This wasn’t Ian. Not this pudgy, balding man whose hand was trembling as he held it out to her. “Miss Montgomery, my nurse said you’re here for personal reasons. A lot of patients say that at first. Sit down, relax.”
“Ian, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Emily.”
“Emily!” Shock. Disbelief. Outrage. It was all there for her to see in his red face. He’s drinking too much, Emily thought.
“That’s my name,” Emily said, sitting down. She crossed her legs, pleased at the way the Armani skirt hiked up. “I came all the way across the country just to see you.”
“Why? What do you want? What did you do to yourself?”
“Actually I don’t want anything. There’s not a thing you have that I would ever want. I just wanted to see you. Well, maybe I wanted to tell you something. I burned all your white shirts.” She paused a moment, for effect. “I guess it’s my turn to ask you what you’ve done to yourself. You look like you’ve been rode hard and hung up wet. The good life, huh? If I was one of those women out there, I’d never let you take a knife to me. Your hands are shaking. You have the face of a drinker. You must be what, forty pounds overweight, and is that a smudge I see on that white shirt? Tsk, tsk,” Emily said, clucking her tongue.
“What do you want, Emily?”
“Nothing. Truly, Ian, I don’t want anything. Now, how much do you charge for your initial visit?”
“A hundred dollars,” Ian said automatically.
Emily wrote off a check and placed it precisely in the middle of Ian’s desk. “See, I’m even paying for your time. I said I didn’t want anything. I wanted to see if the years were as good to you as they were to me.” She stood up, twirled around for his benefit, then sat down. “What you did to me was unconscionable, but I survived. Bet you don’t know a thing about me. Or do you?” Ian shook his head. “I am Emily Thorn of the famous Emily’s Fitness Centers. Of course we’re mainly on the East Coast so it’s possible you haven’t heard about us. I make”—she leaned over the desk to whisper—“seven figures a year.” Of course it was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Come off it, Emily.” At the same time he rang for his nurse. When she poked her head in the door, he barked, “Call Stan Margolis, my old attorney in New Jersey, and ask him to tell you everything he knows about an enterprise called Emily’s Fitness Centers. Do it right now.”
Emily shrugged. “How’s business? Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me to my face you were leaving instead of sending me a Federal Express letter?”
“I didn’t want a scene. You loved scenes.”
“How many clinics do you have out here?”
“Six, not that it’s any of your business. I’m thinking of getting out. Every day I have to fight those people out there. We’ve been fire-bombed twice, robbed six or seven times, and now it’s worse. I didn’t bargain for this,” he said, his words coming out in a tumbled rush.
The phone on his desk buzzed. Ian picked up the receiver and said, “Dr. Thorn. Stan, good to hear your voice. Fine, fine. Yeah, lots of smog. I have a patient sitting here.”
Emily smiled at the expression on Ian’s face. How was it possible that she’d been so besotted with this man?
Ian hung up the phone, an ugly look on his face. “I want half.”
“Of what?”
“Whatever you have. I gave you your start. Turnabout is fair play.”
“What about the start I gave you?”
“I gave you everything you wanted,” Ian snapped. “Pay me off and I can stop slicing up women for a living.”
“Go to hell, Ian. I divorced you. Long ago. You have no claim on anything I have.”
“Do you still have the house?”
“Oh, yes with two mortgages. I took out an equity loan in case you decided you wanted your half. It’s yours; name the time and date when you want to take possession. I’ve kind of let it go. Now I have a condo in Park Gate. The house is worth very little,” Emily lied. “I’ll give you five thousand for it or it can go into default. Darn, I meant to bring that up. Thanks for mentioning it, Ian. Well, I really should be going now.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You always did. When did I ever lie to you, Ian?”
“All right, I’ll take it.”
“Not until you sign this waiver. And this transfer for the deed.”
“Write the check,” he said, signing. “What about the tulips?”
“What about them?” she asked as she wrote out a second check and placed it on the first.
“Did you keep up with them?”
“For a while. There aren’t any flowers now. I don’t have time to tend a garden.” Then Emily asked softly, “Are you happy, Ian?”
“Who the hell do you know who’s happy, Emily? You always did ask stupid questions like that.” He shoved the checks in his desk drawer.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m happy?”
“Well, are you?”
Emily smiled. “Very happy. You broke my heart, Ian. I mean that literally. But it mended. For a while I didn’t think it was possible. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong. Once I realized I’d wasted half my life on you, the comeback was relatively easy. What’s happened to you, Ian?”
“Nothing. Don’t go looking for things to say just to be nasty.”
“You’re wasting your life the way you wasted mine. It’s too late for you, Ian, you’ve lost your edge. Look at the tremor in your hands. You need to give this up before something goes wrong. Go into dermatology.” She began to walk toward the door.
“Come on, Emily, you must still have some feelings for me. We were together a long time. Let’s have dinner for old times’ sake. Don’t you remember the good times, the good old days?” His voice was desperate-sounding.
“Ian, this is me, Emily. What good times, what good old days are you talking about? All my feelings for you are gone. You pretty much repulse me right now. All that education, all that medical knowledge, and look at you. You’re pathetic. You’re also a pisspot,” she said over her shoulder.
Ian opened the drawer of his desk and stared at the checks Emily had given him.
Time to go home, to the big, lonely house in the hills that was full of treasures, all bought and paid for with abortion money. He removed his surgical coat and slipped into his sports jacket. He wished then, the way he wished every day, that there was a back door to the clinic so he wouldn’t have to fight the protesters outside.
As he made his way across the parking lot, the noise and babble finally got to him. He raised his fist and shouted obscenities. He heard the shot, even thought he saw the sun spear off the barrel of the gun. He felt himself lose his balance, his arms grappling with the thin air. He felt his face mash into the dirty asphalt.
And then nothing.
Emily packed her small overnight bag as she waited for Room Service to bring the garden salad and vegetable soup she’d ordered for dinner. She snapped the small bag she would carry on the Redeye she was taking to return home in a few hours.
Today’s visit with Ian had taken its toll on her. Her bravado and smart-aleck talk with her ex-husband had confused her. She still wasn’t sure why she’d come here. The business with the house had merely been an excuse. With Ian she had always needed an excuse for everything. Old habits were hard to break. Until she’d seen him face to face, she’d felt connected to him even though they were divorced. Now, though, she was finally able to say there was nothing about Ian she ever wanted to see or hear of again. If there was a connection, her visit had severed it once and for all.
Maybe now she could give some serious thought to taking back her maiden name; legally. It was something she’d thought about many times, but had never acted on.
Emily carried her bag over to the door just as a knock sounded. She opened it to admit the waiter with her dinner. “I didn’t order this,” she said, “but it’s okay, leave it. You might have a problem with the person who gets my salad and soup,
though.” She signed the slip, added a generous tip, and sat down to eat a thick ham and cheese sandwich with potato chips and pickles on the side. The frosty bottle of Budweiser looked wonderful. She loved beer, but rarely drank it. She turned on the TV and leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the bed while she munched contentedly.
Until she saw Ian’s face flash on the screen. She turned up the sound that she’d lowered when the waiter appeared. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to comprehend what she’d just heard. Ian was dead, shot in the parking lot by an abortion foe. She’d just spoken with him a few hours ago, she’d called him a pisspot, and now he was dead. She would never, ever, hear his voice again. He was out of her life. Forever.
Emily cried then, deep, bone-searing sobs that rocked her body.
Hours later, when there were no more tears, Emily washed her face, brushed her hair, put on fresh lipstick. Her eyes were red-rimmed now, slightly swollen. She opted to forgo eye makeup, knowing she was going to tear up again and again.
What was she to do now? Should she return home as planned? Should she go to the police station? And say what? Ian was her ex-husband. She wasn’t involved in his life anymore. Who would handle his affairs? Did he have a live-in love, a wife somewhere? Who was his local attorney? Maybe she should call Stan Margolis back in New Jersey and ask his advice. Who was going to plan his funeral and where was he to be buried? Ian never wanted to talk about life insurance or discuss cemetery plots. In these past years did he do any estate planning? Was she obligated to stay and…and what? Emily threw her hands in the air.
Emily placed the call through the operator, telling her she didn’t know the number. “Tell whoever answers the phone that this is an emergency, a life and death matter. Actually it’s death. Yes, I’ll hold,” Emily dithered.
The attorney’s voice when it came on the line was professional-sounding, much like Ian’s. She took a deep breath and explained the situation. Finally she said, “I don’t know what to do. What I mean is I want to do the right thing. Leaving sounds so…callous. I’m willing to do whatever you think is best.”
She was frazzled now, pacing and wringing her hands. Margolis was going to call the police, explain, and call her back. Should she call home? It was nine o’clock back in New Jersey, six here. Her friends would be home now. Usually the first thing they did was turn on the little television set on the kitchen counter for the evening news. Ian’s death would have been on the news; she was certain of that. Violent deaths always made the news. Call now or wait till Margolis called her back? Cancel her airline flight or not?
Emily finished the beer in the bottle. She continued to pace.
It was six-thirty when the attorney in New Jersey called her back. “The police would like to talk with you. It’s a formality, but I do think you should make an appearance. Delay your flight till tomorrow. If you need me, call.” Emily copied down his home phone number and stuck it in her purse.
She used up another twenty minutes canceling her flight and calling the women, who had already heard the news. “No, no, there’s nothing any of you can do. I’ll call you when I get back from the police station. Do me a favor and call Ben.”
At the police station Emily was taken into a small room, where she explained her visit to a man who said he was a homicide detective. He listened intently. “I knew he wouldn’t…at least I thought he wouldn’t want to talk to me if he knew it was me…I suppose this doesn’t make sense to you…right now it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I can’t explain why I came here to California at this particular point in my life…perhaps because…because…I might be getting married. More likely than not I won’t…that didn’t make sense, did it? Something told me to come and…and I did…I don’t even know if Ian ever got the divorce papers. What should I do now? Who’s in charge of his affairs? I don’t want to step on any toes, but if there is no one, out of decency I’ll make the final arrangements. When will…when will…Ian be…do you know?”
“The coroner said he’ll release the body late tomorrow. We’ve spoken to Dr. Thorn’s head nurse and to his office manager. His attorney is down the hall. If you like, you can talk to him. We’ll have your statement typed up and you can sign it. I don’t see any problems here. You have my sympathies, Mrs. Thorn.” Emily nodded.
“Aaron Jessup, Mrs. Thorn,” a tall man with gray hair and eyes to match said when the homicide detective ushered her into a long, narrow room.
“Emily Thorn,” Emily said, holding out her hand. “Do you know if Ian had any…any…did he want a burial or a cremation? When we were married, Ian would never discuss such things so I have no idea what I should do, if in fact I’m the person to do anything at all. I’m willing to make the arrangements, take him…home…but I don’t know if he considered New Jersey his home anymore. He has three brothers, but as far as I know, he never spoke to any of them once he left home. His parents are deceased. I have no idea where the brothers are.”
The attorney cleared his throat. “Dr. Thorn consulted with me shortly after he moved out here. His affairs are pretty much in order. He asked to be cremated and he wanted his ashes spread around the Mojave Desert.” Emily’s eyes widened.
“Ian wants…wanted cremation?”
“Yes. And he wanted tulips dropped from an airplane. Tons of tulips. Now, that may seem bizarre to you and me, but to Dr. Thorn it was something he didn’t feel he had to explain. I can assure you he was quite sane when this will was written.”
Emily wondered why the man sounded so defensive. “If that’s what he wants, then it should be done. Are you the executor?”
“Yes.”
“I was supposed to return home tonight on the Redeye, but I canceled my flight. I’m staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel if you want to call me. I can stay on for a few days.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Emily nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about cremation. I don’t even know who to call. Do you call a mortician or…I…I’m not sure he’d want me to be doing anything. I’ve always believed a dying person’s last wishes should be given serious consideration but I don’t think I…I can do whatever you want,” Emily said flatly.
“Dr. Thorn was a complex man. He was also a very wealthy man. He left everything he owns to you.”
“What?” The single word sounded like a gunshot as it exploded from her mouth.
“Dr. Thorn left everything he owns, his entire estate to you. He made the will when he first moved here and consulted with me. When the divorce papers arrived, I made a point of asking him if he wanted to change his will and he said no. He said he owed it to you, that without you he wouldn’t have been able to practice medicine.”
“Ian said that?” Emily crumpled then, tears rivering down her cheeks. “I don’t understand. I don’t want his money,” she sobbed.
“Dr. Thorn said you would say exactly what you’ve just said. He also said, and this is a direct quote: ‘It will be interesting to see what she does with all my money. You tell her I’m going to be watching.’ End of quote.”
“Even in death he threatens me.”
“He did say one thing I’ve never forgotten. It was in passing and neither of us dwelled on it. He said it after he signed the will.”
Emily blew her nose lustily. “I don’t think I want to hear it.”
The attorney smiled. “Dr. Thorn said that, when he met you, you were as pretty as a butterfly. I never found Dr. Thorn to be a complimentary man so the comment was significant. You are very pretty, Mrs. Thorn. The analogy, in my opinion, is on the money. That was another favorite expression of Dr. Thorn’s. Well, I guess we can wind things down here. It’s getting late. Can I drop you off at your hotel? It isn’t out of my way. You did say you were staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel, didn’t you?”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Jessup. Thank you.”
It was eleven o’clock when Emily called the house on Sleepy Hollow Road. The phone was picked up on the first ring. Em
ily sobbed out the night’s encounter and all the information the attorney had given her. “What do you think of that threat?” she squealed.
“Emily, honey, don’t take it as a threat. Think of it as what he said: he’ll be watching, knowing you’ll do the right thing,” Lena said soothingly.
“It’s a test. He was forever testing me. This…he dies and leaves me with a test. What if I do the wrong thing? What if it isn’t what he wanted or intended?”
“He left that up to you. He could have left his money to anyone, to charity, to the homeless, to some medical fund, but he left it to you. I think he trusted you in his own way. Look at the positive side of things. Don’t load your shoulders down. By the way, Ben is on his way. Zoë drove him to the airport. Don’t sit around the hotel and think, Emily. Go to the airport, where it’s busy and there are people. Wait for Ben.”
“Is he really coming here, Lena? I wanted to call him to ask him to come, but it didn’t seem fair. Yes, yes, I’ll do that. I don’t know if I can handle this, Lena. I have my limits.”
“You can do it, Emily. When you come back here, you’ll be free of all the old ghosts. It was a long time in coming, sweetie. Don’t think about the past; it’s gone. Deal with the here and now, and on a lighter note, Miz Thorn, Dudley Duhoefer popped the question to Miz Martha Nesbit. Miz Nesbit said yes. Do you believe that? Tonight, it happened tonight after dinner. He showed up at the back door and got down on one knee in front of all of us. It was soooo romantic.”
“Damn, I missed that. Do you think he’ll do a replay?” Emily said.
“I’m sure he will. I can tell you this—it was a struggle for him. He’s kind of arthritic. It just makes it all the more endearing. Now, you’re going to the airport, right?”
“Yes. Lena, talk to the girls. Ask them if they have any opinions as to what to do with Ian’s money. What do you think I should do with it?”
“Emily, you are asking the wrong person. I can’t think above a hundred dollars. I know we have monies in our funds, but I can’t comprehend that either. Don’t be in a rush. How much money are we talking about?”
Dear Emily Page 23