-minute shopping trip to Main Street in fashionable Westport to buy something, anything that wasn’t black, even if it was overpriced (which it was). She found a charcoal gray sheath dress, a Marimekko scarf, and a dark jean jacket that looked less severe than her usual uniform of black pants, black sweater or T-shirt, black leather jacket, or black Patagonia

down vest. As part of the print media, she didn’t have to worry about looking good on camera, so she dressed functionally, as if at any moment an international crisis might break out and she’d have to run for cover. But today, for this meeting, she wanted to put aside her reporter instincts and be in the moment. New clothes helped her do that.

She entered the conference room with false confidence, taking in the scene: Tricia, at the far end of the table, in a blue suit jacket, hair up in a messy bun, smart glasses pushed up on her forehead and lips done in deep rose lipstick, looking like a TV lawyer, sitting in front of a legal pad with notes on it already; Maggie, wearing a peasant blouse and her hair up in a scarf, could have been headed to the farmers’ market; and Liza was suburban chic in one of those floral print dresses that all young mothers seemed to live in, but Serena had no idea where they could be purchased.

These are my sisters. She hoped she could find her voice. “Hello, it’s good to see you again. I’m Serena Tucker.”

Liza and Maggie stood up to greet her. Maggie reached her first and gave her an authentic hug, enveloping her in warmth and her signature scent of orange blossoms. (“I’m a citrus,” Maggie had announced when she’d returned home from California. “I had my essence analyzed and I’m a tangy sweet citrus fruit.”) Serena responded in kind with a real hug. Liza stepped in with a cooler version of Maggie’s embrace, but as she pulled away, she smiled, her eyes bright with emotion. “This is quite a surprise. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Serena responded to Liza’s light touch. She relaxed as she made her way to a seat at the far end of the table.

Tricia stood up and reached across the wide table to shake Serena’s hand.

“Thanks for coming in today. It’s very helpful to meet face-to-face.” Serena could appreciate Tricia’s manner. She had used the veneer of politeness many times in her career when interviewing celebrities or well-known political leaders. Being hyper-professional helped Serena to avoid getting sucked into their charisma vortex. Tricia was using the same tactic.

“Of course,” Serena replied, settling into her chair and wondering where the conversation would go from here.

But she didn’t have long to process as Tricia jumped in. “So, Serena, we thought we’d start by giving you an update on everything that’s happening now with the estate, covering the legal issues first. Then we’re happy to answer any questions you may have. Obviously, this is an unexpected

situation for us and not something we anticipated when we arrived in Southport, so feel free to jot down any thoughts on the pad in front of you and we can address them at the end.”

Liza and Maggie locked eyes. This was so Tricia, managing the conversation as she had outlined in advance to her sisters. Tricia insisted on a scripted opening, while Maggie and Liza wanted a more organic interaction. “Why don’t we feel the moment and see what works?” Maggie had suggested to which Tricia responded, “That’s a terrible idea.” Tricia won and then brought along her own yellow pads to prove it. Maggie caught Liza’s eye, mouthing the words, Here she goes.

But Serena surprised them all by cutting off Tricia’s opening statement with her own. “I hope you don’t mind, but before we get to anything formal, I wanted to let you know how much I’ve always admired your family from afar. I know we weren’t great friends and our families weren’t close, but I could hear the sounds of laughter and music next door and thought of how lucky you all were to grow up in a house like that. Your mother was beautiful, a lovely person. I was sorry for her passing at such a young age. She always had something kind to say to me. I admired her spirit and loved running into her at the market or anywhere in the village.

She was different, special. And your father, I admired his work so much and have read or reread almost everything he’s ever written since . . .” Serena stumbled for the right phrase. “. . . since I’ve known. He was a brilliant writer. I really wish I’d had a chance to speak to him before his death, but we hadn’t been able to set up a time. It would have meant the world to me.”

None of the sisters could respond to Serena’s last statement, knowing that their father never intended to acknowledge Serena publicly, or even in private, during his lifetime. They each sat quietly, avoiding her eyes. No one felt the need to tell her the truth. She took the silence as an invitation to continue.

“But my most vivid memories of him are on Halloween every year when he dressed up like King Lear with that smoking cauldron, and your mother with the eye of newt bit. I always saved your house for last because it was so magical. I know this isn’t what any of you anticipated, but I hope you understand how much I admired your family and am honored to be a part of it.”

Maggie dropped her head and let out a sob; Liza stared straight ahead, trying hard not to cry. The Halloween memory got them in the gut, the

recollection of their father embracing the holiday, playing the part of the disillusioned king with gusto and their mother dressed as a terrible witch, stirring the cauldron and serving hot apple cider and doughnuts to the brave souls who wandered down their long, dark driveway. Amidst the sadness and sickness in the house some years, Halloween was the one day where everyone rallied. It wasn’t as if Maggie and Liza had forgotten, they simply hadn’t remembered the wonder of that day in years.

Tricia, on the other, kept her head, thinking to herself, Damn, she’s good.

Serena let the revelations of the will wash over her. Cap presented the details and Tricia provided additional information when necessary. Serena had called a lawyer friend on the premise of researching a story and understood what her rights were before she walked into the conference room, but was flabbergasted that she was mentioned in the will. All she had wanted was to meet with William Sweeney. Her intention was never to go after any part of the estate. But now, her journalist’s skepticism emerged.

Why would Bill Sweeney refuse to meet her, but include her in his will?

But her only response was, “I’m truly shocked and humbled by this. I never expected to be named an heir. I will do my best to work with all of you on this.”