News Arrives

The news arrived via a small, single page card, much like a birth announcement or wedding date reminder. It was addressed to Gigi, Gwendolyn Garry's nickname, which she hadn't used since college. She opened the envelope and read that revered professor Deanna Quaid was being laid to rest. Gwendolyn felt a chill. She skimmed the card to gather the rest of the information, and her eyes stopped on a handwritten note.

"Please forward contact information for Miss Angela Ward and Miss Joely Pfeiffer."

Gwendolyn dug around in the wooden chest at the end of her bed. Where other girls kept blankets and such, she kept old notebooks, address books, and every birthday card or letter ever sent to her. She found Angela's mother's phone number and dialed.

"Hi, Mrs. Ward," Gwendolyn said when a woman answered. "I'm an old college friend of your daughter's and I was wondering if you could either give me her number or give her a message for me."

"She's right here," Mrs. Ward said and handed the phone to Angela.

"Who is this?" Angela asked.

Gwendolyn inhaled deeply before saying, "Ang, it's Gigi." It had been a good five years since they talked on the telephone.

"Wow," Angela said.

"I know," Gwendolyn said.

"I thought you didn't go by 'Gigi' anymore," Angela said.

"Deanna died," Gwendolyn said quickly. Then she waited. She knew Angela would take the news harder than she did.

Angela cried. "Were you there?" she asked.

"No," Gwendolyn said.

"Was Joely?" Angela asked.

"No," Gwendolyn answered. "Angela, do you know how to get ahold of her?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, because I'm supposed to forward your contact information to..." Gwendolyn flipped the envelope over to read the return address. "...the law offices of Piper, Pendleton and Ash."

"Why?" Angela asked.

Gwendolyn stood with the card and envelope in one hand. "Probably to claim something she left us," she said.

"Oh. What would she have left us?"

The memory of Deanna's apartment was sharp and distinct. It was almost as if Gwendolyn was standing in the living room, leaning against the dining table that separated the sofa from the kitchen. She thought of all the books, all the odd knick knacks and stacks of paper. She thought of the shotgun underneath the couch and the black enamel plates in the kitchen cupboards. She thought of the imperfect and not entirely safe for using ceramic mugs that the art students cast off and Deanna couldn't seem to let go in the trash.

"She had stuff," Gwendolyn said.

"Jesus, Gigi," Angela said. "She had us, too."