by Kara Isaac
“Thanks.” His uncle lowered himself into the opposite armchair, propping his cane up against the arm. The man was incapable of masking the smile that kept taking over his face. Jackson was guessing it had everything to do with the sneaky kiss he’d caught the guy planting on Mavis before they left their hotel in Queenstown. The tour had produced a full-blown octogenarian romance. Who would’ve guessed that was in the cards three weeks ago?
“You okay?” Even though he tried to arrange his face into something bordering on serious, his great-uncle’s lips twitched.
Jackson sighed. He needed to tell his uncle the truth and let the chips fall where they may. He didn’t even know what Louis had decided, but he didn’t want it on his conscience that he’d initially taken this trip under false pretenses. “I need to tell you something.”
“Shoot.”
“I haven’t been honest with you.”
His uncle leaned back against the plush leather and steepled his hands. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not a Tolkien fan. I never have been. Before the flight over here, I’d only seen one of the movies. I haven’t read any of his books. I don’t know an orc from another bad guy. They all pretty much look the same.”
His uncle didn’t even blink. “I know. I’ve known all along.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I was pretty sure before we even left, but I was certain in Wellington when I threw you for a loop with Gollum.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I probably owe you an apology. The truth is, I didn’t even really need an assistant. But I’d been asking the Lord for a chance to spend some time with family, and then you showed up. I figured it might be a bit weird, a great-uncle you didn’t know from Adam asking you to go on vacation with him, and my assistant did happen to quit, though he wasn’t coming on this trip. It was the best I could think of, so I went with it.”
Jackson tried to think of something to say, but nothing came.
Louis picked up his cookie, broke it in half, and put one piece back on his saucer. “I did think about putting you out of your misery a few times, but it was too much fun watching you try and maintain the facade.”
Jackson’s mind finally started processing the information, his mouth working again. “I don’t understand.”
“I told you this was all about your character. You not being a Tolkien fan was even better as far as I was concerned. I figured plenty of opportunities for you to show your true character would present themselves.”
Jackson rubbed his forehead. “Like how?”
“You told George to redistribute your share of the proceeds to other investors. That shows integrity.”
Jackson’s mouth almost hit the floor. “How did you know that?”
His uncle took a bite of his cookie, chewed a couple of times. “I’m a very well-connected man. You were prepared to put Allie’s safety over completing the wilderness challenge. That shows you don’t get so set on the goal you lose sight of what’s really important. And you just told me the truth when you didn’t know if it would affect my decision to invest in you. That makes you a man of principle.”
Jackson shrugged. “But does it? The main reason I wanted the money was to help my parents out with the farm, but my mom’s sick and they’ve sold it.”
“I know.”
Was there anything he didn’t know?
Louis tipped some sugar into his coffee and gave it a stir. “I bought it.”
Jackson stared at him. “You bought our farm.”
Louis gave a slow nod. “It’s been in your family for five generations. Couldn’t let it go to any Joe off the street. Especially with the market at the moment—they wouldn’t have been able to get close to what it’s worth.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
His uncle shrugged. “Honestly, I hadn’t really thought much about it. That’s the joy of getting to be this old and having as much money as I do. Sometimes you get to do something because you want to and think about how it will work later. I’ll probably hire in a manager to run it in the short term and keep on whoever your parents had as help and go from there. I’ve asked my guy on the ground to ask your father for any recommendations.”
“Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. It was all too much.
“I’m sorry about your mom, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Is that what’s been hanging over you the last few days, her diagnosis?”
“Yes. No. That was part of it.”
“And the other part?”
“Allie’s married.”
Louis picked up his cup. “Actually, she’s not.”
Jackson stared at his uncle, barely able to hear above the sound of his own pulse drumming in his ears. This conversation had just gone from the surreal to the impossible. He was tempted to slap himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “But I met her husband. She told me herself.”
Louis took a sip of his coffee, acting like he hadn’t dropped the verbal equivalent of the bomb that leveled Hiroshima. “You may have met Derek, but he’s not her husband. The court found in her favor and annulled the marriage. He’s still married to the girl he shacked up with in Vegas in a haze of bourbon and stupidity.”
Jackson’s body thrummed with pent-up incredulity. Was this how someone felt before they spontaneously combusted? “But he told her the court had ruled against her and upheld their marriage.”
“Yup, he’s a slippery character. Never underestimate the lows to which desperate people will stoop. His visa is due for renewal and I understand immigration have been asking a few pointed questions about his relationship status. Plus he’s about as broke as you are. Not to mention, he has a few not-so-nice friends back in the UK who still hold a few grudges about some debts he took a while to pay.”
Jackson was on his feet. “I need to go find her. Tell her.”
“Jackson.” His uncle leaned forward, laid a hand on his arm. “She’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it out. God has a way of making sure the truth always come to light.”
“But—” Jackson couldn’t say it. The thought of her around that sleazeball, thinking she was married to him, made him want to put his fist through a wall.
It’s okay. I’ve got it. The words came out of nowhere, wrapping around his fledgling faith. The peace that encompassed him made no sense, but nothing did right now.
He forced himself to sit back down, but he couldn’t stop one leg from bouncing like it was on a pogo stick.
“So here’s what we’re going to do.” His uncle pulled something out of his inner coat pocket and opened it. A checkbook.
He started scribbling. “This”—he held up a check for two hundred grand—“should be enough to get the Mortans, Slatts, and Wades back up to about two-thirds of what they invested in your company. But I’m giving it to you on one condition—that after this, you’re done. You consider their debts repaid.”
Jackson stared at the seven loopy zeroes on the rectangular piece of paper.
“But it was their college and retirement funds. They need all of it back.”
“It was, which they chose to invest. I’m sure you were a great salesman, don’t get me wrong. But you didn’t cheat them out of it, you didn’t con them out of it, you didn’t take advantage of them. They chose to give you that money. And they knew there would be an element of risk. I’m sure they are nice people, but they also got greedy and shouldn’t have invested what they couldn’t afford to lose.” His uncle placed the piece of paper between them. “Agreed?”
Jackson picked up the check. Stared at it. He couldn’t guarantee he’d ever be able to match it, let alone give them more, especially now that he had more important matters to consider. “Agreed.”
His uncle tapped his pen on his checkbook. “Here’s the deal, Jackson. I don’t know a
nything about apps, but you passed all the character requirements I have, so I’m happy to keep my end of the deal and invest in your next venture. But first, I have just one question for you.”
“Okay.”
“Is this what you really want to do?”
Jackson studied the glass top of the coffee table trying to really think over the commotion going on in his heart and head.
Was this what he really wanted to do? There was no looming foreclosure on the farm for him to worry about. The investors he cared about were getting most of their money back. He had nothing holding him to L.A. All of his worldly belongings he could pack into a couple of suitcases and a few boxes. Did he really want to start a business again from scratch right now? He knew what it felt like to have money; it hadn’t made him happy. He’d found what made him happy. And she couldn’t be bought.
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think it is.” As he said the words aloud, he knew they were true. He didn’t care about getting revenge on Richard and Nicole or rubbing their faces in his next success. He couldn’t care less if he never owned a nice condo or drove a flashy sports car again.
“Do you know what you want?”
“Allie.” She wasn’t married. He was still having trouble processing the concept. He wasn’t convinced he shouldn’t walk out of this airport and find her right now and tell her. It would be a lot easier if he hadn’t deleted her number off his phone in a fit of fury.
His uncle smiled. “Well, I can’t help you with that one, son. Want my advice though?”
“Sure.” Why not? The man clearly knew everything.
“Once she finds out about Derek, she’s going to need a bit of time to find her footing again and work things out for herself. Rushing in there like a knight on a charger will probably not go so well. So be patient. Trust God. If it’s meant to be, He’ll give you a good kick when it’s time to make a move.”
Jackson blew out a breath. He wasn’t good at being patient. If he had a clue where she was, he probably wouldn’t still be sitting here. “I’ll try. But what . . .” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The horrible possibilities were too numerous to contemplate.
“Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on it. Allie’s already been burned once, so she has her eyes wide open. If need be, I’ve got people on my payroll who can give things a little hurry along so she finds out sooner rather than later.”
Jackson stared at the old guy, with his innocent face and twinkling eyes. Was he actually Gandalf? It was either that or else he was really high up in the mafia with his “people” and information flows.
He decided it was better not to ask. Just in case “a little hurry along” involved Derek, concrete boots, and some deep water, all of which sounded like an excellent idea right now. “Why do you care so much about us?”
His uncle leaned back in his seat. “Jackson, I would do it even if you hadn’t gone and fallen for her. I like Allison a lot. Which makes it important to me that she finds out the truth. And, like I’ve said before, when you’re an old man with a lot of money, one of life’s luxuries is that you can indulge whims that might not make a lot of sense.” His uncle picked up his cup and took a sip of his coffee. “What about everything else? Do you know what you want to do next with your life? Besides spend it with a certain redhead?”
Jackson contemplated for a second the idea that had been knocking about for months, but that he’d written off as being impossible. But since he’d heard about his parents selling the farm, it had gotten louder, more insistent. “Yes, I think I do.”
Thirty-One
SHE HAD FORGOTTEN SOMETHING. WHAT could it be? Allie scanned the groceries she’d placed on Susannah’s kitchen counter one more time, trying to calm the nagging feeling she’d missed a vital ingredient somewhere along the way.
It had been an okay day. It was weird being back in Auckland—the city she’d avoided for so long. She and Susannah were cautiously navigating sisterly ground, and, with the family all out for dinner, Allie had offered to dust off her much neglected culinary skills for dinner with Derek.
She glanced at the clock: 6:16 P.M. He’d said he should be over by around seven. Her sweaty running clothes stuck to her. Shower or start dinner first? She lifted up an arm for a whiff. Not too bad. Best to start dinner and then get ready. Besides, she was the world’s messiest cook and would inevitably end up with pasta sauce in the most unlikely of places, no matter how careful she tried to be.
Her stomach gnawed itself. What was she even nervous about? Derek was her husband. And he was the one trying to earn his way back into her heart and life, not the other way around.
Jackson’s face flashed up in her mind and she forced down the foolish wish that it was him she was cooking dinner for, that he was the one walking through the door. In a couple of hours, he would be on a plane back to the U.S. Their paths would never cross again. Which was a good thing. For there to be any chance of making this marriage work, Jackson couldn’t be anywhere near it.
She turned her attention back to the book that sat open in front of her. The chicken and pasta recipe looked okay. She’d never tried it before, and had chosen it solely because it was the first recipe she’d found that seemed to only contain ingredients she actually knew and didn’t seem too threatening.
Step 1: Chop the onion into fine pieces and then sweat for approximately five minutes.
Sweat the onion? What on earth was sweating an onion? Allie scanned the page for more explicit instructions on what would make an onion sweat, but the book remained mute on the topic. She flipped to the back looking for a glossary. Nothing. How on earth could a book called 1-2-3 Cook not have a glossary? What did they expect? That people were born with innate knowledge of how to sweat an onion?
Her concentration was broken by the front door opening. She glanced at the clock. Six twenty-one. Weird. She was sure Susannah had said they were going to go straight to dinner after she’d picked Katie up from ballet.
Footsteps sounded in the entryway, but not the raucous sounds that always accompanied her niece and nephew. Susannah must’ve popped back to pick up something. Oh well, it would be nice to have some distraction while she prepped, even if just for a few minutes. For all her initial misgivings, her sister had turned out to be far more human than she’d anticipated. All she required of her unexpected houseguest was that Allie never ever call her “Susie” ever again. Though for some reason “Suz” was deemed acceptable.
“I’m in the kitchen.” She turned around and pulled open the knife drawer. It was time to do battle with the onion. A few seconds later, she heard steps walking up the hallway. “What did you forget?”
Where was the chef’s knife? She was sure she had seen it in there this morning. The footsteps entered the kitchen. Aha, found it.
“Hey, Suz. Do you know what it means to sweat an onion?” Allie wrestled with assorted tableware to get to the knife.
“No clue, sorry.” It was not her sister.
The knife came loose and she spun around, wielding it not unlike some crazed psycho killer in a horror movie.
Derek quickly took a few steps back, cowering behind a large bunch of bright flowers he held in his hands, although they were separated by a wide kitchen counter. What did he think she’d done—become a skilled knife thrower in the last two years?
“Derek?” For the love of all things good, what was he doing here already?
He waved a hand weakly. “Hi.”
His face was pale and he looked like he was about to hurl. And she had mopped the floor only this morning.
Speaking of things to hurl. Allie put the knife down, slowly. The guy still brought up such strong emotions in her, she ricocheted from hate to something-not-hate in a millisecond. She didn’t trust herself not to throw the knife at his head if he made the wrong move or said the wrong thing.
She glanced down. Great. Why di
d she never get to be the one looking glamorous? “Nice of you to knock.” Her voice came out a lot harsher than she’d intended.
He winced. “Sorry. I did. You mustn’t have heard me. And the door was unlocked, so I figured someone was home.” He slowly walked forward, pulled out a bar stool, and plonked himself down on it as if he belonged there.
Allie’s finger’s curled around the edge of the counter. What did he think he was doing? Sitting down like nothing had changed, when everything had. Be nice, Allie. The whole point of this was to try and see if this could work.
She had stood up in front of hundreds of people and promised for better or worse till death did them part, but if she’d had even an inkling of how bad the “worse” could be, she never would’ve walked down the aisle in the first place.
He held out the flowers to her. A huge bunch of lilies. They’d been one of her favorites her whole life. The flowers he’d brought her on their first date. That she’d carried in her bouquet. He had no way of knowing that the sight of them now only brought pain. She took them, the paper rustling in her arms, and placed them on the counter.
“I know I’m early. I just needed to see you.” His eyes didn’t quite meet hers.
She swallowed back the urge to tell him he had long since lost the right to need anything from her.
The thought of the last couple of years had her fingers itching to find the nearest blunt object. Out of a desire not to get a criminal record, more than a concern for his safety, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So talk.”
He formed a triangle with his fingers, resting his chin on the point. “I can understand how angry you still are with me.”
She highly doubted that. Not when she herself was still shocked by the waves of fury that occasionally overtook her. If he did, he would not have waltzed in here and voluntarily sat down. He would have been standing at the door ready to run at a moment’s notice.
He would have shown up on time after she’d had a chance to give herself a pep talk before their evening began.