Sycamore Row - John Grisham

7
After a quick, late supper of grilled cheese and tomato soup, Jake and Carla cleared the
table and cleaned the dishes (there was no dishwasher), and eventually settled in the
den, which began where the kitchen left off, some six feet away from the dining table.
Three years (plus) in tight living quarters required a constant reassessment of priorities
and attitudes, along with a vigilance against edginess. Hanna helped tremendously.
Small children care little for the material things that so impress adults; as long as both
parents are doting, little else matters. Carla helped her with spelling and Jake read her
stories, and as they tag-teamed through the evening they also caught up with the daily
papers and the cable news. At 8:00 p.m. on the dot, Carla gave her a bath, and thirty
minutes later Hanna was tucked snugly into bed by both parents.
Alone at last and wrapped together under a quilt on the rickety sofa, Carla said,
“Okay, what’s up?”
Jake, flipping through a sports magazine, replied, “What do you mean ‘What’s up?’ ”
“Don’t play dumb. Something’s up. A new case maybe? A new client who can pay a
decent fee, or perhaps even a huge fee that might rescue us from poverty? Please.”
Jake flung the quilt onto the floor and jumped to his feet. “Well, as a matter of fact,
my dear, there’s a good chance we’ve just stiff-armed poverty.”
“I knew it. I can always tell when you sign up a good car wreck. You get twitchy.”
“It’s not a car wreck.” Jake was thumbing through his briefcase. He pulled out a file
and handed her some papers. “It’s a suicide.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes, that. Last night I told you about the unfortunate demise of Mr. Seth Hubbard,
but what I didn’t tell you was that before he died he did a quickie will, mailed it to my
office, and designated me as the lawyer for his estate. I probated it late this afternoon.
It’s now public record, so I can talk about it.”
“And this is the guy you never met?”
“Correct.”
“A guy you never met but you went to his funeral this afternoon?”
“You got it.”
“Why did he pick you?”
“Brilliant reputation. Just read the will, please.”
One glance and she said, “But it’s handwritten.”
“No kidding?”
Jake re-entangled himself with his wife on the sofa and watched her intently as she