The Billionaire Next Door(63)

He nodded. “Yeah, but it’s okay. We don’t want the house.”



Which, evidently, Lizzie didn’t, either. God, she was just giving the thing away?



The lawyer looked up from reviewing the power of attorney.



“This is all in order.” He glanced at Billy. “Do you have the final bill from the hospital stay when he passed?”



Billy blinked. He couldn’t believe Lizzie was giving an entire house away.



Dr. Roberts leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “I want you to know that your father’s going to be remembered at our health center. The endowment is going to be called the Edward O’Banyon Fund. At Lizzie’s request.”



Son of a bitch.





***




Later that afternoon, Lizzie had all but finished packing up her apartment. As she wasn’t officially moving out for another three days, she left her clothes in the dresser and in the closet, but pretty much everything else was in boxes.



She couldn’t wait to get out of the duplex.



Her new place was on the dark side of Beacon Hill, a stone’s throw from Mass General, where she’d found a job as a floor nurse in the surgical intensive care unit.



Like the studio apartment she’d rented, her new job was going to be fine. She knew a couple of the folks she’d be working with and they were good people. Also, her supervisor had an excellent reputation and had seemed really great throughout the interview process. Of course, she’d much rather have stayed with the community center, but she hadn’t lost that connection. She volunteered there on Saturday mornings.



So it had all worked out.



For the most part.



Unfortunately, no amount of positive news got her mind off Sean. Memories of him were shadows that lurked in her thoughts. She remained angry and frustrated, but there were other things she felt, too. Sadness. Loneliness.



Except she had to let it all go, let him go. There was no getting over what he’d said to her or what he’d assumed she’d done. No healing that breach of trust. Besides, he had walked away without looking back. She needed to do the same.



It was so hard, though.



When her phone started ringing, she picked it up. “Hello?”



Her mother’s voice was curiously level. “Lizzie?”



“Hi, Mom.” When there was just silence on the other end, she frowned. “Mom? Are you okay?”



“Yes, Lizzie-fish. It’s just…the oddest thing has happened.”



“What?” Oh God. “Mom? You there?”



“Someone likes my pottery.”



Lizzie deflated from relief. And exhaustion. “That’s great, Mom.”



“They really like it.”



“I can see why.” Unlike a lot of her mother’s “work,” the pottery was gorgeous, both decorative and functional. The vases were all flowing, organic lines; the mugs wistful and quirky; the plates uneven and charming. When Lizzie had seen some of it during her overnight trip to Essex, the first thing she’d thought was that the objects were just like her mother: beautiful and fey and somehow not of this world.#p#分页标题#e#



“Well, the someone wants to sell them, Lizzie.”



“Boy, wouldn’t that be great.” A little extra money was always good. “Is it the little craft store next to the grocery?”



“It’s the Mason Gallery in Boston. On Newbury Street.”



Lizzie’s eyes popped. “What?”



“Mr. Mason was up here buying antiques with his wife and I happened to be taking a stroll with my morning coffee. He saw my mug and when I told him I made it and had others they came back to the house. He liked what I did and wants to send a truck to pick up fifty pieces.”



Good…Lord. The Mason Gallery specialized in selling one-of-a-kind objets d’art to the high-rent crowd in Boston. Lizzie had only ever walked by the window because she knew the prices inside were way out of her league.



“What should I do, Lizzie?”



“Well, do you want to sell your work?”



“I think so.” There was a slight pause and then her mother’s voice grew soft, almost ashamed. “But, Lizzie, you know I’m not good with money. Will you take care of all that stuff? I mean, I am not…good with money.”



Lizzie closed her eyes, knowing there was so much more in that comment. Her mother was rarely self-aware, but in this moment, she was totally present and obviously clear about her mental deficiency.



The shame was painful to hear. And so very unnecessary.



“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll tell you what we have to do.”