Bad Heiress Day (12 page)

“J
acob the Kindly Lawyer,” as Darcy always called him, looked as though he had earned the name. A tall, frog-eyed gentleman in a striped shirt and real bow tie, he was soft-spoken and deliberate in his movements. Jack couldn’t think of anyone less like his idea of an attorney than Jacob Foxmore. Still, he looked like a man true to his word. And he had been.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this is highly irregular, Jack. There aren’t a lot of circumstances where I’d agree to meeting to discuss an inheritance without the beneficiary present.” Jacob tapped the thick Paul Hartwell file on its end, lining up the papers inside into precise stacks. “Then again, everything about this particular estate is highly irregular. And, I doubt much as Paul would have minded. But you understand, I hope, why I had to get written permission from Darcy, even if you
are
married to her.”

Jack hadn’t minded at all, even though Darcy had made a few jokes about “signing enough permission slips for
schoolkids” as she wrote out the note. Jack rather admired Jacob’s keen attention to detail and protocol.

“And I can understand,” Jacob continued, “why she’d want you taking the lead on this. With your background, I’d have probably advised her to do the same thing.”

“I appreciate your willingness to speak with me,” replied Jack. “I’m just trying to figure out our options here.”

Jacob pointed at him with the pencil in his hand. “Good choice of word. You do have options. Paul felt he had no right
requiring
you and Darcy to do anything.” The man sharpened his gaze. “But he did make his preferences mighty clear.”

Well, Jack expected Jacob to see it that way. “Still,” he countered, “I gather there are several ways to do that, and several levels at which to do it.” Jack stared back at Jacob to see if he caught the subtext.

He did. “If you’re asking me if you have to give all the money away or just some of it, the answer is no. I have no authority to make you do anything here. Darcy’s always been a signer on the account, even if she didn’t really know it. That’s why she could pull from her father’s checkbook to go do that beauty thing with her friend. Truth is, there’s nothing stopping her from using Paul’s money to get her nails done every day for the rest of her life.”

“I was wondering about that.” It was one of Jack’s primary questions: whether or not Darcy had current access to the money, or did she have to go through Jacob. “So if I understand you right, the present setup could still stand. We wouldn’t need to move the money into a new account or anything at this point? It’s still earning the interest it’s earned all along, and we can access it whenever we want?”

“Yes.”

For a fleeting moment, the thought struck Jack that he and Darcy could turn around tomorrow and buy a new house cash on the barrel. Never to see a mortgage payment again. That was a rush any CPA would have to be comatose not to appreciate.

“Can we donate it right from where it is? Or do we need to set up some kind of special account?” Jack asked the question half out of honor, the other half out of stopping his spinning capitalistic gears.

“Nope, you could give the whole kaboodle away tomorrow in one check—
if
you wanted to. Of course, if you were asking me, I’d have to say I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Oh, I quite agree with you there. I think we have a lot of thinking to do before we do anything.”

Jacob’s face took on a strange expression. “I can’t say, Jack, that I wouldn’t be slowing down past the boat dealership if I were you. It’s a lot of money. You got a lot to think about.”

Jack tried not to let his shock show, then realized Jacob was not being judgmental at all. “It’s a lot to take in. Your brain wanders a dozen different directions.”

“It does at that. Look, I get paid to give advice, so I’m going to give it. Go slow. Do your homework. Look at all your options. And never say never.” Jacob steepled his hands.

Had he worked the Bond movie title in there on purpose? It was debatable, as the exact title was
Never Say Never Again,
but the slight twinkle in Jacob’s eye made Jack wonder. He made a mental note never to make assumptions about anyone in a bow tie ever again.

Darcy cleaned three closets trying to keep her mind off The Restoration Project the next two days. She boxed up the last of the kids’ summer clothes, pulled
out and assessed the snow boots and snow pants, and even sent three boxes of hand-me-downs off to the hospital thrift store.

Anything to keep her mind off grilling Jack.

She’d managed—through a supreme effort and no less than six calls to Glynnis—to keep her mouth shut. Her brain, however, had exploded wide-open, and the family computer held a ten-page outline of the Project’s pilot testing phase. She’d allowed herself one call to Meredith, asking her to identify five families or individuals who might be good candidates for involvement. It was superfluous, really, because timing was crucial and she still had no idea when The Project would move forward. She’d asked Meredith to humor her, however, desperate to be doing anything while she waited for the Green Light from Heaven that seemed to never come.

“Trust it,” Glynnis kept saying. Darcy felt herself chanting it like a mantra whenever her spirit got antsy—which was daily.

Trust it. Trust it.

Trust me. Trust me,
God seemed to be asking. It seemed so difficult to do. Darcy found herself moaning to God, pleading with Him to give her enough peace, or to send her more patience. She was itching to act, to move her plan forward. Why wait? What would be gained by not actively pursuing her plan? It would be so much easier if things would just make more sense.

The morning of her birthday, Darcy wasn’t sure Jack felt much like celebrating at all. His shoulders were stiff with tension—there must be a big meeting at his office today, and the stress had kept him up much of the night.

She waited all day for him to call and cancel their dinner out.

But he didn’t. When he called at 4:00 p.m. to check and make sure the kids were set for the evening, his voice sounded softer. Less stressed. Not excited, more like resigned, but at least not as tense. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what had transpired at work.

As she put on the last of her makeup and slid a frozen pizza into the oven for the kids, Darcy found herself almost agitated with uncertainty. She was looking forward to this night, to the time with Jack, but she wasn’t at all sure how the evening would go.

Jack chose a lovely little seafood place in trendy Hyde Park. They’d driven by this place a dozen times, wondering to each other if it was any good. It was a Jack kind of place. Small, unpretentious, but with enough flair to make the evening special. He’d done well.

“Wonderful.” Darcy let the buttery garlic of her shrimp scampi melt on her tongue. Cholesterol be hanged, tonight was no night for margarine. A woman deserved some crustaceans smothered in real butter on her birthday.

Jack nodded. His swordfish steak was nearly gone already. He was currently digging his way through a baked potato big enough for NFL play. “Ed was right—this place is terrific.”

“Ed?”

“I had lunch with Ed Bidwell last week and he mentioned how much he and Glynnis liked this place.”

Darcy tried not to let her shock show. Jack? Lunching with Ed Bidwell? That was the last thing she expected. While her relationship with Glynnis had blossomed immediately, Darcy was never quite sure Jack had hit it off with Ed much beyond mutual car affection. Evidently it
had. Or was starting to. She opted for a noncommittal response. “Really?”

“He called with tickets to some car show. I told him it would be like taking a diabetic to the candy store. He laughed at that one. Suggested lunch instead.”

So Ed had called him. Well, she could have guessed that. It was odd, however, for Jack not to have mentioned it. “How was it?” She tried to sound casual, suddenly finding her Greek salad worthy of intense inspection.

“He’s a nice guy. A bit on the odd side, but I think you’d
have
to be to be married to Glynnis.”

Darcy smiled. “They do suit each other, don’t they?”

“Supremely.” Jack got a bit of a faraway look in his eye. “I wish my parents were so happy. Ed and Glynnis are about as far from the grumpy-old-couple mentality as you can get.”

“Your parents are together, Jack. They seem happy enough.” It felt like a dumb response. As if she’d just negated Jack’s very telling remark. But his parents were together. They were
alive,
for heaven’s sake, and that counted for a lot in her book. Still, Jack had a point: they were grumpy. Didn’t he realize they’d always been grumpy? What, so now a guy can’t wish for vibrant parents? Darcy stabbed a cucumber with remorse. When would she learn to hush up, stop analyzing things down to the last micron, and just let Jack talk?

“They’re together. But lately, it seems like every conversation with Mom is about something Dad did to tick her off, and every conversation with Dad is about how Mom is nagging him.”

“They’re in their seventies, Jack. It’s what old people do. I suppose we should be happy they can still get around on their own.”

“Ed still talks about his wife like she’s a pinup girl.”

Darcy laughed, thinking of Glynnis’s scandalous remarks in the Henhouse. “Tell me about it. Glynnis was giving me
way
too much information about Ed’s romantic side the other morning. It’s cute, but it’s creepy at the same time.”

Jack chuckled, and softly sang a verse from the Beatles tune “When I’m Sixty-Four.”

Darcy lifted her glass. “Of course I’ll still feed you when you’re sixty-four. Puree and all.”

“And when I’m seventy-four?”

“Definitely.”

“Eighty-four?”

“I’ll wheel my chair right up beside yours.”

“Ninety-four?”

“I’ll have my nurse pass love notes from my hospital bed to yours.” That one made Jack laugh out loud.

“I like them. The Bidwells. They’re a bit odd, but I have to like a guy who can set you up with cheap videos and I still can’t figure out how he got those basketballs wholesale for you.”

“The man knows
everyone.
They’re a kooky pair, but it’s a nice kind of kooky.” Darcy imagined Glynnis would take
kooky
as a compliment.

“He offered to set us up with a financial planner, you know.”

Again, Darcy strove to keep her response as neutral as possible. “That sounds like something Ed would do.”

“He’s offered four times. I’m almost sorry I gave the guy my business card. The man loves to e-mail people.”

“Really.” So Ed’s been e-mailing Jack. Hmm.

“Yeah, and here I can’t even get Dad to program his VCR.”

Darcy smiled, thinking of the nearly dozen times her mother-in-law had called her asking how to reset the clock
on the coffeepot. She’d finally put the instructions in large print on an index card, sneaked it through the laminating machine at Paula’s school, and taped it to the wall in their kitchen. She found providing such assistance heart-warming. It was so much different than the large-scale dependence and eventually the dementia she had endured with her father.

When she snapped her thoughts back to the conversation at hand, Darcy noticed Jack was looking at her. Twirling his wedding ring again. She had the distinct impression he was working up the nerve to say something, but honestly couldn’t tell if it was good news or bad.

“Speaking of cards, I’ve got something for you, Dar.” He had a sort of smile on his face, but it was an uncertain one. As if he wasn’t particularly happy with whatever present was forthcoming. That didn’t seem to be a very good sign.

Jack pulled out a box roughly the size of a videocassette. “I bought this two weeks ago, just after my birthday, but I hadn’t decided until this afternoon whether or not to give it to you.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “
Ugh,
I’m botching this.” He took a deep breath, as if to regroup his thoughts. “Um, look…what I’m trying to say is that I thought long and hard about this. And, actually, I talked about it a lot to Ed, and I’ve come to a…well…oh, why don’t you just open it?” He pushed the box across the table to her.

Well now, that was one of the strangest gift presentations Darcy had ever seen. Honest, even to the point of…what was that, reluctance? But heartfelt. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Whatever it was, it had been a big deal for Jack, so it must be important.

Lord,
she sighed as she pulled the box toward her.
Give me the right reaction.

Jack put his hand out to still hers as she reached for the bow. “No, wait. I did that all wrong. Let me start over.” He kept his hand on hers, his finger making slow circles on the back of her palm. “This…this was hard for me. But I want you to have this. I want to be all jumpy and enthusiastic about this, but I’m not there yet. But I’m trying. I…I just want you to know that.”

Darcy did not dare let her heart go where it was racing. She did not want to allow herself to hope. But her heart went there anyway, without permission, full of fragile expectation. Could he?

She pulled on the ribbon and slid her fingers under the tape of the giftwrap. Inside was a beautiful velvet chest—almost like a jewelry box, or a tiny treasure chest, covered in red silk and exotic-looking beadwork. She looked at Jack, and he nodded a silent
Open it.

The lid tilted upward to reveal two slim silver boxes and a cream-colored envelope.

“Open the one on the right first.” Jack’s expression was going from contorted to excited. Slowly, but definitely going in that direction.

She picked up the silver case. It was, she realized, a business card case. Stumped, she pressed the small button that popped open the lid.

And lost the ability to breathe.

Inside, on delicate cream-colored cards, was the following inscription.

Darcy Nightengale

President and Founder

The Restoration Project

She ran her hand across the graceful raised lettering and felt life click into place. How much sweeter this moment was for the waiting. How much more Jack’s agreement meant because it had not been hunted. It had been given. Freely, with much effort. Out of sheer love. Jack had stepped out of his sensibility—at a time when it must have felt so uncomfortable to do so—because of his love for her and her wish to do this extraordinary thing.