Eva's Deadline

“I put in the chips,” Sasha said, “and stirred, too.”

Mark exchanged a grin with Eileen. “Good for you, Sasha. These will hit the spot with a glass of milk when we get home. By the way, any news from Dan and Rilla and the kids?”

Dan and Rilla were Eileen’s son and daughter-in-law. They were on a road trip to visit Rilla’s parents in Montana.

Eileen grinned. “They’re having a great time. I sure miss my three grandkids, though. Good thing I have Sasha.” She gave Sasha a hug. “Bye now, darlin’. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Grammy Eileen.” Sasha planted a smooch on the woman’s cheek.

Eileen walked out with them onto the porch. Then Mark tucked Sasha into her booster seat and they were on their way. The clouds parted to reveal a half-moon on the rise. Tall evergreens were silhouetted against the silvery sky. The salty smell of the ocean drifted in through his open window.

“What about Mr. Seb?” Sasha asked from her seat behind him.

“He died this morning.”

“Why?”

“Well, because his body stopped working and the doctors couldn’t fix him.”

“Like Mommy?”

Her forlorn voice tugged at Mark’s heart. “Yes, like Mommy.”

Sasha had been only three years old when Diane had died. He’d explained death as best he could, but doubted his daughter really understood. Then last year she began asking why she didn’t have a mommy like her friends. He’d given her a simplified version of the truth. The bus Mommy was riding in had an accident. Mommy was hurt so bad her body wouldn’t work anymore.

“I miss Mommy,” Sasha said now.

“I know, honey. I do, too.”

And he did. Even though she had betrayed him, he missed her presence, missed being part of a complete family. Since Diane’s death, he’d more or less stayed away from women. He had a date now and then, mostly when someone set him up and when accepting was easier than refusing, but nothing came of these encounters. He didn’t want to risk being hurt again. Or having Sasha hurt.

He’d never told their daughter why her mommy was on the bus or where she was going. No need to burden the child with the awful truth. Maybe when she was older.

Then again, maybe never.

Later, after they had their cookies and milk, Mark tucked Sasha into bed. He kissed her forehead and pulled the covers up around her chin.

She smiled at him. “’Night, Daddy.”

“’Night, honey.” He gazed at his precious child, his heart full of love.

In the living room, he settled into his recliner, the one Diane had insisted on buying because the blue upholstery matched the sofa she’d picked out. He’d rather have had a leather chair, but, no, blue cloth it had to be. After she died, he’d kept it, as he’d kept nearly everything else in the house that she’d had a hand in. For Sasha’s sake. He didn’t want her to forget her mommy, and having things around that reminded her of Diane would help to keep her memory alive.

Switching on the TV, he tuned in the local news to see what they said about Seb. The TV crew had been at the newspaper office that afternoon, interviewing him and the other staff. Sure enough, there he was, being quoted about what a shock Seb’s death was, and what a great newspaperman he’d been, and how much he’d be missed. Mark slowly shook his head. He still had trouble believing the man was gone.

He knew that despite their estrangement, Seb had loved Eva. He always spoke of her with pride and said what a good writer she was. But, as far as Mark could tell after meeting Eva this evening, she still seemed to harbor resentment toward her father. Indignation tightened Mark’s chest. Seb deserved better.

Yet, what right did he have to judge Eva? Wasn’t he still angry with Diane for what she’d done to him and Sasha?

He turned off the TV and headed for the bedroom. As he lay in bed, the thought of dealing with Eva, even for the brief time she’d be in Willow Beach, kept him tossing and turning.

* * *

EVA’S CHEST TIGHTENED as she watched the pallbearers lower her father’s casket into the ground at Forest Lawn Cemetery. Up until today, his death didn’t seem real, not even when she was making plans for this very event. It was as though she were talking about someone else, not her father, who had always been so energetic and full of life. That the life had gone out of him didn’t seem possible. Yet, this last goodbye was about to happen.

She let her attention stray to the nearby markers for her mother, Janice, and her brother, Brett. Her whole family gone now. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back. Now was not the time. Save that for when she was alone.

The pallbearers, including Mark, moved back from the edge of the grave. He walked over to join the rest of the Herald staff standing nearby. Eva surveyed the crowd gathered to pay Seb their last respects. At least four hundred people had been packed into the hall for the service preceding the burial, and more were expected to attend the reception following. Mark had been right: Seb had a lot of friends in Willow Beach. Eva recognized many of the crowd, including some of her old classmates at Willow Beach High, but there were a lot of mourners she didn’t know, newcomers to the town.

Pastor Jordan stepped forward. “Let us pray,” he began, and along with the others, Eva bowed her head.

Half an hour later, she stood in the middle of Forest Lawn’s reception room, holding a plate with an egg-salad sandwich and a scoop of pasta salad, refreshments provided by the funeral home’s catering service. Now that the burial was over, her tension had eased, but only a little. She still had to greet the guests and talk about her father and receive their condolences. They meant well, of course, but her alienation from Seb made talking about him difficult—and painful.

She looked over at the picture of him on an easel near the door. The Herald’s photographer, Cody Jarvis, had made the enlargement. The photo must have been taken recently because Seb’s hair had more gray than she remembered, and new lines bracketed his mouth and his eyes.

“He looks so lifelike,” said a voice behind her.

Eva turned to see her high-school friend Fran Oliver. “He does. Larger than life.”

“He’ll be missed.” Fran put her arm around Eva’s shoulder. “That was a beautiful service.”

“It was. Pastor Jordan did a wonderful job officiating.”

“It’s sure good to see you again, Eva.” Fran dropped her arm and stood back, regarding Eva with solemn eyes.

Eva nodded. “Good to see you, too. How’s the teaching going? Still love it as much as you did at first?”

Fran’s solemn expression relaxed, and she smiled and smoothed her short blond hair. “You bet. Chasing those high-school kids keeps me in shape.”

“Thanks so much for coming. I appreciate your and Jason’s support.” Eva looked around. “Where is your husband? I should thank him in person.”

“He’s over there talking to Mark. They’re basketball-team buddies.” Fran nodded toward the other end of the room. “But we’re not your only support. Alison and Trudi came, too. And some of the others from our class.”

“Yes. I spoke to them at the service.”

“You have more friends here than you might think.”

Eva looked away. “I know I haven’t been in touch much since I left....”

“I understand, but you’ve been missed.” She tilted her head. “Any chance you’ll be coming back?”

“No. I love my life in Seattle.”

“I’m glad you’ve found the place you want to be, hon, but that doesn’t keep me from wishing you were still here. Uh-oh, Jason’s waving at me. We need to pick up the twins from the babysitter’s.”

After Fran moved off, a man about her father’s age, with thick white hair and black-rimmed glasses, stepped to Eva’s side. “Hello, Eva, do you remember me?”

“Of course, you’re Hal Barnett. I’ve been in your drugstore many times. Your son was a year ahead of me in high school.”

Hal nodded. “I haven’t seen Carson for a couple years. Left town, same as you. What is it about our town that makes our kids want to leave?”

Eva shrugged. “Some of us just want to explore the rest of the world, I guess.” She thought of Brett, and her stomach twisted. That was what he’d wanted to do, but tragedy struck before he had the chance. Thinking of her brother prompted her to reach up and finger the silver chain that held his medal.

“We’ll sure miss Seb.” Hal slowly shook his head. “He did so much good for our town, ’sides publishing the news. Will you be comin’ back to help out at the paper? Not that Mark isn’t doing a bang-up job, but it’d be nice to keep the newspaper in the family, doncha think?”

“’Fraid not, Hal. I’ve found my place elsewhere.”

Hal’s mouth turned down. “What’s gonna happen to the Herald?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

She spoke the truth. She hadn’t been involved with the Herald in the past, so she hadn’t given any thought to its future.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Hal excused himself to return to the buffet table. Eva finished her food and set the plate on a nearby cart. She turned to see Mark and a tall, slender man in his fifties heading toward her.

“This is Lawrence Prentiss,” Mark said when the two men reached her side. “He was your father’s attorney. I mentioned him the first night you were here.”

Ah, the man who had Seb’s will. She’d been so busy with other matters she’d all but forgotten about that. “Hello, Mr. Prentiss. I don’t think I remember you....”

Lawrence Prentiss extended his hand. “You wouldn’t. My wife and I moved here from Portland three years ago. I took over Sam Lambert’s business when he passed away.”

“I do remember the Lamberts.” Eva shook Lawrence’s hand, which seemed more bones than flesh.

“My condolences for your loss, Eva. Your father was a fine man.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prentiss.”

He cleared his throat. “As you undoubtedly know, Sebastian left a will.”

“I didn’t know until Mark mentioned it. My father was a very private person. There was a lot he didn’t share with me.”

“I understand, but now that I’m back in town, we need to schedule a time when the three of us can sit down together and read it.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “The three of us?”

Lawrence nodded. “You need to be there, too, Mark.”

“Why do we need a reading of the will?” she asked, folding her arms. “I thought that was something done only in the movies.”

Lawrence’s thin lips cracked a smile. “I know it sounds dramatic, but your father requested that you and Mark meet with me. I’m only following his instructions.”

“But I’m leaving for Seattle as soon as this reception is over. Can’t you just send me a copy?”

Lawrence shook his head. “No, I’m obligated to honor Seb’s wishes.”

Eva was tempted to stand firm on her “no.” But the man was only doing his job. She heaved a sigh. “Can you see us tomorrow?”

“I can. How about one o’clock?”

“Fine.”

Lawrence turned to Mark. “How about you, Mark?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Saturday? I’d planned a hike with Sasha, but, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Lawrence said. “I’ll see you both in my office at one o’clock.”

* * *

AFTER HE’D TUCKED Sasha into bed that evening, Mark settled in his recliner with a cup of coffee. Satisfaction brought a smile to his lips as he thought about the day’s events, all fitting tributes to Seb.

Lawrence Prentiss’s insistence that he be present for a reading of Seb’s will left him scratching his head, though. Why would he be in Seb’s will? Then again, why not? Their relationship was more than boss and employee. They’d gone fishing together and played pool on Friday nights at Durango’s Tavern. Mark had become involved in some of Seb’s charity projects, such as helping out at the community center’s free Thanksgiving dinner.

Seb had often told Mark he was like a son. “I had a son...once,” he’d say. If they were in his office, his gaze would stray to the photos on his desk.

His thoughts returned to the will. Seb had probably left him a token of appreciation for his friendship and loyalty.

No surprise that Eva was in the will. Even though they’d been estranged, she and Seb were still blood. What a shame the two hadn’t spent Seb’s last years together in harmony.

* * *

“‘I, SEBASTIAN FRANKLIN SINCLAIR, of sound mind, do declare this as my last will and testament...’”

Seated at an oval table in Lawrence Prentiss’s office, Eva listened to the lawyer begin the reading of her father’s will. After waiting nearly half an hour for the meeting to get under way, and then having to sit through the lawyer’s small talk about the weather, she realized her nerves were more on edge than ever.

She glanced at Mark, who was seated across from her. His attention was on Lawrence, but he didn’t look any happier about being here than she was.

The first bequests were to charities, including the local hospital, the animal shelter and the University of Washington’s School of Journalism. The last designation didn’t surprise Eva; both she and her father were alumni.

The bequest to UCLA was puzzling, until Lawrence said to Mark, “I believe that’s where you studied journalism, isn’t it?”

Mark nodded. “That was nice of Seb to give them something.”

Lawrence turned to the next page. “‘To my daughter, Eva, I bequeath my property at 880 Oak Avenue and all structures thereon and all personal and tangible property contained therein.’”

The house she’d grown up in was to be hers? Why had Seb bothered to leave her the house? She didn’t want it and would never live there again.

She expected that to be the end of the reading, but Lawrence continued, “‘To my daughter, Eva, and to Mark Townson, I bequeath the entire holdings of the Willow Beach Herald. Each shall receive 50 percent of the total assets comprised by the newspaper...’”

Eva gasped, unable to believe what she’d heard. Besides the house, her father was leaving her 50 percent of the newspaper? Why, when she’d refused to work there or to have anything to do with his publication?

Lawrence cleared his throat. “‘...subject to the following provisions. One, that both Mark and Eva assume coeditorship of the newspaper for the period of one year.’”

“What?” Eva blurted and half rose from her chair.

Lawrence held up his hand. “Let me finish, please.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled and sank back into her seat.

“‘Two, if either party declines to accept the terms, neither inherits and the Herald shall be auctioned to the highest bidder. Neither party may bid on the Herald or in any way be associated with a bidding party.

“‘Three, after assuming coleadership of the Herald for the proscribed year, both parties are free to do as they please regarding their involvement with said newspaper.’”

“What on earth was Seb thinking?” Mark said, obviously as shocked as she was.

Eva shook her head in disbelief. “He must have been crazy. But it won’t work.”

“I’m afraid the will is ironclad.” Lawrence tapped the sheaf of papers with his forefinger.

“But the terms are impossible.” Eva looked from one man to the other. “I have a life, a career in Seattle. I can’t give up everything to come here for a year. It’s different for you, Mark. You already work at the Herald.”

He folded his arms. “I can’t see us working together.”

“Me, neither. No. Never. Not in a million years. Newspaper writing is not what I do.”

“And fluff pieces aren’t what I do.”

Eva drew back and stared at him. “I beg your pardon. Seattle’s Best is every bit as serious a publication as...as a rag like the Herald.”

“The Herald is not a rag!”

Lawrence spread his hands. “People, people, please. This is not the time to argue about who writes what.”

Mark leaned forward. “Okay, but are you sure there isn’t some way out of this?”

The lawyer shook his head. “You’re both free to obtain your own counsel, of course.”

“I intend to,” Eva said. “There is no way I will spend another year of my life in this town.”

“I understand your position,” Lawrence said. “But don’t forget that Mark’s future depends on what you decide. If you don’t accept the terms, Mark loses his inheritance, too, and the newspaper goes on the block. Is that what you want, either of you? Think about it.”

* * *

MARK STOOD OUTSIDE Lawrence’s office, scanning the adjacent parking lot for Eva. When she’d stormed out, he’d impulsively followed. He wasn’t sure why. What was there to say? That he didn’t want his half of the newspaper? That wouldn’t be true. The Herald and its future meant everything to him. From the day Seb had hired him, Mark had devoted himself to the newspaper and its success.

He ran a hand through his hair. What a disaster.

Eva’s blue outfit made her easy to spot. She marched along, head high, her straw purse swinging from her shoulder. A woman on a mission. He watched her for a moment, debating whether he really wanted a confrontation, and then he ran after her. Just as she reached her car, he caught up.

“Eva!” He grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt.

She looked down where he gripped her arm and then up at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He let go of her and stepped back. “I, uh, look, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset doesn’t begin to cover my emotional state. I’m devastated. But Seb’s will isn’t going to happen. I’ll call my lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”

He was about to say he’d do the same, but before he could, she said in an accusing tone, “Were you in on this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you know Seb was going to leave the Herald to both of us?”

Her outrageous accusation left him momentarily speechless. “If you’re suggesting I somehow influenced him, you’re dead wrong. Why would I want a mess like this?”

“Half owner is better than being totally cut out, isn’t it?”

“Not if I have to work with you.” He turned and strode off.

CHAPTER THREE

“I HOPE YOU HAVE good news.” Eva was back in Seattle sitting in her cubicle at the magazine. She’d given a copy of Seb’s will to her lawyer, Nolan Cramer, and he’d finally called.

As he spoke, her spirits sank. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asked when he’d finished.

“I’m afraid not, Eva. Sorry. My advice? Accept the terms. You might like the experience better than you think.”

Eva doubted that.

She ended the call and slumped over her desk, head in her hands. Nolan had just confirmed what Lawrence Prentiss had already told her—the will was ironclad. She’d held out hope that the will could be broken, but now that door had closed.

Was there no way out of this?

She sat there, her mind spinning, and sure enough, an idea popped into her head. If her boss, James Forsythe, would take pity on her, she could at least soften the blow. She picked up the phone and called him.

Luckily, he had time to see her, and half an hour later she sat in his spacious office. As she waited for him to finish a phone call, she gazed around the room, taking in its warm brown-and-yellow color scheme, the desk, the credenza, even an armoire for storing coats. Someday, this office would be hers. She just knew it. Whenever she was in here, she mentally ran through the changes she would make. For starters, she’d replace the hydroplane photos—James’s son was a champion driver—with the colorful giclée flower prints she’d seen in a Pike Place Market gallery. Add a runner to the top of the credenza, and place her pewter umbrella stand, shaped like a half-open umbrella itself, by the door. Personal touches that would put her brand on the office.

Today she didn’t dare play her little game. Too much rode on convincing James to accept her plan. She knew her boss liked her and valued her as an employee. Surely he would help her through this crisis.

He finally finished his call and turned to her, his back to the picture window. The incoming sunlight glinted on the silver highlights in his dark hair.

“I’m glad you’re back, Eva. I’ve been thinking about you down there in Willow Beach and hoping everything was going okay.”

“I appreciate that, James. Yes, I think my father would have liked his memorial service and the reception afterward. But now I have a new problem.” Clasping her hands and leaning forward, she explained about her father’s will. “I don’t want to leave the magazine,” she concluded. “I like working at Seattle’s Best. I think I have a good future here.”

“You do, Eva.”

“So I thought if you could grant me a year’s leave of absence, then I could return when I finish my obligation in Willow Beach. I’ll miss out on any promotion this year, but at least I’ll still be in the game.” She leaned back and held her breath. He would accept her plan. He just had to.

But he shook his head and looked apologetic. “A year’s leave? Much as I’d like to help you out, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Her heart sank, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “Why?”

“A year is way too long. I might get the board to agree to a month, but a year? Never. I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything I could to help you, but my hands are tied.”

Her last hope crushed, Eva looked down to hide her reaction.

James rose, came around the desk and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, but why not consider this an opportunity?”

“An opportunity?” she said. “Living in a nowhere town and working for a weekly newspaper? I don’t think so.”

Of course, James didn’t know about Brett and the terrible accident and the memories that haunted her, and she wasn’t about to tell him. She’d never brought her personal problems into the workplace. Absently, she reached up and ran her forefinger over the silver chain. As usual, the medal itself was concealed under her clothing, but she knew it was there.

James clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window. He looked out at the Seattle skyline, then turned back to her. “You know where I started out? Writing restaurant reviews for a newspaper in California, in a town about the size of your Willow Beach. The experience was the best I could’ve had.”

“But I’m not just starting out,” she complained. “I’m five years down the road. And being exiled to Willow Beach feels like going backward.”

“Your life has taken a different turn. Look on the bright side. Running a paper could be a great opportunity.”

Eva shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, James, but you’ll never convince me that this situation has a bright side.”

Instead of returning to her desk, Eva bypassed her cubicle and continued on to the large window at the end of the hallway and its sweeping view of Elliott Bay.

She folded her arms and leaned against the window frame, idly tracing the progress of a green-and-white ferry on its way to the Olympic Peninsula. Her last option was to refuse the terms of the will. But that would take away Mark’s inheritance, and if the new owner chose to not keep him on, his livelihood, too. He had a daughter to support. Sure, he’d be able to find work somewhere else, but, if she’d understood him correctly, the Herald meant a lot to him. And her father had wanted him to have a part of it.

Eva scrubbed a hand over her forehead. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she denied Mark his inheritance. She had no choice but to give up her own career opportunities and spend a year in her hometown.

With a resigned sigh, she returned to her cubicle. Lying on the top of her desk was the latest issue of Seattle’s Best. The cover featured the title of an article she’d written, along with her byline. A lump formed in her throat. She stared at the cover for a minute or two, then picked up the phone and punched in Lawrence Prentiss’s number.

* * *

AS SOON AS MARK received the news that Eva had accepted the terms of Seb’s will, and because his own efforts to break the will had proven just as useless as hers, he called an emergency meeting of the staff. Such as it was. Only four people worked for the newspaper full-time and the rest were freelance. The employees dutifully filed into the lounge, poured themselves coffee and sat at the vintage Formica-topped table.