Bad Heiress Day

“You know what?” Kate offered suddenly with a smirk. “I was wrong. We don’t have enough chocolate to deal with this. It’s gonna take a whole gallon of Graeter’s mint chocolate chip to cope with this baby.” She began gathering up the food and wrappers. “And on the way, you can tell me what Jack said about all this.”

Chapter 2

The Twelfth of Never

“Four more spoonfuls and then I’ll open it. I’ll save the rest of my ice cream sundae for the aftermath.” Darcy was feeling better bit by bit.

Kate counted down Darcy’s spoonfuls and added a drumroll to the last one for effect. There, in the front seat of Kate’s car in Graeter’s Ice Cream Parlor parking lot, she took a deep breath and pulled the lid from the box.

Kate was right. It did look ordinary. She didn’t know if she expected some hand to come out and grab her like something from The Addams Family, but it looked tame enough. She started with something safe, like the coins.

“Gold,” Darcy said as she pulled one from the wax paper envelope that held it. “From Africa. At least I think it’s gold—it’s heavy enough. I’ll have to take them someplace to have them appraised. Dad told me he got these when I was born.” There were four of them, two pairs of different kinds. Okay, safe enough. Nothing shocking there. Good. She laid them gently back into the box.

The first Bible was soft and worn, the aged leather flaking off a bit in her hands. It was a woman’s bible, with swirly lettering stamped on the elegant beige of the cover. Her mother’s. Darcy realized she’d never seen her mother with it. She imagined it tucked in a nightstand drawer next to a velvet jewelry box and hankies.

Mom. Her death in 1982 seemed like ages ago now. As a shy seventeen-year-old, it had been so hard for Darcy to come to grips with the automobile accident that had taken her mom’s life. Actually, it hadn’t taken her life, just made her give up on the life she had until it ebbed right out of her.

Maimed.

Darcy had always thought that was an odd choice of words for people to use. Her mother’s left hand looked just as it always had, but it was rendered lifeless. Limp and useless. Her mother had survived all the other bumps and bruises, and had lived for years after the accident, but never gave a hint of ever recovering. Or even wanting to. Clara Hartwell had been a violinist, and life without a left hand didn’t seem worth living. “But it’s just a hand,” Darcy remembered thinking, even arguing with her mother.

All arguments, all pleading, all encouragement had proved as useless as Clara’s fingers. It had been a hideous, awful time.

“Mom’s,” Darcy offered to Kate, surprised by the lump in her throat when she spoke. “I’ve never seen it before.” She ran her hands through the impossibly thin pages, fingered the faded red ribbons that were meant to mark pages. Each ribbon left a pale-pink line on the page it had sat in over the years. Darcy ran her fingers across the monogram gracing the bottom corner before she laid it back in the box.

She recognized the second Bible. Hard-bound, it was tattered and dirty. This was the small Bible her dad talked about carrying through the war. The one he carried for years until he wore it clean out and Darcy gave him a new one for his birthday. Thumbing through it, Darcy saw hundreds of tiny scrawled notes in the margins. Names of people. Question marks and exclamation points with arrows to particular verses. “Harry—forgive him” was one, with an arrow to a passage in Luke which read “But he who hath forgiven little loves little.”

Darcy looked up. “Dad’s.”

Kate said nothing. There wasn’t anything for her to say, really. Except maybe “So, open the letter.” Darcy was glad she didn’t say it.

There it was. Sitting in the corner of the box. Small and thick, with “Darcy” in her father’s handwriting on the front. His handwriting the way it used to be, before his letters got sloppy and shaky from weak hands. This penmanship was strong and careful.

Darcy felt Kate’s hand on her shoulder. “You know, if you want to be alone, I could go get more ice cream or something. Maybe you need to do this in private.”

Darcy swallowed hard. “No. I think I need you here. I’m not going to read it aloud or anything—at least not yet, but I don’t think I want to do this by myself. You just sit over there and polish off that fudge, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m gonna do this.”

“I’m right here, kiddo.”

Darcy counted to five and then slid her finger under the back flap. The paper was still strong, the seal still solid. Darcy guessed it was written about two years ago. Just about when her dad’s diagnosis was finalized.

She pulled up the flap and slid the papers out. Five sheets—filled on both sides—appeared. Small, stationery-size—the kind nobody used much anymore because it didn’t fit into computers, and who even wrote letters anymore?

Unfolding the pages carefully, she let her eyes travel up the lines of dark-blue ink until they hit those fateful words: “Dear Darcy,”

All right then, here we go.

Darcy read the letter.

Dear Darcy,

I’ve been wondering, as I sit down to write this letter, just how upset you will be when you read this. If you’re holding this paper, it means I’m gone now, and you’ve been to see Jacob. And you’ve learned the one piece of my life I’ve kept from you. And, I assume you’re not happy to learn I kept such a thing from you. I had reasons, and you will learn them before this letter is done.

I’m not feeling sick yet, but I know I will be. I know, too, that you will have been there, for you’re that kind of person. They tell me the end won’t be pretty, but I will step out in the faith that I have in you and thank you now for sticking by me when it got messy. I wonder if I will have even known, when it is time, everything you have done on my behalf. If I didn’t, and somehow didn’t recognize or acknowledge your care in the end, forgive me. I know it now, and I’ll take these lucid moments to thank you. The words hardly seem sufficient for what I can only imagine is coming, but I have no others.

Darcy’s chest heaved in a sob. How she had longed for that last, clear, look of acknowledgment from her dad in those final hours. It had never come. He was far away and already lost to her and looking frightened. She ached from his death all over again. For the body now reduced to ashes, the spirit long since left. She forced herself to continue reading:

I worry about you now. I’d have never said it before, but I worry about you and Jack through all this. The strain is sure to be huge. Jack’s so independent, and our tiny family is about to become as dependent as it gets. Know that I have prayed for you and Jack and your marriage. And I will continue to send down blessings and prayers after I am gone, because I have a feeling that’s when things will be the worst. I’m not kidding myself to think I’m not making things harder by what I’ve done.

All right, little girl, I’ve sidestepped the issue long enough. This letter, as I said before, is to tell you why I’ve done what I’ve done. No doubt by now you know the extent of my financial assets. I’m sure you’ve eaten a gallon of Graeters—if you’ve not eaten three by now…

Darcy laughed at her father’s foresight. It helped to stem the tears lurking like an undertow just beneath the surface. “He’s betting I’ve eaten Graeter’s already.” She offered the explanation to Kate just to break the aching silence.

“He knew you” is all Kate replied, her eyes tearing and her sundae untouched.

…and I’m sure you’re in shock. Probably mad, too, for we never kept secrets from each other. Wondering, if I know you, what else you don’t know about me. Let me put your mind at rest, Darcy, and tell you this letter is all there is. There are no other secrets. I didn’t like keeping this one much, but I had reasons.

Where did it all come from? That’s a painful episode in your mother’s and my history that I hope we’ve successfully shielded you from. There were discussions—arguments really, and bad ones—after your mother’s accident. I knew, just by how she was talking and acting, that Clara had no intention of continuing to live. Some people are strong enough to recover from a tragedy like that. Clara wasn’t one of them. No amount of convincing from the doctors could change her mind. They even had some lady with two prosthetic legs come and talk to your mother, but she wouldn’t hear it. To her mind, her body had been so badly damaged that she didn’t want to be in it anymore. I was angry with her for wanting to leave me, to leave you, over her one hand. But you know Mom and her music, and what it did to her to have that taken away from her. Clara needed someone to pay for the awful thing that happened to her.

In truth, I began to as well. Clara just plain stopped being my wife and your mom when her hand stopped working. We argued all the time—I hope you don’t remember how much.

Drivers didn’t have to have car insurance back then. So, when we won the lawsuit against the driver who hit Mom’s car, it cleaned the poor guy out. Our $250,000 award meant he had to sell his house, his car, everything.

Clara was glad we ruined his life for hers. I was, too. But even all that money couldn’t bring your Mom back to us. I woke up one day, after she was gone, and realized I hated how much her vengeance had become such a part of me.

I should have realized earlier and tried to talk her out of it. In truth, Darcy, I suppose I didn’t want to stop her from doing the one thing she seemed to feel was left on Earth for her to do. I suppose I thought it might keep her with us for a bit longer if she felt she still had some purpose. I loved my wife and was blinded by grief into letting her do anything to keep her alive.

I told her once, in a moment of anger, that I would give it away. The money, that is. I wanted to, after I realized it didn’t help. Having lots of money never meant much to me, anyhow. My experience has been that money never solves problems, only makes new ones.

Well, Clara went so hysterical she ended up back in the hospital and almost died. So there, with her life on the line, it seemed, she made me promise not to give it away. On my honor. Before God.

Even Clara never got what she wanted. Despite taking everything Harry Zokowski had, we ended up with only $150,000. But that was still a lot of money back then. To me, though, it was just a reminder of how vengeful I’d become, and I wanted it far from my hands. The life insurance and casualty insurance more than paid for her bills anyway, what use did I have for one lonely old man’s life savings in exchange for my lost wife?

By now you’ve been to see Jacob, and you can trust him—even if he is a lawyer. Jacob has kept the money for me, and seen to its wise investment over the years. Over time, he convinced me to let him take some of the interest off the money for when things get expensive with all those medicines and nurses I’m sure I’ll need. I didn’t much like it, but it made sense to me, because it means I won’t be a financial burden to you and Jack. Jacob has the authority to draw off funds whenever he needs to ensure that my accounts have enough to pay the bills. That’s why you’ve only seen the accounts you’ve seen. At least up until now.

So now, if I guess correctly, you’re looking at something over $1.5 million. Can you believe it? It feels like a fortune, but it’s not. It’s not, Darcy, and don’t fool yourself into thinking that it is.

I could never give it away, Darcy, I promised your mother. But you can.

I don’t know what your life will be like in my last years, so I won’t require you to do this. I won’t command you to do anything. I don’t have that right after all I’ve just put you through.

But I can ask you to. Give it away, Darcy. Do this for me. I know that sounds crazy to you right now, there’s so much you and Jack could do with that kind of money, but don’t keep it, honey. Take your Dad’s advice this time. It’s ill-gotten money, no matter what the legal system says. Keeping it will keep you from moving on. I’m not sure I can explain it, but the cost is dear. You’ve already lost so much in this life. Don’t let this money take away anything more. Whatever you think it will buy you is an illusion, anyhow.

I don’t expect you to understand this right away. Please don’t do anything yet. Just talk to Jack, talk to people you trust and who are right with God, seek His wisdom, and know I am praying for you every moment. Now I can mean it when I tell you I’ll love you forever. Remember when I used to sing to you “Until the 12th of Never, I’ll still be loving you”? Now it’s true, and never forget it. God loves you, Darcy. Loves you still. Your faith will always lead you to the right decisions in life. That’s the best treasure I can leave you.

I love you. I’ve always loved you. Your mother has always loved you, even when she couldn’t show it anymore. God loves you always. I will love you forever, sweetheart, beyond the 12th of Never.

Love,

Dad

Darcy closed the pages, her face streaming with tears. “Oh, Daddy,” she said quietly, and dissolved into sobs on Kate’s shoulder.

Chapter 3

Little Orphan Heiress

The little red Miata pulled into the driveway just after eleven. The living room lights were off, but Darcy could still see the TV’s flickering colors. She wondered which James Bond movie—Jack’s favorite indulgence from the video store—he had chosen. Live and Let Die, most likely, or maybe even You Only Live Twice, because that one started with James Bond’s own funeral.

“You have Jack to help you with this. That man’s a dream. And me. I’m dreamy too, aren’t I?” Kate put her arm around Darcy. “Dar, you’re going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?”

“No.” Darcy let her head fall back against the car seat.

“Look,” said Kate, “why don’t you let me take the kids tomorrow morning so you and Jack have some time to sort this out. They’ve canceled soccer practice and Thad is going nuts because I won’t let him turn on the TV.” Kate rubbed her eyes, and Darcy thought for the first time how long this day had been for her, too. “I don’t want him seeing all the stuff that’s on right now—some paper showed a photo of someone jumping from the Twin Towers yesterday.” She shook her head. “Everybody needs a distraction—something normal feeling. The kids can get together and play and then I’ll take them out for pizza.”

The images from the paper had left Darcy feeling cold herself. “The gates of hell” one fireman in New York City had called it. Her father was to have spent his last day at the gates of heaven, not watching the gates of hell open up in New York City and Washington, D.C. It killed her inside to know that such a gruesome day had been Dad’s last hours on earth. Cruel.

“Dar…?”

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

“I’ll pick them up at nine-thirty. Go get some sleep. It’ll all still be here in the morning. All of it.”

Darcy picked up the chicken bucket and the bank box from off her lap. She sat still for a moment. “Thanks.”

Kate just nodded.

Jack looked up to see Darcy coming through the front door, her hands full of clothes and boxes. She looked better. Exhausted, spent, but some of the tension had eased from her shoulders. He’d have to thank Ed Parrot for his suggestion next time he saw him.

Darcy tilted the boxes so that the bucket of chicken slid to the coffee table in front of Jack. “Let me guess,” he said, pulling off the lid, “extra crispy, all drumsticks.”

She smiled, sort of. “There’s even a few left. Dig in.” There was an explosion on the television and she turned to it. “Let me guess, Live and Let Die or You Only Live Twice?”

Jack grinned. “Both. It’s been that kind of day. Plus, it was two-for-one at the video store.” They knew each other so well. He paused in thought before asking softly, “How are you?”

Darcy kept staring at the television. “I don’t know. Okay, I suppose. But not really. Tired.”

An idea struck him. “Go get your pajamas on and come watch. The bad guy is just about to reveal his plan for world domination.” They used to do it all the time. Zap up a bucket of popcorn and watch Bond flicks in their pajamas.

Darcy returned, clad in soft pink cotton, and sat down beside him. Without a word, he wrapped one arm around her. With his other arm he pulled the throw from off the back of the couch and tugged it over her. She lay her head on his lap and exhaled. He felt her soften against him as he stroked the blond waves of her hair. How long had it been since they’d had time to do this?

Just as the last drumstick was gone and 007 was getting his girl, Jack looked down at Darcy to notice she’d fallen asleep. Her breathing was soft and peaceful. The knots gone from her shoulders as she lay against him.

When the movie was over, he hit the VCR remote and watched the blank blue glow of the TV screen fill the room. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and legs and picked her up. Jack held her there for a moment, the sensation taking him back. Back to when they were younger, before kids and middle school and dying parents and flaming office buildings. They would watch Bond movies on the couch and Darcy would always fall asleep. Always just half an hour before the end. The feeling of her asleep against him was warm and familiar. He’d scoop her up on those nights, like he did just now, and carry her to the bedroom.

There, in the blue glow, that younger woman returned. So much had changed. It’d been months since he’d seen her look like that. She’d been exhausted and beaten down by the endless care of her dad. It was like the life was draining out of both of them at the same time. She’d aged a dozen years in the last two months. Their life had dwindled down to Paul and everything else fell second to him.

And so much of everything else fell second to him.

She smelled of chocolate. They’d been to Graeter’s. Mint chocolate chip, if he knew her.

And he did. There was a small smudge of it at the corner of her mouth.

He kissed her forehead softly. She made a soft sound that hummed through him. No matter how unfair to Paul, Jack yearned to be the most important man in her life again.

“Movie’s over,” he said quietly.

They lay together later in the moonlight, listening to the night sounds waft through the open window. The moon had seemed harsh and cold when she’d been up nights with Paul. Now, the light poured rich and creamy through the window to play across Jack’s shoulders. She laid her hand on his chest and turned to rest her chin on it. Jack put an arm behind his head so he could look into her face. He smiled as he fingered a lock of her hair.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’ve been spending your nights with another man.” It was a tasteless joke, but somehow Darcy was glad for the irreverence. Everything had been so very serious for so very long.

She swatted him softly with her free hand. He caught it in his and held it. “No, seriously. There was something in Dad’s safety deposit box. About the money.”

That got his attention. “More stuff we didn’t know?”

“Well, not exactly. It was a letter. From Dad to me. For me to open after he died.”

“The guy had a flair for drama.”

Darcy couldn’t suppress a small smile. “This does sound like a bad novel, doesn’t it?” She paused, formulating the right words in her head. She hadn’t even wrapped her own mind around her father’s request, much less figure out how to explain it to Jack. “I’m not sure I even get it myself.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow, encouraging her to go on.

“Well, for starters, he told me where the money came from. It was from a settlement on Mom’s accident. She sued the old man who hit her—or at least started to—before she died.” Darcy’s throat tightened a bit at the thought of her mother, so bitter, angry and hopeless.

“I had a feeling that’s where it came from. Your dad was tight with a buck, but all that couldn’t have come from just clipping coupons. I figured it was from insurance settlements, though, not from lawsuits. Paul doesn’t seem the suing type.”

“There was a time when he was. Or Mom convinced him to be. He says—said—he tried to stop her.” Darcy still couldn’t get used to talking about her father in the past tense.

“And…” Jack was trying to help her, but somehow that only seemed to make it harder.

“They cleaned out the guy who hit her—he had no insurance. Once they got the money, though, Mom was already too far gone. Dad stopped wanting it, I guess. Hated what the lawsuit did to him, how it only ruined another life. Oh, I still don’t really get it. But he ended up promising her he’d never give it away.”

“So, what? He just hid it?”

“That’s a good way to put it, I suppose. He hid it. All these years. Never touched it.”

“Well, at least he had the good sense to find an interest-bearing hiding place.”

“I suppose. It seems sad, in a way.”

“It’s amazing when you think of it. All that money, just waiting, sitting. If I ever wanted to teach Mike about the magic of compound interest, I’ve got the ultimate real-life example. I’ve been thinking a lot about this Dar, and we’re going to have to do some serious research on how to manage it. The stock market is already taking a nosedive from the attack, and if we go to war, who knows what will happen? There’s a guy at work who’s really into all that stuff—”

“Jack,” Darcy stopped him. “There’s more.”

“Okay.”

“He asked me to give it away.”

Jack’s eyes flew wide open. “He what?”

“The letter asks me not to keep the money, but to give it away. He couldn’t—he’d promised Mom—but I can. At least that’s how he put it.”

Darcy could feel Jack’s chest tighten under her. Hadn’t she had the same reaction when she read the letter? “Well, that takes a lot of nerve. After all you’ve been through, after keeping it from you—from us—in the first place.”

“I know, I’m sick to death of bombshells going off around here.”

“Let me get this straight.” Jack’s hand left hers to rub across his eyes. “Your dad leaves you a small fortune, but you have to give it away? First you play nurse, now you have to play Santa Claus? I tell you, Dar…”

“I think he had good intentions.”

“I’ve got a thing or two to say about his methods.”

“I’m still not sure just why….”

“I just don’t get it. Was he not in the room when we were talking about struggling to find college money for the kids? It hasn’t exactly been easy street around here since you quit your part-time job at the library so you could spend more time with him. You practically shut down your life—our life—to take care of him. And he pays us back with a stunt like this? Who does this to their own daughter?”

Darcy slid off Jack and sat up, her own anger growing. It wasn’t fair. This was a lousy thing to do, no matter how many dollar signs or good intentions were involved. “I don’t know, Jack. I don’t get it. I’ve read the letter a dozen times and I still don’t get it. Why on earth did he need to pile this on top of everything else I’ve had to handle?”

Jack pulled himself up to a sitting position, his elbow jabbed onto one bent knee. “I’ve put up with a lot from your dad over the years, Dar. I’ve put up with his weird mission trips and Bible speeches and all the cancer stuff and who knows what else, but this takes the cake.” He stared right at Darcy. “Since when is it okay to be religious and deceptive at the same time?”

Darcy could only repeat the phrase that had been echoing in her head all day, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Darcy, it’s Aunt Jenny.”

Oh, no. Not Aunt Jenny. This woman had single-handedly started dozens of family arguments.

“Good morning, Aunt Jenny,” was all Darcy could manage, still holding a box of Pop-Tarts in her other hand. She could already hear the usual hurt edge in the woman’s voice.

“I just had to call and ask, what were you thinking, child? How could you be so hurtful to the rest of your family? You know we couldn’t get there for the memorial service. They’ve only just now opened up the airports again. Honestly.”