Page 104 of What Remains of Grace

Emmie’s brows furrowed. “Meaning what? That we’re . . . being served? Like in movies?”

“Yes.”

Her jaw tightened. “Who’s suing us?”

Jenna pushed the envelope toward her with two fingers. “Troy.” The silence that followed was long and cold and electric.

Emmie stared at the envelope like it was a rattlesnake. “Suing us for what?” she asked finally. “Not paying him his weekly emotionally abusive husband stipend? Not letting him steal the cars again?”

“It’s . . .” Jenna took a breath. “It’s a property matter.”

“A what matter?”

“He’s filed something called a partition action.” Emmie blinked at her.

“In English, Aunt Jenna.”

Jenna’s chest tightened. “It means he’s asking the court to force us to either buy him out . . . or sell.”

The color drained from Emmie’s face.

“The house?” she whispered. “This house?”

“This house,” Jenna confirmed. “And the bakery.”

“No.” Emmie’s voice sharpened like a blade. “No, he can’t. He doesn’t own anything. He hasn’t even lived here in, like, 8 months. He was off in Jacksonville or Gainesville or wherever with some girl barely older than me while Mom was here dying! He’s never baked a cupcake in his life. He’s never iced anything except maybe his drinks.”

“Legally,” Jenna said quietly, “Grace and Troy were still married.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“I agree,” Jenna said. “But without a will, the law doesn’t care if they were separated or if he was awful or if she hadn’t seen him in months. Her half of everything, this house and the business, went fifty percent to her spouse and fifty percent to her child.”

Emmie clenched her jaw. “Meaning me.”

“Yes.”

“And him.”

“Twenty-five percent each,” Jenna said. “Enough that he gets to say he doesn’t want to co- own the property with us.”

Emmie’s shoulders were rising and falling quickly now. “So, he throws away his marriage, disappears, cheats, breaks her spirit, watches her health fall apart because she’s trying to run the bakery alone, and then when she dies, he still gets to go shopping through the pieces like they’re garage sale items?!”

Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s what the law says.”

“Well then the law is stupid.”

“I know.”

“And he gets to force us to sell? Like . . . he just decides that and we have to do it?!”

“Not instantly, but this is the start of the process. Not the end. We’ll get a lawyer. We’ll go through our options. But yes, that’s what he’s asking a judge to make happen.”

Emmie shoved her chair back and stood abruptly. She started pacing, three steps one way, turn, three steps the other, hands on top of her head like she was holding it together by force.

“When did he even get money to do this?” she demanded. “He was broke. He was always broke. He was asking Mom for cash every other week so he could ‘look for work.’”

“The life insurance,” Jenna said softly. “The company held it for weeks because of their separation and the circumstances, but when no will surfaced . . . they released it.”