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Love Inherited

By Cristine Eastin

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Hope for her mother’s love should have died by now—yet there it was—that little flip in her stomach as she unlocked her mailbox. Was she an optimistic pessimist, China wondered, or just a fool? She grabbed the fistful of mail and snapped the box shut, October snow swirling around her boots like winter wasps.
China MacLeish juggled her way through the door of the three-story Chicago brownstone, bumped the door shut with her hip, and dropped two string bags of groceries on the hall bench. She switched on the track lighting and did a quick scan through the mail, checking the return address names. Nothing from Margaret MacLeish. Her mother’s name remained the same, but the husbands and addresses changed with the seasons.
Happy birthday.
In forty-one years, what had she gotten from her mother? Boarding schools and a small trust fund. Maybe her mother had forgotten she had a daughter.
But the truth stung—her mother hated her.
China slapped the mail on the bench and blew a worn-out sigh. Seven o’clock and no Brian. Last night he showed up at ten. Working late, he’d said.
She shrugged off her coat and piled it on the bench. No longer much interested in dinner, she carried the groceries to the kitchen, the sharp tap of her stiletto heels on the tiles punctuating the emptiness of the place. At least the fridge held evidence that Brian still lived here: leftover sushi and a splash of crusted milk on the shelf.
Straightening up from the vegetable bin, her shoulders complained of a day too long on the computer. Dinner could wait till after a hot shower.
She hung her coat in the closet and stood in front of the open door, torn between pressing her nose to the collar of Brian’s cashmere topcoat and shoving the coat aside. She didn’t have the energy to be mad—not till she got these heels off.
* * *
Wrapped in a bath sheet, China contemplated swiping her hand over the steam-drenched mirror but didn’t feel like tracing the lines of Brian’s infidelities etched in her face. She smoothed moisturizer over her taut cheeks and down her neck, putting an extra dab on the faint crow’s feet that grew like cracks in ice.
She worked the snarls out of her hair and braided it into a damp rope. Turning to get her fleece robe off the back of the door, her hand stilled mid-reach. Brian’s robe hung next to hers. The gray terrycloth, familiar to her touch, smelled of him too. China blinked twice, then remembered she was mad at Brian and plucked her own robe off its hook.
Lavender-infused air trailed after her down the stairs as she padded in slipper-socks to the kitchen.
China crammed the spinach and carrots through the juicer and stirred in a little honey. Dinner-in-a-glass for one by firelight. How romantic.
She picked up the mail and headed to the living room. She set the glass of vegetable sludge on the marble-topped coffee table, aimed the remote at the fireplace, and settled on the leather sectional.
Thumbing through the mail, a return address in Scotland jolted her—Anderson Macaslan Group, Balmhain House, Edinburgh. Her mother was from Scotland. Somewhere. A frown grew and her breathing constricted. Anything to do with her mother was trouble.
The dagger letter opener slit the linen envelope with a harsh ffht. China withdrew one sheet of heavy stationery, crisply folded in exact thirds. Embossed in gold under the address—Legal, Wealth Management, and Tax Solicitors. Her fingers stiffened as she read.
The letter dropped to the floor, and China stared at the flames, frozen in place.
Before she could absorb what she’d read, Brian’s key grated in the lock, and the front door clicked open and shut. A chill came in with Brian, but his footsteps came no closer than the hall. China listened to the silence, waiting, her back to him. If he wanted to resume last night’s argument—fine.
“This isn’t working for me anymore,” he said. “I’m moving out.”
“What?” Her voice sounded small, and she refused to look at him.
“Sorry, China. I’ll just get a few things tonight. I’ll get the rest of my stuff this weekend.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out before she heard him hustle up the steps to their bedroom.
China drew her feet up and tucked them under a pillow. It had never gone this far before; he’d never actually left. She clutched her robe collar tight under her chin and waited for him to come down and talk about it.
Ten minutes later, he thundered down the stairs. She could feel him standing behind her.
“I’m leaving now.”
A silent scream filled her throat, her eyes riveted to the flames.
“I want the ring back.”
She’d heard this before. “No. It was a gift.”
He called her that ugly name and slammed out. All that was left of Brian was the scent of the expensive duty-free cologne she’d bought him.
China slipped the large, flawed diamond solitaire off her finger and plopped it in the untouched vegetable muck. She snatched up the letter, crushed it into a ball, and whipped it where Brian had stood. He knew it was her birthday.
* * *
China’s bed was a mess: wadded up Kleenexes, a bag of bagel chips, a plate of half-eaten hummus and celery sticks, and her laptop. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the rumpled comforter—phone at her ear.
“No, seriously, I’ve inherited this huge estate in Scotland. A place called Craggan Mhor.” China shifted the phone to her other ear and brought her shoulder up to hold it in place. She tapped on the keyboard and sent a link to Stacy. “Isn’t that about the most unappealing place you’ve ever seen?”
Googling Craggan Mhor turned up images of a not-very-grand house of indeterminate age that appeared to cringe below a looming cliff in the distance. Vacant-eyed windows reflected light and nothing else. There was no landscaping except for two urns of geraniums by the front door. An expanse of lawn stretched in front, bounded by a dribbling creek to one side. But there wasn’t much information about the place.
“Stacy, are you there?”
“Yeah. Are you sure this is legit?”
“As much as I can be. I’ve searched just about everything I can think of. The lawyers sure are real. Sorry, solicitors.” She rolled the r. “Some big deal law firm in Edinburgh.”
“Who did you say this was? An uncle?”
“William MacLeish, my mother’s brother. I didn’t even know she had a brother.”
“Why didn’t your mother inherit the place?”
“I have no idea. Would you give my mother anything? Even the time of day?”
“Good point. What did Brian say?”
“Pardon? Who?”
“Oh, it’s like that again. Are you two fighting?”
“You could say that. He walked out. I think he means it this time.” China reached for a tissue and dabbed the corners of her eyes. The guy wasn’t worth any more tears. But the tears kept leaking out.
“I think I’ll call the lawyers.” She searched for the international time zone map. “What time is it in Edinburgh?”
“Six hours ahead.”
“Too late for today. I figure I’ll go over there, put the place on the market, and get this over with as fast as possible.”
“What did you say it’s called?”
“Craggan Mhor. No idea what it means.”
China heard the front door. Just like Brian to come back unannounced.
“Gotta go, Stac. The wolf’s at the door.”
Cornered in her bedroom, China snapped the laptop closed and stuffed the tissues under the bed.
She was ready for him when he walked in the room. But before she knew it, she’d grabbed the bag of chips and flung it at his head. He dodged back out to the hallway.
“What are you doing here?” China leaped off the bed and followed the bag of chips, crunching dried bagel under her bare feet. “Did what’s-her-name let you out for the day? I don’t see your leash.”
“Hey, I thought you’d be at work. I came to get some more clothes.”
“You get out!”
Brian caught and held her wrists as she came at him. “I’ve got a right to be here. My name’s on the lease.”
“You've got no right, you cheating—”
“Now look, China, we’ve been through this a dozen times.” He leaned back to avoid the spray of her fury. “I don’t love you anymore.”
“Don’t love me anymore?” She yanked her wrists out of his grasp and drew back a hand to slap him.
Brian dodged her swing, then sprang forward, stopping just short of her. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t we do this like civilized people? After all these years.”
“We were engaged—to be married.” She lunged at him, but he pinned her in his arms. She tried to stifle gulping sobs and hiccuped.
“Sorry, China. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
She squirmed free, and like a broken spring, she thrust him away, sending him staggering back a step.
“Get out!”
China whirled into the bedroom and, with all her anger in it, slammed the door. She listened, her back pressed hard against the door—as if she could stop him from coming in. His footfalls thumped down the carpeted steps. She expected the front door bang to shake the entire house. But there was silence.

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