Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  Chapter Three

  When Layla’s alarm clock buzzed Monday morning, she blindly pushed several buttons then tossed it on the floor, dreading the meeting with her mom’s lawyer—a man she’d never met. As she stumbled out of bed, closing the curtains on sunshine and birdsong, her feet felt like they were coated in cement.

  Layla didn’t know Katherine had a lawyer until after the stroke, when a man named Gerald Greene called to tell her about the $1,000 check she would start receiving every month. Apparently Katherine had arranged a contingency plan, making sure Layla would be provided for in the event of her incapacitation. When Layla asked Gerald where the money was coming from, he said he couldn’t tell her. She’d wondered, so sadly, what kind of sacrifices Katherine made to build that nest egg for them—a wise investment despite its price.

  A month after Katherine’s death, Gerald called again, offering his condolences and suggesting they meet. Katherine had left something in his possession, instructing him to give it to Layla upon her death, along with what was left of their nest egg. Convinced it would yield little more than emotional turmoil, Layla procrastinated for another month before committing to a meeting. Now it was time to pull her head from the sand and irritate wounds that would never fully heal.

  As she backed her car out of the driveway, she cursed herself for being so weak. Whatever Katherine bequeathed must have held value or she wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of a lawyer. She could have kept it at the house like everything else she owned. Layla would have found it, eventually, once she found the guts to explore Katherine’s bedroom.

  The lawyer’s office was in a neighboring town twenty minutes away. As Layla drove the barren stretch of two lane highway, she watched the bland scenery, trying to focus on anything besides the impending meeting.

  Some would say Oklahoma’s a pretty state, and Layla somewhat agreed. She liked driving for miles without seeing a house, and she appreciated the views of rolling hills and riverbeds, unobstructed by people and their projects. Livestock, on the other hand, was plentiful. A person couldn’t drive from one town to another without seeing cows and horses, or perhaps a herd of buffalo or llamas. But Layla was tired of it. She’d lived in Gander Creek her entire life, and the wheat fields, rivers and livestock no longer held interest.

  Layla’s critical evaluation of Oklahoma occupied her mind until she reached the strip mall housing Gerald Greene’s office, at which point unease washed over her. After parking the car, she closed her eyes and counted to twenty, trying to find composure and strength.

  “This is stupid,” she berated, exiting the car on surprisingly sturdy legs.

  Odds were she’d sign her name then be given a small chunk of money—no emotional torment involved. And it was highly unlikely the money would lead to any life changes, because Katherine had never been wealthy. She’d lived payday to payday on a secretary’s salary; she’d bought a small, two-bedroom house nearly two decades before and never considered moving; she clipped coupons, shopped discount stores, and drove sensible cars. Not the types of things people sitting on a mountain of cash do.

  When Layla reached the lawyer’s door, she filled her lungs and swung it open, taking a large step inside. The waiting room was much like every other waiting room—a couch, padded chairs, a coffee table complete with magazines.

  A woman popped her head up from behind a long counter. “Hi there. What can I do for ya?”

  “I’m Layla Callaway, here to see Gerald.”

  “Of course,” the woman replied, “Come on back.” She rose from her chair and led Layla down a short hallway, glancing back often. “I’m Dolores—Gerald’s gal Friday. Layla’s here,” she announced, walking through an open door.

  “Oh good,” a man replied. “Come on in.”

  Layla obeyed, rounding the corner to find a husky man of about fifty stretching his hand across a cluttered desk. “It’s good to finally meet you, Layla. Katherine always boasted about her little girl.”

  Layla managed a small smile as she shook his thick hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Gerald.”

  “Would you like something to drink? Water or coffee?”

  Due to Layla’s nervousness, she’d forgotten her coffee that morning, and she’d been regretting it since pulling out of the driveway. “Coffee would be nice.”

  “How do ya drink it?” Dolores asked.

  “Lots of cream and even more sugar.”

  Dolores nodded and left, closing the door behind her, and Layla’s nerves flared as the latch clicked into place.

  “Take a seat,” Gerald offered, seating himself. “I’d like to tell you again how sorry I am for your loss.”

  Layla nodded as she sat, never sure what to say to that. Thank you? It’s okay? Neither of them fit.

  “I’m aware you have no idea what to expect today,” Gerald continued. “Katherine was very specific about her privacy, but everything she told me is now yours to know.”

  Layla considered this as Dolores returned with a steaming cup of coffee.

  “I only put two sugars in,” she said, handing over the mug, “but I brought more.”

  “Thank you,” Layla replied, eying the extra sugar. As soon as Dolores made her exit, Layla picked up the packets and added them to her cup, sipping as she stirred. The brew wasn’t sweet enough or strong enough, but it was acceptable and appreciated. Coffee was one of her favorite things in the world, and she hadn’t gone a day without it in over two years.

  She let the hot liquid warm her throat and belly then continued the conversation. “How long has my mom been a client?”

  “Almost eighteen years,” Gerald answered.

  Layla’s mouth fell open as a few drops of coffee slid over her fingers. She couldn’t believe her mom had known this man for that long, yet she knew nothing about him.

  “Katherine came to me,” he elaborated. “when you were just a tiny thing, only a month old.”

  “What did she ask you to do?” Layla pressed.

  “She hired me as a financial adviser. She’d come into some money and wanted it wisely managed. She also gave me this.” He held up a manila envelope. “She told me it contained information she wanted you to have. She fully intended to give it to you herself, so my instructions were to keep it until she came and got it, or until her death.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I don’t know. Katherine never told me.”

  “So you’ve had that same envelope for eighteen years?”

  “Yes, the envelope’s the same, but its contents have changed.”

  “How so?”

  “Several years after she hired me, Katherine removed a sheet of paper and added several more.”

  Layla’s brain kicked into gear, trying to figure out what was so important yet interchangeable.

  “The last time I saw your mom,” Gerald went on, “was around your seventeenth birthday. She told me she’d come back for the envelope soon… as soon as she could muster the courage.” His bushy, gray eyebrows furrowed as he hung his head. “I never saw her again.”

  As Layla watched Gerald’s expression, a feeling of awe rushed over her, respect for the woman Katherine had been. Here was a man who had little contact with Katherine, so little Layla had never met him, yet he grieved the loss.

  Gerald straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “When I found out she was ill, I started sending the checks per her request, but I still couldn’t give you the envelope. I think, above all, she wanted to be the one to give it to you, and this plan was a last resort.”

  Layla cleared her throat, trying not to sound as weak as she felt. “I’m sure that’s the case.”

  “So here we are,” Gerald said, lifting his palms. “I’ll need you to sign for the envelope and the money.”

  “Where did the money come from?” Layla asked.

  “That’s one thing I can’t tell you,” he refused.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know. Katherine wouldn’t te
ll me. I used to tease her by asking if she robbed a bank.”

  He chuckled, wiping his thick mustache, and Layla took a sip, avoiding the polite gesture of laughing with him. “How much is there?” she asked.

  Gerald quickly sobered. “You’ll be signing for $773,000.”

  Layla choked, spilling coffee down the front of her shirt, and Gerald jumped up, rushing to an attached bathroom.

  “I guess I should have warned you,” he said, returning with a hand towel.

  “You think?” Layla blurted, absently dabbing her chest. She wasn’t mad about her shirt, but her mind twirled like a twister and her lungs felt too tiny to hold air. “Where did she… How did she…”

  “I don’t know, dear. She never told me.” He reached over the desk, retrieving the mysterious envelope. “Perhaps it explains in here.”

  Layla took the envelope, but didn’t open it. That’s something she’d do in private. “What now?” she murmured. “I don’t know what to do with that much money. I can’t walk out of here with $700,000 in my pocket.”

  “$773,000, and yes, you most certainty could attempt to walk out of here with hundred-dollar bills falling out of your pockets, but I don’t advise it.”

  “What would you advise?” she asked.

  “Well, there are a couple of sensible options. I had my bank prepare a check, or, to avoid roadblocks, we could shred the check and electronically transfer the funds. Either way you’ll need to speak with your bank about it. The FDIC only insures up to $250,000, so your bank will probably suggest you open additional accounts or place the overflow in secure investments. If they don’t sufficiently explain your options, I’d be glad to offer my legal knowledge on the subject, and I could walk you through any paperwork that comes along with it.”

  Layla didn’t trust herself enough to carry around a piece of paper worth more than half a million dollars, so she quickly decided on the second option. “If you could transfer it, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Sure. I’ll run by the bank at lunch. It should be done by two.”

  “Do you need my account number?”

  “Is it the same one your mom used?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I already have it.” He shuffled through the documents on his desk then cleared a spot in front of her, laying out the paperwork. “Sign here, here and here. If you have any questions, just ask.”

  “What about taxes?” she returned. “Don’t I owe someone something for all this?”

  “You did, but Katherine asked me to take care of it for you. The details are on the top page. It shows the original amount and itemizes the taxes and penalties.”

  Layla took his word for it and barely glanced over the forms as she signed them. He gave her copies then placed the originals in an overflowing file cabinet.

  “So that’s it?” she asked, looking up with wide eyes.

  “Almost,” he answered, handing over a stack of twenty-dollar bills. “Katherine wanted me to give you some cash to leave with. You’re supposed to buy yourself something right away, no ifs, ands or buts.” He chuckled again. “I miss your mom, Layla, she was a happy woman. I liked to call her Miss Sunshine.”

  “Miss Sunshine,” Layla mumbled. “It fits.” Katherine had been a very happy and positive person.

  Gerald showed Layla to the front door, insisting she call him if she had any questions. Then she walked into the sun, dazed by the recent turn of events. She was halfway to her car when she remembered the money in her pocket. Katherine had wanted her to take advantage of her new found wealth immediately. This contradicted Layla’s sense of frugality, but it had been a last request. Besides, her shirt remained soaked in coffee.

  She glanced around the strip mall, finding the kind of places she generally avoided because of their prices. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed her shoulders back and marched across the parking lot. She entered the first boutique she came across then halted inside the door, scanning their expensive selection. Unimpressed, she nearly backtracked, but then she spied a clearance rack and bee-lined toward it.

  Because the sales clerk was pushy and Layla was a pushover, the shopping spree yielded a skirt she would never wear, but it also provided two pairs of practical jeans and three casual shirts, one of which she wore out of the store.

  As she tossed her bags in the car, Layla realized it was the first time she’d bought new clothing in over a year. She felt good about her purchases, but couldn’t ignore the guilt—a result of the money she’d spent and the fact that she felt good for a change.

  Chapter Four

  Dark clouds once again shadowed the sky and Layla’s heart by the time she toted her bags into the house, following a photo-lined hallway to her bedroom. She tossed the sacks on her bed, and the manila envelope slid out, drawing her undivided attention. She froze, staring at it like it was a spider with foot-long fangs. Then she gathered the guts to snatch it up, quickly marching it down the hallway so she wouldn’t lose her nerve and toss it in a closet.

  Instead, she tossed it on the kitchen table and started a pot of coffee, rummaging in the refrigerator for an apple as it brewed. This was something she did nearly every morning, so she’d perfected the process, finishing the last bite of her sliced and peeled fruit when the percolating came to a halt. After generously adding sugar and cream to a steaming cup, she sipped and sat in front of the envelope.

  For a few minutes she just stared at it, steeling herself for what was inside, but when the steam quit rolling from her mug, she set it down, opening the envelope with fumbling fingers. Swallowing a thick lump, she reached inside, pulling out several sheets of notebook paper—a letter in her mom’s handwriting.

  After a deep breath, she laid it flat on the table and read.

  My dearest Layla,

  If you’re reading this letter, it means my life on earth is over, and it means it ended far too soon. You must be so sad and lonely right now. I hate thinking about it. I never want to leave you.

  Layla started crying on the first line, so she stood and found a box of tissues. Once back in her chair, she took another deep breath and continued.

  Before you, my life was so empty and sad, but then you came along, filling me with the purest love imaginable. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect daughter. I’ve always loved you, from the very beginning, but with each passing year my admiration and love grows. You shower me in joy, purpose and peace, and I wouldn’t be complete without you. Thank you, my precious baby girl, for making my life rich and wonderful.

  Layla wiped her eyes and blew her nose, thinking she’d never make it through five pages of emotional upheaval, but she had to try.

  Having said that, I must reveal the true purpose of this letter and convey my deepest apologies. I’ve lied to you, Layla, over and over again.

  This caught Layla completely off guard.

  I’ll tell you the story as I know it and pray you’ll understand. So, here it goes. As you know, my parents died when I was seventeen, leaving me without a family. But what I’m about to tell you is something I’ve never discussed with you, and for good reason. It’s horrible, and I’m so sorry I’m writing it down for your eyes. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t feel you deserve a solid explanation. So brace yourself, and please forgive me for what you must read.

  After my parents died, I lived on my own in a tiny apartment in Seattle. For three years I would walk to a plastics factory, work a ten hour shift, walk home, eat, sleep then do it all over again. I had no friends, no goals and no ambition. My life was empty and my routine was dragging me down.

  The woman Layla was reading about sounded nothing like the mother she knew.

  If there’s a moral to this story, it’s that it’s better to walk this life with a friend than it is to walk it alone, because loneliness led to foolishness, which led to the worst experience of my life. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say a few horrible decisions and one wrong turn put me on a path I couldn’t come back from, a path that
landed me in critical condition in the hospital.

  Layla’s heart thumped harder and faster.

  I thought I was dead, and part of me didn’t care, but I must have had an angel looking out for me, because I pulled through. I was alive, but not whole. I’d lost the ability to bear children.

  Layla went back, read that last sentence again… then again, head spinning. Lost the ability to bear children? Did this mean she was adopted? Was that why she never knew her father? Katherine claimed he didn’t want children, so she’d let him off the hook. Well, that would still ring true if she was adopted.

  Layla was a mess—confused, shocked, heartbroken over her mom’s horrifying experience. She couldn’t put anything into perspective, so she got up and refilled her coffee. She tapped her toes on the linoleum and drummed her fingernails on the counter, scared to keep reading, but she couldn’t rest until it was over, so she sat and grabbed a tissue.

  I can’t imagine how you must feel, so I have no words of wisdom. I guess I’ll just get on with my explanation.

  Once I recovered, I ran from city life and ended up in Ketchum, Idaho, a small town I remembered from childhood ski trips. I lucked into a secretarial position at an accounting firm, but outside of my job, I was a hermit. I fell into a mundane routine, which suited me just fine. I’d learned what happens when you go looking for trouble. You find it.

  But as the years crept by, I yearned for the one thing I couldn’t have. For ten years I thought of nothing but the baby I’d never be able to carry. Finally, when I turned thirty, I decided to adopt. I didn’t have the thousands of dollars it would cost, and they frowned on single parenthood, but I had nothing but lonely time on my hands and couldn’t be deterred.