“You're telling me,” quipped Eustacia as she stood reaching for her cane. At the top, a brass lion's head stared at me with a set of ferocious teeth as if to tell me to beware. “I take so many dang medications, I consider them my daily rainbow meal. Still looking for that leprechaun, though.”
“Speak for yourself. I'm as healthy as a thoroughbred mare in the prime of her racing career,” Nana D said with a chuckle. She was adamant about taking only herbal supplements and following holistic healthcare. At seventy-four, she had avoided every possible medication thus far.
If I let those two keep talking, we'd never get useful information. “Brad, can you provide a list of any medication she was taking? I think it would help the family feel a little better about her last few days. Also, if you don't have anywhere to move to, what are you planning to do?”
“Actually, I had that written out for ready for when we went to the doctor. As for my living situation, I'm planning to rent a room at the Roarke & Daughters Inn for a few days.” He shrugged his shoulders and stood up to leave. I'd recognized the name of the bed and breakfast he'd mentioned. Maggie's parents and her sisters ran the charming ten-room inn near Crilly Lake.
“Nonsense,” Eustacia whined while leading him toward the door. “You will stay here until you find your next job and a place to live. I could use a little help myself. Would that work?”
Eustacia was a lot smarter than she let others realize. If the autopsy revealed someone had been drugging Gwendolyn all along, Brad might be able to identify which member of the family had access to any medication or food where it could've been introduced. Or revealed if he was involved in trying to kill her. Having him onsite would be a helpful asset. Once Brad left, Nana D, Eustacia, and I focused on the upcoming mayoral debate.
For too long, Wharton County's current mayor, Bartleby Grosvalet, and Braxton's town councilman, Marcus Stanton, had been in office together running the show. In the last decade, the powerful duo had skated by in the polls winning via a narrow margin. Very few ever dared run against them, but their loyalists ensured both men garnered enough votes to push forth their dreary agendas. Mayor Grosvalet was in his seventies like Nana D, but he'd become a recluse since the last election and delegated many of his powers to Marcus. Nana D's biggest obstacles to winning would be her age and Stanton's experience as Grosvalet's right-hand man. The only way to gain support would be if she could reach the soul of the county by appealing to their need for change and growth in the future. We outlined Nana D's key points and scheduled practice-runs over the next couple of days.
I left to attend my first official meeting with Ursula Power. In my two previous interactions with the new president, I was extremely impressed with her candor and professionalism. I was a little concerned about being fired since my other job back in Los Angeles as an assistant director on the hit television show, Dark Reality, was in flux. The executive producer had recently canned my boss and informed me he needed a few weeks to decide whether I had a future at the network. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen given everything else going on in my life but directing my own television crime series was still at the top of the options list. When were they going to call with an update?
I pulled into an empty South Campus parking lot given students were on break and entered the executive office building. Although my father would still be the president for another couple of weeks, he and Ursula were meeting daily to provide a smooth transition to the campus. He'd graciously moved into a smaller office on the first floor so Ursula could settle in the second-floor corner suite. I swung by to say hello but a student worker said outgoing president Wesley Ayrwick had already left the building.
Ursula hadn't yet hired a permanent assistant, but a cheerful temp notified her boss that I'd arrived. While the temp went to the small kitchenette, Myriam walked out and glared at me. “This was all your doing, wasn't it, Kellan?” Myriam said in a fit of semi-controlled rage. “I feel compelled to share with you of a line from this semester's theater performance. 'Come not between the dragon and her wrath.' It will do you some good to remember that!”
It was rare I could find a hole in Myriam's quotations, but when I did, I felt the need to ride it like a hurricane's feverish winds. “I do believe you mean his wrath. I can appreciate you changing the actual line to suit your intended message, but a true historian would always leave the original message intact.” Lear's warning to Kent was a passage I'd overheard during rehearsal the previous weekend otherwise I might not have noticed her slight alteration.
“That's preposterous! I changed only the gender and not the meaning of the line. I wouldn't expect someone like you to separate the little things from the big things. Obviously, you've less experience than I thought when it comes to grasping the semantics of the English language,” Myriam sniped while turning toward the door to exit.
Ursula stepped out of her office obviously disgruntled. I'd never been certain of her age but guessed somewhere in her mid-forties, at least a decade younger than her wife. Given the frown lines I'd just seen for the first time ever, perhaps I was a few years off. “Myriam, I'll see you at home this evening. I can tell I made the right decision earlier about addressing the issue between you and Kellan,” Ursula said smiling like Cheshire cat, then directing me to follow her into the office. I suddenly had the urge to ask those same hurricane winds to sweep me far away.
Chapter 7
What decision was Ursula talking about? My stomach felt ten pounds heavier, and it wasn't the strawberry cheesecake I'd eaten at the end of lunch. “How've your first few days been?” I sat in a tall wingback chair across from her desk. The room had been re-decorated with a pale gray wall-paper depicting a variety of Japanese maple trees. The pop of pinks and reds on the branches were a great contrast but also blended well with the cherrywood furniture and wrought-iron sculptures near the bay window.
When I'd first met Ursula weeks earlier, she had an ethereal quality about her. She truly could've been a model, but what made her even more charismatic was her genuine humility and intelligence. She accepted the cup of tea from her temporary assistant and smiled at me. “Braxton is the type of campus I dreamed about as a teenager. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to live on my campus and worked too many jobs to cover tuition. I never had that classic college experience where I bonded with dormmates, snuck off to parties, and swung lazily in a hammock while reading Jane Eyre or A Tale of Two Cities.”
I felt an incredibly warm sensation about Ursula's presence on campus. My father had been a strong president bringing in countless donations elevating the school from a small community college to the best in the county, but he often forgot to focus on the softer side of a liberal arts education—friendships, bonds, and memories. Ursula would be the one to make it happen, I could tell already.
“I remember them fondly, though now we often see students reading Harry Potter and The Secret History under the canopy of those golden yellow, red, and orange autumn trees.” My stomach began to settle given the way Ursula handled herself and the conversation. “I'm excited about the opportunity to be part of the Braxton University team. Have you started diving into the proposed curriculum?”
We talked for twenty minutes about all the areas of expansion, in particular the communications department's overhaul. She was impressed by my experience and agreed with both my father's and the Board's decision to include me on the planning committee. As our time came to an end, I grew curious what she and Myriam had been discussing before I walked in. I was about to bring up the topic, but Ursula beat me to it.
“Kellan, I'm sure this might be awkward for you to answer, but I'd like to learn more about your relationship with Myriam. Please don't worry about her being my wife. I can easily separate work from personal, and I've known her for over twenty years. She has an advanced degree in quarreling and wrote a thesis on button-pushing. I still don't know when to successfully pick my battles.” She gently shook her head and pulled her long, wavy blonde hair toward one sho
ulder.
Considering Ursula asked me directly what I thought of Myriam, I felt honesty was the best policy. However, I was nothing without my humor. “Let's not forget her special honorary certificate in obtuse Shakespearean zingers.”
Ursula laughed so loudly the temp poked her head into verify everything was okay. When she went back to her seat, Ursula said, “Apart from all that, where do you see things going with Myriam? You've a one-year contract which I intend to honor. I make it a policy not to insert myself into professional relationships among colleagues unless necessary. Unfortunately, there've been a number of incidents between the two of you which are worrisome.”
I nodded. “I agree with you. We aren't mixing well, but I assure you I intend to remedy our differences or keep them hidden at all times. I suspect you have something in mind to assist with the current volatility.” I was a tad nervous what might come out of Ursula's mouth next given the curious look on her face and the accusatory remarks Myriam had made upon my arrival.
“I respect when someone cuts to the chase, so I'll do the same, Kellan,” Ursula replied handing me a folder full of papers. “I had a call from Eustacia Paddington early this morning. Even in mourning, she's on top of important transitions. Besides calling to congratulate me on the new position and asking me to attend her sister-in-law's funeral service later in the week, she's proposed that you be made the temporary representative for the Paddington family on all things related to the Play House.”
Some unintelligible sound emanated from my mouth before I could collect my thoughts. “I don't understand. She never said anything to me.”
“Let me clear up any confusion. Gwendolyn Paddington partnered with our drama department to determine what shows we performed in the theater, worked with sponsors to offset any costs for set design and costumes, marketed our shows across the county, and mentored students beginning their careers. Apparently, there isn't anyone else in the family qualified to assume the role, so Eustacia suggested that you fill it until we could decide the future together as I settled into my new position at Braxton.”
“Suggested or insisted?”
“I'm sure you can appreciate the fine line I need to walk. The Paddingtons donate a tremendous amount of money to Braxton. They have certain, shall we say, liberties to make decisions on the theater program and the Play House which has been named after them.”
“What about Myriam? She oversees the drama department and operations at Paddington's Play House,” I hesitantly said realizing why my boss had been so angry at me. “Isn't she a better choice?”
“I was planning to find an activity for the two of you to co-lead in the hopes it would encourage you both to get along better. When Eustacia made the suggestion for you to be the temporary patron, I struck a deal with her.”
“But Myriam's the one with all the experience in theater. She has the Broadway connections and has been running everything for years.” I sounded like I was whining but couldn't stop myself.
“And you have experience writing television scripts, directing shows, and working in Hollywood. You have a different but valid perspective, and you also have the ear of the Paddington family right now. As a team, I expect great things from your partnership with Myriam.”
“Is this a proposal, or are you telling me this is requirement for my continued role at Braxton?” I kept my tone civil despite wanting to scream.
“I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial decision we've all made together with the best intentions for Braxton among our collective minds.” Ursula stood, smiling at me. “I'm sure you see it the same way, too. Unfortunately, I have another meeting. I appreciate you making time for me.”
Ursula indicated the papers in the folder outlined the Play House's budget, staffing, and general operations. I thanked the new president for her input, as Nana D taught me never to tease an animal until you knew how ferocious it could be. I'd initially put Ursula in the kind and gentle teddy bear category, but it might've been fallacious. If she could hold her own against Myriam, there undoubtedly must be a powerful stamina worthy of the grizzlies wandering the nearby Saddlebrooke National Forest.
As I left Ursula's office, the temp handed me an envelope. “Your father stopped by while you were inside meeting with Ms. Power. He asked me to give you this and said he found it on the floor in his office last night when he got home from his trip. He also mentioned something about you needing to explain what it meant.” She turned and scampered away with a smug grin.
“I appreciate it,” I mumbled wondering why my father wouldn't have given it to me when I got home. As I walked to the parking lot, I looked at the envelope. Written on the front in block print was: TO MY DEAREST HUSBAND, KELLAN. Now I understood why he had it delivered as soon as possible. Had he read Francesca's letter and known she was alive? I swiftly tore it open and read the contents.
In one week, it will be our eighth anniversary. Every night before I fall asleep, I think of how you looked when I walked down the aisle at the botanical gardens on our wedding day. You'd never been more handsome than you were that afternoon. The sun hit your face in such a way that you reminded me of an angel. I knew then I had to protect you from my family at any cost. I foolishly thought if you never knew their secrets, you'd never be in danger.
When the Vargas family kidnapped me, I honestly thought I wouldn't be rescued. I knew my father would do everything in his power to get revenge, but I said a silent, terrified goodbye to you and Emma as they locked me in a freezer filled with devices meant to torture me. Once my father's security team found me, I promised myself this would never happen again. I'm not telling you this because I want to hurt you or to make you feel guilty. I need you to understand that I made a decision to protect you and Emma above anything else.
My mother doesn't know I've written this note. I hope you find it hidden under the desk. I had only a few seconds to drop it in there as we were arriving. I am not giving up on us. I will find a solution to bring us back together. Don't give up on me. Remember the stars. We will always have a future.
I stared at Francesca's letter for what felt like an eternity but had only been a few seconds. I was pulled from my trance by a series of tears rolling across my cheeks onto the envelope and blurring out my name. She wanted me to remember the stars.
Francesca had referred to the night of our first anniversary. She'd asked me to meet her at the top of a mountain not too far from where we lived. When I arrived, she had a picnic set up with a late dinner. She told me to lie down on the blanket and stare up at the sky. She filled two glasses with sparkling cider, then handed me one. I glanced back at her with a confused look as she knew how much I loved champagne. Moments later, Francesca clinked my glass and told me she was going to have a baby. Then she encouraged me to look at the stars because one of them was our daughter waiting for us to love her. We must have pointed out dozens of stars that night talking about what kind of baby girl we wanted to have. In the end, Francesca told me she'd be happy no matter what the universe had given to us as long as she was healthy and happy. It was the beginning of our family and our future.
Remember the stars. I remembered them every year on our anniversary. We celebrated near them on each of Emma's birthdays. And the night Francesca died, I slept under them because there was nowhere else I could be by myself for the first time. But she never died. I tossed my head against the back of the seat and concentrated with soul-crushing focus. What was I going to do about our future?
Unfortunately, I couldn't think about it any longer because it was time to pick Emma up from her first day at school. When I arrived, she boasted about how amazing it was and how she couldn't wait to go back. We had dinner with my mother since my father was working late with Ursula on an upcoming presentation. Emma went to sleep early, and I watched a few sitcom re-runs to distract myself from thinking about the reality around me. I ended up calling Cecilia and begging her to let me speak with my wife, but she put Vincenzo on the line. He heavily encouraged me t
o find my way back to Los Angeles quickly. He noted he wasn't in agreement with Cecilia who'd given me two weeks to decide how to proceed, but he would let his wife's decision stand only this one time.
* * *
I slept poorly that night trying to decide what to do about Francesca. Early on Tuesday morning, I texted Eleanor to check on the diner renovations, but she couldn't speak. She had a doctor's appointment and needed to finish preparing for the final inspection the next day before she could officially re-open. We agreed that I would stop by for dinner that evening to get her thoughts on the situation with Francesca.
After dropping Emma off at school, I went for a run to clear my head. I chose the Finnulia River path as the weather was finally starting to warm up in the high forties which meant I could leave the heavier thermal gym clothes at home. The air was also much cleaner and easier to breathe near the north end of town where the river emptied into Crilly Lake. Halfway through my return, I took a short break to stretch and drink some water near Maggie's family's inn. As I prepared to finish the final lag, a runner I recognized came toward me. I called out watching smoke from the crisp air funnel away from my lips. “You're Sam Paddington, right?”
He looked strangely at me on his approach, then stopped while still jogging in place. “It's Sam Taft. My mother was a Paddington. Not my father.”
I hadn't forgotten, but I wanted to verify it with him. I knew his sister called herself Dana Taft, but I wasn't sure if they all shared the same father. Ophelia and Richard Taft had a complicated relationship from what Nana D had told me. “Oh, that's right. I forgot. Dana and Lilly Taft, your sisters. Now it makes sense.”
Broken Heart Attack Page 8