It felt strange to be back at Hillary’s home, in the same place that Drew and I had committed to each other only months previously, here in sorrow–laying Hillary to rest.

The Los Angeles sky was gray and overcast as the marine layer had moved in solid. It was supposed to burn off by late afternoon but I knew that a peek of sun would be only that–a glimmer of hope before retreating into the returning blanket of clouds.

I looked up at the sky as Maxfield approached me asking, “If it’s called a marine layer, why aren’t there any marines with it? That was a Hillary-ism.”

“Yes,” I mumbled, suddenly seeing her smiling face above.

People moved past us through the backyard, everyone smiling and staring at each other with eyes that spoke of an immediacy that no one could ignore. We were alive, present, and celebrating the life of someone whom was no longer with us.

Maxfield felt a tap on his shoulder. Mike was motioning that he needed to talk to him.

“Excuse me,” mumbled Maxfield, moving away from me with his sophisticated gate. Mike whispered to him in private when suddenly I saw Maxfield’s face drop and his body freeze. “What!?” He shrieked, garnering stares from nearby guests. His face flushed white and I knew, as did everyone else, that it was bad news.

“What’s that about?” Fran whispered behind me, handing me another handful of M&M’s to prove chocolate’s therapeutic qualities. I gladly accepted her invitation, popping the candy like needed aspirin. We remained frozen, watching Mike and Maxfield confer until Maxfield quickly left the rear garden.

Determined to find out what the bomb was that just exploded, I approached Mike. He knew I was going to ask him what had happened but he quickly stepped away, shaking his head and whispering “Don’t ask.”

Soon, rumors began to circulate that someone had overheard Maxfield calling his lawyer, attempting to appeal Hillary’s will. Fight her will? To go against the woman that he loved? There was a mountain of dirt piling up at this funeral and I was determined to get to the truth.

Fran and I waited until Mike left the rear den after conversing on the phone for almost 20 minutes.

“Mike,” declared Fran. “You’re our friend. And we have a right to know.”

He looked at us, shaking his head no, but he clearly wanted to express something.

I saw his exterior cracking so I mentioned, “Mike, we’re going to find out eventually, you know that. Just tell us.”

He paused, clearly unsure, until finally he responded with a “you have to promise.”

We immediately nodded, our eyes wide to discover the secret.

“She didn’t leave a dime to Maxfield.”

“Nothing?” Asked Fran.

Mike simply nodded. “And as executor of the will, I’m supposed to carry out her wishes.”

“Which were…?”

“That all of her investments went to Steve.”

“Investments?” I asked.

Mike simply nodded, “All 3 million.”

We froze in our tracks.