The Reading of the Will

The leather chair creaked when Nadia shifted, a small sound that felt loud in the silence of Bastian Houston's office. She had been in this building before, years ago, when her own parents' estate had been settled. That day had been gray and cold, rain streaking the windows. Today the sun poured through the blinds, cutting sharp lines across the polished mahogany desk, and it felt wrong. Inappropriate. The world shouldn't be bright when someone like Julia was gone.

Bastian cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. The gesture was practiced, identical to the one he had used when he explained the terms of her parents' trust. He was a man who delivered bad news the same way he delivered good news, with an even tone and careful enunciation. Nadia supposed that was what made him good at his job.

"The estate is more complex than I initially anticipated," Bastian said, flipping a page in the file before him. "Julia's assets include the property in Vermont, her vehicle, various accounts, and residuals from her publishing work. There are also personal effects that she bequeathed specifically to you and Dustin."

Nadia nodded. She had known Julia for fifteen years. They had met in a cramped coffee shop near the hospital during Nadia's residency, when Julia was waitressing and trying to write between shifts. They had been inseparable from that first conversation, two women who recognized something kindred in each other. Julia had been the one person Nadia could be honest with, the one person who saw past the composed surgeon's mask.

"The guardianship clause," Bastian continued, and his voice shifted slightly, losing some of its clinical edge. "Julia was explicit in her instructions. She named you as temporary guardian of Dustin until the estate is settled, which I estimate will take approximately six months."

The words hit like a scalpel slipping. Nadia's hands, usually steady, tightened on the armrests of the chair. "Guardianship. Dustin is twenty-nine years old."

"He is, but the estate stipulations require a legal guardian for the duration of the settlement process. Julia was concerned about his stability given his artistic temperament. She wanted someone she trusted to oversee the transition." Bastian paused, and for a moment something almost human flickered in his eyes. "She trusted you, Dr. Ellery. Implicitly."

Nadia looked down at her hands. The surgical scars, the clean nails, the wedding ring she had removed three years ago and never replaced. She had been there when Julia was diagnosed. She had stayed through every round of treatments, the brief remissions, the final decline. She had held Julia's hand and promised to take care of things. She had not known that taking care of things meant taking care of Dustin.

"He'll need to stay with me?" The question came out smaller than she intended.

"Ideally, yes. The arrangement requires shared residence for the duration of the guardianship. Julia felt that proximity would allow for proper oversight and support." Bastian slid a document across the desk. "The terms are all outlined here. I recommend you review them carefully, but the short version is this: Dustin will reside with you, you will have legal authority over his affairs until the estate is settled, and upon completion, the guardianship terminates automatically."

Nadia stared at the document. The words blurred, then sharpened. Dustin's name in bold type. Her name beneath it. The phrase "temporary guardianship" repeated in several different places. She thought of the last time she had seen Dustin, at Julia's funeral six weeks ago. He had stood at the graveside in a black suit that did not quite fit, his hair longer than she remembered, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. She had wanted to go to him, to say something, but there had been a line of people offering condolences and she had been one of them, just another mourner, not the person who had known Julia best.

"He doesn't know yet," Nadia said. It was not a question.

"I informed him of the basic arrangement this morning. He's aware that he'll be staying with you." Bastian closed the file. "He's gathering his belongings now. I believe he plans to arrive at your home this evening."

This evening. Nadia's chest tightened. She had a long shift scheduled. She had a surgery first thing in the morning. She had a life that was organized and controlled and did not include a twenty-nine-year-old musician moving into her guest room.

"I see." She stood, smoothing the front of her blouse. The motion was automatic, a way of collecting herself. "Thank you, Bastian. I'll review the documents tonight."

He stood as well, extending his hand. She shook it, feeling the dry press of his palm, the formality of the gesture. "Julia spoke of you often, Dr. Ellery. She was very clear about what she wanted. I think she knew what she was doing."

Nadia did not answer. She took the document, tucked it into her bag, and walked out into the bright, inappropriate sunlight.

The drive home was a blur of familiar streets and unfamiliar thoughts. She passed the hospital where she worked, the coffee shop where she had met Julia, the park where they had walked on weekends, talking about everything and nothing. The city was unchanged. The streets were the same. But Julia was gone, and now Dustin was coming to live with her, and nothing felt the same at all.

She pulled into her driveway as evening settled over the neighborhood, exhausted from a shift she had barely registered. The house was a Victorian she had bought five years ago, a project she had undertaken with Julia's encouragement. They had painted walls together on weekends, argued about furniture placement, shared wine in the empty rooms before the furniture arrived. Julia had loved this house. She had called it Nadia's sanctuary.

Now the sanctuary felt quiet, hollow. Nadia walked through the front door and set her bag on the hall table. The guest room was at the end of the hall, a room she had decorated with neutral colors and good intentions. She had never imagined anyone staying there for more than a weekend.

The doorbell rang just after seven. Nadia had changed into jeans and a soft sweater, an attempt at casualness that felt like armor. She opened the door and there he was.

Dustin stood on her porch with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a guitar case in his hand. He wore jeans and a worn leather jacket, his hair falling across his forehead in waves she remembered from a dozen family dinners, a hundred casual encounters. He looked older than she remembered, or maybe just more tired. There were shadows under his eyes, a set to his jaw that had not been there before.

"Hey, Nadia." His voice was low, rough around the edges.

"Hey, Dustin." She stepped aside, holding the door open. "Come in."

He walked past her, close enough that she caught the scent of him, clean and warm, like soap and leather. He stopped in the entryway and looked around, his gaze moving slowly over the living room, the stairs, the hall.

"It's good to see you," she said, and the words felt inadequate, small for the weight of everything unsaid.

"You too." He turned to face her, and for a moment they just looked at each other. There was so much history between them, years of holidays and birthdays and casual conversations at Julia's apartment. He had been the younger brother, the kid who played guitar at family gatherings, the one she helped with homework when Julia was busy. She had been the older friend, the responsible one, the doctor who always had good advice.

That was before. Now the roles were different, the context shattered. She was his guardian. He was her charge. The words felt wrong, like clothes that did not fit.

"I'll show you the guest room," she said, and led him down the hall.

The room was clean and simple, a bed with white linens, a dresser, a window that looked out onto the backyard. Dustin set his duffel on the floor and leaned the guitar case against the wall. He stood in the center of the room, looking small in a space that was not small at all.

"It's nice," he said. "Thank you."

"There are towels in the bathroom across the hall. The kitchen is fully stocked. If you need anything, just let me know." She was listing things, filling the silence with practicalities, because the alternative was to say something real and she was not ready for that.

He nodded. "I appreciate this, Nadia. I know it's weird."

"It's not weird." The lie came easily. "It's what Julia wanted."

His jaw tightened at the mention of his sister's name. "Yeah. It's what she wanted."

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Nadia wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to offer some comfort, but she did not know if she was allowed. The old dynamic was gone, and she did not know what had taken its place.

"I'll start dinner," she said, and retreated to the kitchen.

She cooked on autopilot, chopping vegetables and heating oil in a pan. The motions were familiar, grounding. She had made this meal countless times, pasta with vegetables and a simple sauce. It was easy, uncomplicated, the opposite of everything she was feeling.

Dustin appeared in the doorway as she was setting the table. He had washed his face, his hair slightly damp at the temples. He looked younger like that, softer, and a knot formed in Nadia's chest.

"Smells good," he said.

"It's nothing fancy. Just pasta." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. Eat."

He sat, and they ate in careful silence. The clink of forks against plates filled the space where words should have been. Nadia watched him from across the table, noticing the way he pushed his food around, the way he barely touched his wine. He was grieving. She was grieving. They were two people sitting in the same room, drowning in the same loss, but neither of them knew how to reach for the other.

"How's the music?" she asked, because it was safe, because it was something to say.

He looked up, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "It's going. I've been writing a lot."

"That's good. Writing helps."

"Does it?" The question was quiet, almost to himself.

Nadia did not have an answer. She had not written anything since Julia died. She had not done much of anything except work and sleep and pretend that everything was fine.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I hope so."

He met her eyes then, and for a moment the careful distance between them seemed to thin. There was a rawness in his gaze, searching and unguarded, that made her breath catch. She looked away first, focusing on her plate, on the cooling pasta, on anything but him.

They finished the meal in silence. Nadia cleared the plates, refusing his offer to help. She washed the dishes with her back to him, listening to the soft sounds of him moving in the living room. When she turned around, he was standing by the window, looking out at the dark yard.

"I'm going to turn in," he said. "Long day."

"Of course. Goodnight, Dustin."

He paused at the hall, looking back at her. "Goodnight, Nadia."

She watched him walk to the guest room, watched the door close behind him. The house settled into silence, the kind of silence that felt louder than any sound. She stood in the kitchen for a long time, her hands gripping the edge of the counter, her heart beating fast in her chest.

Six months. She could do six months. She could keep the distance, maintain the boundaries, honor the role Julia had given her. She could be the guardian, the responsible one, the person who held everything together.

She walked to her own room and closed the door. The guest room was across the hall, close enough that she could hear him moving, the creak of the bed, the soft sound of a guitar string being plucked once, then silence.

Nadia lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of another person in her house. She thought about Julia, about the promise she had made, about the weight of the document in her bag. She thought about Dustin, about the way his voice had cracked when he said goodnight, about the look in his eyes that she had not allowed herself to name.

She thought about the guest room door, closed but not locked, and all the things it was supposed to contain.

In the morning, she would be Dr. Ellery again, composed and controlled. But tonight, in the dark, she let herself feel the shape of what was coming, the slow and certain unraveling of everything she had built.

The guest room was silent now. Dustin was asleep, or pretending to be. Nadia closed her eyes and did not sleep at all.