Bad Heiress Day (21 page)

“Jack?” she said quietly.

“Hmm?” he answered, his chest humming against her cheek.

“I think Craig’s our guy.”

“Me too, hon. Me, too.”

G
lynnis clasped her hands together in utter joy when Darcy told her about Michelle. “I knew it, I just knew it. Darcy honey, I’m not surprised at all. When did you hear?”

“Yesterday. We met at the center to go over the final recipients. Norene McDylan’s kids were just fine and her husband even got in a round of golf during the day. Norene said he hadn’t played for two years. I wouldn’t be surprised if we come up with some sort of Restoration Project Men’s Auxiliary someday.”

“Oh, don’t let Ed hear you say that! That sounds like just the sort of thing he’d get all excited about. Me, I’m so excited about Michelle Porter that I can hardly stand it.” She poked Darcy in the arm. “See? See what God can do when you’re willing to go into the scary places?”

“Yeah, yeah, exceeding my expectations, I get it, Glynnis. It’s just that I’m knee-deep in scary places. I keep trying to tell God I’ve developed all the character I can stand at one time.”

Glynnis laughed. “Oh, I’ve tried that one, too. God doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that one.”

“No kidding.”

Glynnis added more cookies to the plate. “A little bird told me Jack was very impressed with our man Craig. I’ve always liked that boy.”

Darcy had to laugh. Craig Palmer must have been in his late fifties to say the least. Boy was hardly the term that came to mind. “He had lots of ideas.”

Glynnis must have caught the hesitation in her voice, for she arched an eyebrow up over her glasses at Darcy. “A bit too many ideas perhaps? What’d he say?”

Darcy took a long sip of iced tea, fighting the sudden secrecy that sprung up. Money was private. But then again, no, her openness about money is what made Glynnis so wonderful. It didn’t seem to have that power over her that it did over so many people. Money never seemed to complicate Glynnis’s life—even the gobs and gobs of it Darcy suspected she and Ed had. No, Glynnis was just the person to confide in over money.

“Craig thinks Dad’s estate can be invested to give more return. Enough to create a charitable foundation and do lots of projects, not just The Restoration Project. And it could provide a salary for me as a staff person as well. ‘Everybody wins,’ as he put it.”

Glynnis stared at her. “I’m waiting for the downside, honey. I’m not hearing one.”

“Don’t you see?” replied Darcy, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. How could Glynnis see everything so simply? “That’s going beyond Dad’s request. He asked us to give it away. Now Craig is suggesting that I take a salary from the money to help give it away. It’s not the same thing.”

“I agree. I think it’s better.”

Why did Darcy just know Glynnis would see this without conflict?

“But it’s not what Dad asked.”

Glynnis jumped on that, pointing her finger at Darcy. “Ah, right there’s an important point. He didn’t demand you do this, did he? He
asked.
I remember thinking the wording you told me sounded mighty deliberate. If Paul had wanted to make sure you did things in some exact way, he could have put it in his will, couldn’t he?”

For some reason, that simple fact had never occurred to Darcy. Her dad
could
have made it a requirement of the estate. But he didn’t. She’d never thought of that before.

“Would you characterize—” her Southern accent pulled the word out into long, rich vowels “—your daddy as a rigid man?”

Darcy laughed. Paul Hartwell could change his mind in a heartbeat. Her impulsive nature didn’t materialize out of thin air—no, it was in her very DNA to pounce on a new idea.

Pounce on a new idea.

He would. Dad loved new ideas, new ways of doing things.

Which is why he left it up to her.

“No,” Darcy replied, her voice hushed with the clarity of this new realization. “Not at all.”

Glynnis seemed to be right there beside her thoughts. “And was Paul the kind of man who went where God led him? Even if it was, shall we say, unusual?”

“Yes. Always.”

“Well, honey, what makes you think he wouldn’t want the same for you? He’s handed you a grand adventure, Darcy girl, why are you so afraid to go on it?”

You know, there just wasn’t a good answer for that question. Darcy opened her mouth, then shut it again, unable to refute the simple truth in what Glynnis said. The woman simply smiled—her sunshine, butterscotch, come-on-over-here-and-hug-me smile—and squeezed Darcy’s hand. God must delight in her, Darcy thought; His joy is just oozing out of every one of Glynnis’s pores.

“You’re amazing, Glynnis. How many other women have you helped like this? How many Henhouse alumni are there?”

Glynnis’s smile widened. “Eleven.”

“I think I’d like to meet some of them.”

“You can meet all of them. We have lunch the third Wednesday of every month. I’ve been praying for weeks now for God to show me the right time to invite you.”

Darcy grinned. “Sounds like now’s the time. And I’ve been thinking about church, too. I think we’d like to start coming to Ohio Valley.”

Glynnis fairly sparkled, putting her hands on her chubby little hips. “No time like the present. Come Sunday! And bring that feisty redheaded friend of yours with you.”

“Kate?” Darcy sputtered.

“Yes, Kate. Quite a looker, that Kate. I wouldn’t want her sitting beside me at the hotel pool—these old girls might hardly measure up.” The woman shifted her bosom and winked at Darcy, who practically choked on her cookie. “’Course, like Ed always says, ‘It ain’t what you got, it’s how you use it.’” She elbowed Darcy, who willed her mouth shut from its current fishlike position. Only Glynnis Bidwell could invite you to church and flaunt her abundant figure in the same paragraph. Why on earth
had she ever thought Glynnis and Kate wouldn’t get along? They were both bold-hearted women who liked stirring up a bit of trouble.

I need to get me some normal friends, Darcy thought to herself.

“I’ve thought about coming to Ohio Valley for weeks,” Darcy admitted, and it was the truth. “I’m just not sure Jack is ready.”

“Have you asked him?” Glynnis said, as though this were a simple question.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Darcy started.

“No, it’s not. Don’t go making it all complicated. Just tell Jack the reasons you’d like to go, and ask him what he thinks. Honestly, you young people talk about sex quicker than you talk about God.”

“Glynnis!”

“Darcy Nightengale, Ed and I want to take Jack and you to brunch after service on Sunday. The kids can come, too. Service starts at nine-thirty. You coming or not?”

“I guess we’re a-comin, ma’am,” Darcy conceded. “Unless Jack has objections.”

“Oh, I doubt Jack will have objections.”

Now Darcy’s hands went to her hips. “And why is that?”

“’Cause Ed asked Jack earlier this morning over the phone at work and Jack already said yes.”

If Darcy had a white flag, she’d have waved it.

“Don’t you just think God’s over there in the corner, smiling and saying ‘How do you like them apples, Darcy Nightengale?’”

“Yeah,” said Darcy slowly, “sure…just like that.”

Craig Palmer’s office wall was covered in charts. Pie graphs. Bar graphs. Income projection thingies. Annual
yield thingies. Adjusted gross income tables. It was a forest of numbers and formulas, and Darcy was struggling to take it all in. Craig and Jack had been bantering back and forth in energetic accountantese for the last fifteen minutes, their mutual excitement reaching almost amusing levels.

“Darcy,” said Craig, taking in what must have been the baffled expression on her face. “I’d bet you’d like this in English.”

“I don’t know,” retorted Darcy, “you guys look like you’re having way too much fun. I hate to break the mood.” It
was
fun to watch Jack light up like a Christmas tree at all these charts and figures. This was Jack’s world, Jack’s native tongue.

“No, really. Let’s break it down into four areas.” Craig picked up the first pie graph. “This is how your father’s estate is currently set up. If we keep it this way, we can expect it to produce this—” he referred to another line graph next to it “—kind of income over the next twenty years. That is, as much as we can guess. No one here has a crystal ball, or we’d be out sailing our yachts instead of here crunching numbers for you. Do you follow so far?”

Darcy nodded. This part, she could understand.

“But your philanthropic goals, not to mention the current world situation, presents us with some unique opportunities. Stocks are incredibly low. We can buy assets that we know will return to their former value, but buy them at an incredible bargain because of the current market. Plus, we can shift assets around to new kinds of financial products, tweak formulas, stuff like that, to get an even greater yield. If we think creatively, we can increase that original income to—” Craig held up a new chart with the
same sort of pride a new father would hold up baby pictures “—this. Or, if things really go our way—” he produced a third chart, looking as though he fully expected a drum roll “—this.”

Jack had the look on his face he usually reserved for sports cars or two-inch steaks.

“Now,” continued Craig, who was actually rubbing his hands together, “watch what those kinds of assets can do.” A new chart appeared. “Even assuming a fair to middling market with a very slow comeback, these assets can fund thirty-six Restoration Project recipients per year on an ongoing basis.”

Darcy smiled. That was three women a month. Forever. Boy, if that wasn’t enough to make your head spin.

“Plus,” continued Craig, “a nice part-time salary for its current and permanent president.”

Darcy sucked in her breath. Just as a preparation for today, she and Jack had gone over the family budget, identifying how much new income they’d need to get back onto what Jack felt was solid footing.

The salary in Craig’s chart was almost twice that.

Exceeding my expectations again, Lord?

Craig wasn’t done yet. “If you can divert half of this salary to education, Darcy, it means Mike can attend Simmons Math Academy beginning next year. And, assuming he garners a couple of math scholarships—which, I understand is a pretty safe bet—he can attend any number of colleges without you refinancing your home or selling the dog.”

“We don’t have a dog,” Jack said, laughing.

“Sorry.” Craig smirked. “It’s just an expression we use. Bad financial humor, I suppose.”

Financial humor, mused Darcy. There’s two words I don’t put together often.

“This section over here shows how we’d save for Paula’s education, which is slightly easier because we’ve got more of a head start. This is all doable, Jack and Darcy. You’ve got a solid future ahead of you.” The guy was beaming. “But I’ve got another little surprise for you.”

Darcy could hardly imagine anything more surprising.

Craig pulled another chart from a folder on his desk. “This section,” he said with a mile-wide smile, “outlines a small pool of funds I want you to consider.” Craig looked straight at Jack. “With the proper management, a subset of Paul’s money can provide sixteen dozen professional-grade basketballs annually to the community centers of your choice.”

Jack looked as if he stopped breathing. Darcy felt as if her heart was going to explode right there on the spot.

“Ed Bidwell made a few calls after he told me the extraordinary story of your most recent birthday party, Jack. Seems you have a few people ready to give you top-notch balls at a huge discount—that is, of course, if you’d like to make this more than a one-shot deal.”

Darcy looked at Jack. His mouth was hanging open. His eyes were huge. He looked, quite truthfully, just like she felt. Stunned. Astounded. Thrilled.

Of course. Who said this had to be all about
her
giving? Hadn’t she already seen—in the basketballs and even in the gold coins—how much they could do
together?
How each of them fit into the puzzle that made this crazy scheme possible? Suddenly the Jack Gives Away Basketballs Project seemed like the most natural, wonderful idea on earth. That glow—the same warm glow that filled her with the first thought of The Restoration Project—now filled the room.

Craig Palmer was, without a shadow of a doubt, their guy.

And God, well, it was becoming obvious that He was too.

Sunday’s visit to Ohio Valley Community Church was delightful. At least for Darcy. She kept waiting for an assessment from Jack, who said nothing telling during the visit or the car ride home. “Well,” he said finally as he pulled the kitchen door shut behind him, “that wasn’t half bad.” The kids had already plunged past him, in a hurry to get upstairs and out of church clothes. “Your Pastor Doug seems like a normal guy.”

Darcy set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “Could this have something to do with the fact that he likes basketball? Or that the Men’s Ministries has a pickup league?”

Jack pulled a Coke from the fridge. “Well, that’s part of the ‘normal’ part. I always think of pastors as playing golf or fly-fishing or something. A pastor with a mean jump shot, well, that I can handle.”

“Who told you Doug has a mean jump shot?”

“Ed. Hey, you should have seen Doug’s eyes light up when Ed told him about my birthday. I think The Restoration Project’s gonna lose a committee member once we get my basketball thing up and running. He looked more excited than Craig did when he suggested it.”

Darcy laughed. Evidently the tour Ed gave the guys had different stops than the tour Glynnis gave the women. She was glad. She couldn’t explain it, but the church seemed different than the one her dad had taken them to so often. Today, it didn’t even really feel like the same building her father’s funeral had been in. She loved her father, loved his faith even when it frustrated her, but could never get to a place of comfort inside Ohio Valley Community Church. Now, suddenly, it felt like the church had
been waiting for her to come back. “It feels so different,” she said half to herself.

“I know. I can’t figure it out—Paul took us there a dozen times, but it never felt as easy as it did today.” He took a long swallow of soda and leaned up against the fridge. “Why do you suppose that is?”