The air felt like sticky cotton.
"To my grandson, I give my sailing boat, Balloon-"
Gwen fanned herself lightly with a real estate pamphlet. Behind the lawyer's high-backed chair, she could just see the vast miles of meadowland, stretching far, far back, so she could just barely make out its foggy contact with the mountains. At this distance, the great peaks were reduced to a thin blue line on the horizon.
"-mother, I give all of my silverware, so she may better entertain her guests-"
A tall, blonde-haired woman with fading blue eyes frowned slightly. Gwen was careful to avoid her gaze; her mother-in-law had a certain passive asperity about her, which was all the more evident when she was displeased. That displeasure would triple if Gwen so much as cracked a smile. This was a very serious occasion, after all.
"-and to my wife, Gwen-"
Gwen leaned forward in her chair.
"-I hereby give all forty-nine acres of my land on the West Key, farmed and unfarmed, to do with as she may."
Success. Gwen nodded and rested her back against her chair, the victory bittersweet. Almost reflexively, she glanced back at her husband's mother, and just as quickly faced front, her hands shaking.
Her eyes.
No, it had to have been a trick of the light. With a deep breath, Gwen looked at her mother-in-law again. A pale, semi-wrinkled face stared back at her, faint blue eyes sharp as daggers and cold as ice.
Well, that was more normal. Gwen nodded her head respectfully and shifted to look at the lawyer, who had begun to speak in strictly legal jargon, made all the more incomprehensible by a thick, weary drawl clinging to his words.
"Sir," Gwen interrupted at last. He didn't respond at first.
"Sir," she repeated, and he blinked lazily. She swallowed and stood. "I really appreciate all you're doing, but this is - this is all too much for me. I think I'll head home, now. As long as that's okay with Mrs. June?" She said, looking at her mother-in-law with only as much nerve as she dared.
Mrs. June's eyes didn't flicker gold. They didn't suddenly sharpen into a freaky three-dimensional Gwen-didn't-even-know-what. They were just as quietly furious as ever, storming blues behind a thick, off-white fog.
"Yes, dear. Have a safe trip home. We'll meet again tomorrow morning, here, around nine. Does that sound appropriate?" Her mother-in-law even managed a thin-lipped smile, but it didn't touch her eyes.
The lawyer settled in his chair with a low grunt.
"Tomorrow, nine," he avowed, slapping his bulging stomach with finality. "Have a nice rest. It's not easy recovering from such a loss, but I'll do my best to cushion the blow."
"Thank you again, Mr. Evanson," Mrs. June said, though her voice was tight. Gwen resisted an eyeroll.
The ride on the train was awkward, to say the least.
Mrs. June sat primly in one of the cushioned white chairs, next to an ugly gray stain that looked suspiciously like porridge. Gwen had taken the advantage of being the first one on the train to offer the seat to the older woman, and Mrs. June had complied very politely. It seemed that grief, while sharpening the woman's severe nature, had at the same time cut off her critical tongue with all the precision of an abscission, leaving a wrecked woman with no way to speak.
Regardless, Gwen had then felt compelled to stand rather awkwardly in the aisle while other people filled in the remaining seats around her. When all was said and done, she was standing alone, one hand on the metal pole to steady herself, the other hand still lightly waving the pamphlet, although the continuous, athwart motion had rendered the humid-heavy papers rather limp. She stopped and tucked the pamphlet into her bag, feeling more self-conscious by the minute. Mrs. June stared fixedly ahead at nothing, her mouth frozen in a frown, her posture stiff and straight.
"Mrs. June," Gwen said after a while, aware that her delicate voice was difficult to hear over the roar of the engines and the low hum of conversation, "I was thinking, perhaps we should go out for tea sometime. I know this lovely little cafe next to Kelly's old bookstore, it's very small and not very well-known, I'm sure you would love the place." She paused, then continued. "They don't simply sell tea. They serve sandwiches and pastries as well. Their brownies are absolutely to die for-"
"Thank you, dear," Mrs. June said coldly, "but I think I'll not be going out so soon after my son's death." She flickered her gaze upward, so she was staring directly into Gwen's eyes. "I feel it would be... disrespectful to his memory." She smiled lightly, the expression looking only slightly out of place. "Of course, I am simply an old woman. Don't concern yourself with such silly ideas."
Gwen had the feeling she was being mocked, but held her tongue.
"Of course," she said. "I respect your decision."
Another long, awkward silence followed. Gwen ran her fingers through her long, fair hair, and shook out her long locks. Vanilla-orange scent spilled out, and she inhaled it gratefully. Home.
"Miss," a deep, silky-smooth voice said from her elbow. She turned to see a goofy-looking man, with messy, blonde hair, clear green eyes, and a stunningly lopsided grin. His white button-down was dressed up by a blue vest, his pants were dressed up by his shiny black shoes, and his eyes were dressed up by a pair of gold, wire-rim glasses.
Overall, he was exactly Gwen's type.
"Miss," he said, and held out a small pink slip. "I believe you dropped this." A rich accent flowed through his words.
"Thank you," she said, and took it, instinctively brushing her hand against his when they exchanged the note. He smiled pleasantly at her.
"You're welcome," he said, and then his expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look, but that paper - your name is Gwen June?"
Damn.
"Yes," she said. She turned her gaze to the ground, making sure her long, dark eyelashes were clearly displayed. "Widow to Noah June."
His voice sank.
"Oh, Miss June, I'm very sorry," he said. "Please, don't think I was trying anything-"
Goddamnit I know you were and now you think I'm not interested damn damn damn-
"No, it's quite all right," she said. "You couldn't have known."
"If there's anything I can do-"
How about me?
She smiled gratefully at him.
"Here, how about you meet me for tea tomorrow," she said. "At Le Petit Miao?"
He looked somewhat uncomfortable.
"Are you sure that's all right?"
"Yes, I need to get my mind off - things," she said, fluttering a hand carelessly. He smiled back, hesitantly.
"All right. My name's Jonah, by the way. Jonah Stark."
"Gwen June," Gwen said politely, and shook his hand.
"Ahem."
Gwen glanced up. Mrs. June was staring directly at her, her eyes a deep, glimmering gold, and swimming with what looked like miles and miles of sharp-edged gears.
"You whore," Mrs. June said. Jonah looked affronted.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said. "I'm sorry for any confusion. My name's Jonah Stark, and-"
"You're a selfish bastard," Mrs. June said. "And you, Gwen, sweetie," she pointed one long, bony finger at Gwen. "You are a whore."
"Mrs. June!" Gwen gasped at last. "Your eyes-"
Jonah blinked. "What's wrong with her eyes?"
Mrs. June's mouth curved wickedly, exposing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. Her eyes began to fill in with inky darkness, as though oil were welling to the surface from some deep pit.
"Gwen," she said. "The June Ascendant, as it were..." Her eyes filled in completely. "I know you killed him. Meet you in hell, you murderous bitch."
Blood, everywhere.
Darkness.
The train jolted, and Gwen's eyes snapped open.
"Miss," a voice said from behind her elbow. The voice was deep, smooth, and had a familiar, rich accent to it that flowed oh-so-neatly with its words. Gwen glanced to look at Mrs. June.
The old woman winked.
