MOM, DAD AND TRISH RUSH OUT OF THE FRONT door and spill down the porch steps like lemmings over a cliff. I've barely gotten out of the car before I'm surrounded. They crackle with excitement. I feel it on my skin. Little electric shocks like static from a light switch.
"Whoa." I hold up both hands. "What's going on?"
Mom recovers first. She puts an arm around Trish's shoulders. "Anna, you won't believe what happened today."
"A lawyer came," Trish interjects, hopping around like an eager puppy.
"With news," my dad adds.
"From France," Mom says.
"We're going to live there," Trish says. "All of us."
"In a chateau," Dad says.
"Oh, Anna," my mom gushes. "It's so wonderful. We've inherited a winery."
A winery?
It takes some doing, but I finally get my family corralled and back up the porch steps and into the house. They never stop babbling. All three. All at once. I've never seen my parents so animated. Trish? She's jumping up and down.
I scoot them over to the couch and hold up a hand. "Sit."
They do, still chattering like agitated squirrels.
"Quiet."
The prattle dies away, leaving me staring at three glowing faces, bright with expectation and anticipation. They're waiting for me to ask questions. I hardly know where to begin.
"You said a lawyer came here? Today?"
They look at each other, and then Dad and Trish both look to Mom, making her the official spokesperson. She takes a deep breath and plunges in.
"Yes. He came to see me first yesterday at school. Asked me some questions. Mostly about my grandmother and her side of the family. I told him she died when I was young and my memories are vague. I gave him her maiden name and her place of birth. He wondered about my mother. I told him she died many years ago and as far as I know, we have no relatives left on that side of the family except us. He asked to make an appointment with your father and me this morning. Said he had some details to check, but he was fairly certain he'd have some good news for us when he saw us again."
She can sit still no longer. She jumps up and starts pacing. "Well, he showed up this morning and presented us with a thick portfolio of documents. He went through the papers one by one. There were birth records and death certificates. A family tree. Photos of my grandmother and her mother taken almost a century ago. In France. There's a will. The will of a great uncle I didn't know existed. An uncle who owned a great deal of property in France, including a working winery. An uncle who evidently has no living relatives left to inherit his estate."
She stops pacing, turns to face me, and her face is once again wreathed in as joyful a smile as I've ever seen. "Wait until you see the pictures. It's unbelievably beautiful. There's a chateau on the property and a staff that's worked for the family for decades. They're waiting to meet us. We can go anytime. It's ours, Anna. All of it."
I was born a cynic, and becoming a vampire didn't temper my natural inclination to distrust anything that looks too good to be true. If anything, it's worse. So it's hard not to say, "Are you all crazy? People don't inherit property in France out of the blue. It's got to be some kind of scam."
But I can't say it out loud. I don't want to be the one responsible for eradicating the pure joy I see on the faces of the people I love most. It would be like stomping on a kitten.
My dad, who knows me too well, stands up and puts an arm around my shoulders.
"I know what you're thinking," he says. "It's too good to be true. I did my homework. I have business contacts in France, you know. I had them check out the lawyer. He's legitimate. Got a prospectus for the winery. It's well-known. Exports product to the United States. The chateau has been renovated and well maintained. It's fully furnished and staffed. I'm telling you, Anna, there's nothing bogus about this. Sometimes people really do get lucky."
He opens his other arm to Trish and Mom. They join us in a kind of awkward group hug. "I think this calls for a celebration," he says. "Let's get dressed up and go to Mister A's. Champagne on me." He plants a kiss on Trish's forehead. "Ginger ale for you, ma petite chere."
That does it. Now my father is speaking French? I'm sick. With shock. With apprehension. My father may be right. This might be legitimate. I sincerely hope it is. The realist in me screams there's a better chance it's not.