“This sucks,” Charity whispered.
“It does. All of this.” She glanced at her sister. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Of course.” Her mischievous grin warned Felicity her sister was up to no good. “Did you really think I’d miss an opportunity to see her stuff? I mean, come on, she was a husband-stealing bitch, but her wardrobe was always on point.”
Charity had easily revealed her initial obsessive rage over Matt’s desertion. He’d been a big part of her life, too, so she’d unabashedly stalked Matt and his other woman on social media for a while.
Apparently, Amber posted selfies and happy family pictures daily, adding little digs here and there about landing her doctor, how expensive her upcoming wedding was going to be, and her always impressive record-breaking pharmaceutical sales.
“You know you can’t have any of her clothes.” Felicity glanced at her sister. “Right?”
“Felicity, come on. I won’t keep them all.” She batted her eyes. “Honor could have the rest. She’d be the best-dressed freshman on campus.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “No.” Selfish or not, the idea of bringing Amber’s things into her home was more than she could handle right now. Besides, she wasn’t here for clothes or, much to Charity’s disappointment, reconnaissance. This was about Jack. With any luck, they’d be in and out before her anxiety got the best of her—or Charity managed to sneak out part of Amber’s wardrobe.
“At least think about it,” she pleaded.
She didn’t say a word. Arguing with her sister never ended well for her.
“I’ll take the silence as a maybe.” Charity sighed. “Has anyone been located? Amber’s family, I mean. Anyone at all?”
“No one.” Felicity swallowed. “Matt’s friend Robert Klein, Rob the lawyer, is looking into it.”
“Rob Klein? The one Mom slips into conversation whenever possible? Single. Handsome. Ready to settle down.She’s not even trying to be subtle.” Charity shook her head. “Wait, Rob was white-teeth guy? Matt’s golfing buddy? I remember the teeth.”
“Yes.” Felicity smiled. “About the golfing. I don’t remember the teeth.”
“How is that possible?” Charity asked. “Other than that, he was sorta cute. Too bad he’s a lawyer.”
Felicity wasn’t sure what to make of that, so she picked up the original thread of conversation. “Anyway, he’s trying to track down anyone connected with Amber. With the reading of the will coming up, it’s important to have Matt’s…Jack’s family present.”
The elevator doors opened, and Charity stepped out, pulling the cart behind her. But Felicity froze. There was nothing right about this. Nothing.
“We’re in and out,” Charity said, holding out her hand. “You can do this, sis.”
Felicity stared at her sister. “I can.” But it was more a question than anything else.
Charity nodded. “Totally.”
Felicity blew out a deep breath, took her sister’s hands, and let Charity pull her down the hall to the door that read 503. She froze again, staring at the gilded numbers on the door.
“Let me.” Charity pried the keys from her fingers, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. “I’ll go first.” She paused. “If you want, I can get everything, Filly—”
“No.” Enough. It was just a room, an empty space. She had to stop letting the past affect her. Especially now that everything was different. “This is ridiculous. I’m fine.” Still, it was hard to walk over the threshold.
“Holy shit.” Charity was already hurrying across the completely white living room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Talk about a view.”
Felicity was too busy wondering how they managed to keep everything white with a toddler running around. There were no toys, no babyproofing, no books—no sign that a toddler lived here. It was gorgeous, in a stark Architectural Digest sort of way. High ceilings. Open concept. A massive abstract painting over a fireplace—a white marble fireplace. “It’s very white,” she murmured. And cold.
Charity laughed. “It’s sophisticated, Filly.”
Felicity shrugged and headed into the kitchen. The kitchen was the heart of her home—the place they all congregated on stools and around her beloved wooden farm table. This was all clean lines and chrome. It looked pokey.
She pulled the cart behind her, opening cabinets and drawers, pulling out all the child-size utensils, bowls, sippy cups, bottles, and bibs she could find, filling one grocery bag to the top. The refrigerator was empty, minus a few jars of organic baby food and some almond milk. Was the almond milk for Jack? Did he have digestive issues? Matt didn’t. That left Jack. Or Amber.
“Charity,” she called out. “We need to find Jack’s vaccination records. And any medical stuff—his pediatrician’s name would be even better.” The steel front of the refrigerator was blank, no magnets, no notes, nothing. “His birth certificate. All that stuff.”
“Maybe in her office?” Charity called back. “Looks like she worked from home a lot. I’ll see what I can find.”