Hours later, I was back at my tiny apartment near base. The place was sterile, barely lived in, because I was rarely there long enough to make it feel like home. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. It was quiet, too quiet. I thought about calling one of the guys from my unit, but what was I supposed to say? Hey, you ever get called a stinking woman by your sister during a will reading? Yeah, that would go over well.
The next morning, my mom showed up at my door without warning. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept, but she still had that polished appearance. She always carried hair sprayed into place, neat pearl earrings. She walked in without waiting for me to invite her.
“Hannah,” she started, setting her purse on the table. “Megan feels terrible about what she said.”
I laughed.
“She feels terrible, or you feel terrible about how it looked in front of the family?”
Her lips pressed into a line.
“That’s not fair. She’s under stress. She’s handling the estate.”
“She inherited a penthouse. Mom, she’s not exactly living under a bridge.”
My mother sighed and sat down.