A Will and a Way

scene of our own to finish. No, don’t pull back,” he warned as she attempted to. “It’s too late to pull back.” They stood close, nearly mouth to mouth. “It’s been too late all along.”
    Nerves she’d managed to quell came racing back, but they had nothing to do with plots or plans. “You’re being dramatic.”
    With a nod, he tangled his fingers in her hair. “My sense of drama, your streak of practicality. An interesting combination.”
    “An uneasy one.”
    “If life’s too easy you sleep through it,” Michael decided. “It sounds like the first of our guests are arriving,” he murmured as they heard the sound of a car. He kissed her briefly. “Break a leg.”
    She wrinkled her nose at his back. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
    Within a half hour, everyone who had been at the reading of the will, except Fitzhugh, was again in the library. No one seemed any more relaxed than they’d been almost six months before. Jolley beamed down on them from the oil painting. From time to time Pandora glanced up at it almost expecting him to wink. To give everyone what they’d come for, Pandora and Michael kept arguing about whatever came to mind. Time for the game to begin, she decided.
    Carlson stood with his wife near a bookshelf. He looked cross and impatient and glowered when Pandora approached.
    “Uncle Carlson, I’m so glad you could make it. We don’t see nearly enough of each other.”
    “Don’t soft-soap me.” He swirled his scotch but didn’t drink. “If you’ve got the idea you can talk me out of contesting this absurd will, you’re mistaken.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it. Fitzhugh tells me you don’t have a chance.” She smiled beautifully. “But I have to agree the will’s absurd, especially after being forced to live in the same house with Michael all these months.” She ran a finger down one of the long, flattened prongs of her necklace. “I’ll tell you, Uncle Carlson, there have been times I’ve seriously considered throwing in the towel. He’s done everything possible to make the six months unbearable. Once he pretended his mother was ill, and he had to go to California. Next thing I knew I was locked in the basement. Childish games,” she muttered sending Michael a look of utter dislike. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carlson take a quick, nervous drink. “Well, the sentence is nearly up.” She turned back with a fresh smile. “I’m so gladwe could have this little celebration. Michael’s finally going to open a bottle of champagne he’s been hoarding since Christmas.”
    Pandora watched Carlson’s wife drop her glass on the Turkish carpet. “Dear me,” Pandora said softly. “We’ll have to get something to mop that up. Freshen your drink?”
    “No, she’s fine.” Carlson took his wife by the elbow. “Excuse me.”
    As they moved away, Pandora felt a quick thrill of excitement. So, it had been Carlson.
    “I quit smoking about six months ago,” Michael told Hank and his wife, earning healthy approval.
    “You’ll never regret it,” Hank stated in his slow, deliberate way. “You’re responsible for your own body.”
    “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought lately,” Michael said dryly. “But living with Pandora the past few months hasn’t made it easy. She’s made this past winter miserable. She had someone send me a fake telegram so I’d go flying off to California thinking my mother was ill.” He glanced over his shoulder and scowled at Pandora’s back.
    “If you’ve gotten through six months without smoking…” Meg began, guiding the conversation back to Michael’s health.
    “It’s a miracle I have living with that woman. But it’s almost over.” He grinned at Hank. “We’re having champagne instead of carrot juice for dinner. I’ve been saving this bottle since Christmas for just the right occasion.”
    He saw Hank’s fingers whiten around his glass of Perrier and Meg’s color drain. “We don’t—” Hank looked helplessly at Meg. “We don’t drink.”
    “Champagne isn’t drinking,” Michael said jovially. “It’s celebrating. Excuse me.” He moved to the bar as if to freshen his drink and waited for Pandora to join him. “It’s Hank.”
    “No.” She added a splash of vermouth to her glass. “It’s Carlson.” Following the script, she glared at him. “You’re an insufferable bore, Michael. Putting up with you isn’t worth any amount of money.”
    “Intellectual snob.” He toasted