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He was unique.

Chapter 2
    J oy arrived at Timmie’s apartment, from the red-eye flight from L.A., before Timmie left for work. Joy was due at the apartment at seven, so Timmie had agreed to wait, and she had texted as soon as she landed, to confirm that she’d be on time. Joy was as organized and reliable as her older sister, while Juliette had always been vaguer and more fey, and was the most emotional of the three. Timmie had talked to Juliette the night before, and Juliette was distraught over their father, who from hero had become saint, which had irritated Timmie, although she tried not to say it.
    Timmie had written a draft of the obituary when she got home from work the night before. There wasn’t much to say about him, and she had never been charitable about her father. “Successful fortune hunter dies after a year of illness following stroke, in New York,” didn’t seem appropriate. She didn’t say that, but she thought it, as she wrote that he had graduated from Princeton, been married twice, and had four surviving children, and listed them by name. His career had been undignified and brief, and had consisted of small, unimportant jobs on the fringes of banking, and then in real estate, until he met her mother, which had been a windfall for him. Véronique never made an issue of it, but it was no secret to their children. The only fortune he had made was from his marriage to their mother. Timmie hated the fact that he had cheated on her and destroyed her mother’s illusions about him, and theirs.
    Paul had been beautiful and impressive when he walked into a room, and an asset at any dinner table, but he had accomplished nothing, and his penchant for vapid, pretty young women had added little to his life and nothing to his CV. He had lived only in the moment, wanting to have fun, and never thinking of the future, or the consequences of his actions, right to the end. His last female companion had been a beautiful young Russian girl, who had disappeared the moment he got sick. At least they wouldn’t have her to contend with, Timmie thought. It would be bad enough dealing with Bertie, who would scramble for every penny. Timmie had no illusions about him, none of them did, and most of the time she forgot about him completely. They’d hardly seen him in recent years, which was a blessing. And he avoided them, too, since staying in touch with them was of no benefit to him. He seemed to have only their father’s worst traits, multiplied by a thousand, with none of his good ones to mitigate them. Their father had said as much himself.
    Joy looked sleepy when she got to Timmie’s apartment, and more beautiful than ever when Timmie opened the door to her. She was wearing a short white skirt and a T-shirt, and even in flat sandals she was almost as tall as Timmie, although they had entirely different styles and appearances. Timmie had the blond aristocratic good looks of her father, while Joy was absolutely dazzling with her dark hair, violet eyes, and creamy skin. She had their mother’s looks and father’s height. Timmie hadn’t seen her in a while, although they talked from time to time. Joy was never great at returning calls or staying in touch. Timmie and Juliette spoke far more often. Joy was too busy with her auditions, go-sees, cattle calls, acting jobs, and waitressing in between.
    The two sisters embraced the minute they saw each other, and for a long moment, Joy clung to her, as they both thought of their father.
    “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Joy said in a hoarse voice as she walked in. “I kind of thought he’d go on forever.”
    “We all did,” Timmie said, as she poured her a mug of coffee in the kitchen and handed it to her. She was wearing a different plaid shirt, clean jeans, and the same Converse she’d had on the day before. It was a rag-bag unisex look, similar to what everyone wore at the foundation, hardly different from their homeless clients, whereas Joy looked sexy, young,