“What’s wrong, Claire?” Ian asked her. “Who was that man?”
Her father was clearly agitated, still rocking slightly and nodding his head.
“That was not a nice man,” Claire said. “If he comes here again, don’t let him in. Call Scott instead. Where’s Mom?”
“She’s asleep. He wanted to speak to her but I said she wasn’t feeling well. He thought she might know where the key ring was.”
Claire went down the hall and looked in on her mother, who was snoring. She realized she was trembling all over. She didn’t know what to do but felt she had to do something. She couldn’t call Scott; he was busy with his mother and besides, as kind and honorable as he was, he was no match for Stanley. She realized there was only one person on her side who was; she went to the back porch to make the call so her father wouldn’t hear.
Scott, his sister Penny, a social worker from Pine County Hospice, and Father Stephen all sat on either side of his mother’s bed. Scott’s mother was crying into a tissue, and his sister’s eyes were swollen and red.
“I spoke to Doctor Machalvie,” Father Stephen said to their mother. “He’s been conferring with the specialists in Morgantown, and he agrees that chemo and radiation would only prolong your life for a very short time, and the side effects would probably make you miserable. He’s ready to make the referral to Hospice.”
“Can’t we just pray for a miracle?” Penny said. “If our faith is strong enough we can heal her, can’t we?”
“I believe miracles happen,” the priest said. “I believe that prayer can heal. I also see good, faithful people die all the time. A time comes for us all.”
“If we bring in Hospice it means we’ve given up,” Penny said. “I won’t do that.”
“You want your mother to be as comfortable as possible, don’t you?” the social worker said. “A nurse will come to the house to check on her and help manage her symptoms; we can set up any medical equipment she needs here at home; aides can come to help take care of her personal needs. She’ll be free to focus on resting and spending time with her family and friends. We’ll help you take good care of her. People who go into Hospice care early enough tend to live longer, better quality lives.”
“You can prepare for the worst and still hope for the best,” Father Stephen said.
“Can she have chemo and radiation if she’s in the program?” Penny asked the Hospice social worker.
“Only if it’s for palliative care, which means treatments that are given to alleviate painful symptoms,” the social worker said. “Right now the Medicare guidelines stipulate that she can’t seek curative treatment while in the program. That may change in the future, but that’s the law right now.”
“What do you want to do, Mom?” Scott asked her.
“I’ll do whatever you both want me to do,” she said. “You decide.”
“I’m going to leave this information with you,” the social worker said, and laid some brochures on the bedside table. “If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to call us.”
Scott walked outside with her and said, “I hope we can convince Penny it’s the best thing.”
“It’s not unusual for family members to disagree,” she said. “It’s good if everyone can be on board, but that’s not always the case. You need to be designated her medical power of attorney; then if she becomes incapacitated you can make the decision for her.”
“I hope it won’t come to that.”
“Be sure to take care of yourself,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
When Scott got back to the bedroom Penny said, “I’m afraid they’ll just come in here and shoot her up with morphine and then she’ll die.”
“Mom will decide how much pain she can tolerate and how much medication she wants,” Scott said. “Plus Doc will be in on every decision. He wouldn’t recommend Hospice if it wasn’t the best thing.”
“I can’t do it,” Penny said. “I’m not giving up.”
“Don’t fight,” their mother said. “Please don’t fight.”
“Why don’t you all sleep on it,” Father Stephen said. “Pray about it and ask for guidance.”
“Pray with us now,” Scott’s mother said. “Let’s all hold hands and pray.”
Scott didn’t understand why he felt so resistant to holding hands with his family and letting Father Stephen pray over them. He’d been raised in the church, and while he wasn’t what anyone would call a strict Catholic, he did believe in God.
As he listened to Father Stephen quote from Corinthians and then ask for mercy and forgiveness for his mother, his resistance turned to resentment. What had his mother ever done that she needed to ask for forgiveness? Why should anyone have to beg to be let into heaven? There wasn’t a person Scott could think of who was perfect enough to please the kind of God they were praying to. Why bother?
Afterwards, as he walked out of the house with Father Stephen, Scott felt his irritation boil over.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Scott said. “My mother’s a good person, a good Christian; why did this happen to her? There are plenty of evil people who live long, unproductive lives.”
“We can have faith that for those who have done well, everlasting enjoyment shall be given; while to lovers of evil shall be given eternal punishment.”
Scott had heard this rhetoric his whole life, but he wasn’t sure he believed it anymore. It seemed more like something with which you would threaten a child in order to make him behave than something a reasonable adult person would believe.
“Let me ask you something, Father,” Scott said. “How does anyone get into heaven if we’re all so damaged and wicked down here? Why does God care what happens to such sinful people?”
“We live so that God may experience the world through us,” Father Stephen said. “We are like his wayward children, his stray lambs. Of course He cares what happens to us. He loves us.”
“So why does He let us go to hell if He loves us so much?”
“Call it universal tough love,” Father Stephen said with a smile. “Everyone has a choice how they end up; there are many forks along the road, many opportunities for redemption.”
Scott wasn’t convinced by this argument. He could agree that there were consequences to every action, but he could more easily believe hell was suffering from experiencing those consequences here on earth rather than an actual place he would be sent in which to burn after he died. He knew it was pointless to argue with Father Stephen about it; the man’s life’s calling was based on faith. It would be more productive to ask him for help with his sister, who was a fervent believer.
“Why can’t my sister think of what’s best for our mother, not for herself?”
“It’s normal to feel all kinds of strong feelings when someone is dying,” Father Stephen said, “Anger, denial, guilt; try to be patient with your sister as she comes to terms with losing her mother.”
“It’s not like I want this to happen,” Scott said. “I just can’t see the sense in making her suffer because we aren’t ready to let go.”
“Penny will come to that realization, too. Give her time.”
“We may not have time,” Scott said.
After Father Stephen walked away, Scott decided he wasn’t ready for round two in the hot house with Penny. He walked down to Claire’s parents’ house and arrived just as Sam was leaving. Sam seemed to be in a hurry to get going, so they only exchanged brief greetings. Claire invited him in and he made some small talk with Ian before joining her in the kitchen.
“I’ve just realized I spend most of my time talking to people in a series of kitchens,” Scott said as he sat down.
“Thank you for what you did today at The Bee Hive,” Claire said. “I couldn’t bear it if something Sam and I did a long time ago hurt Hannah now.”
“It wasn’t totally selfless; I enjoyed Maggie’s reaction.”
“She’s probably not going to speak to me for awhile.”
“She’ll get over
it,” Scott said. “What was Sam doing here just now?”
“Just checking on me,” Claire said, but she wasn’t looking Scott in the eye. “How’s your mom?”
Scott told her about the uncomfortable family meeting.
“Father Stephen says Penny will come around, but I’m not so sure,” Scott said.
“How long is she staying?”
“She said just until she got Mom squared away.”
“I remember saying that what seems like a hundred years ago, last weekend,” Claire said. “Can she stay longer if you need her to?”
“She can get family medical leave at work, which I don’t have, and I don’t think they’d be strapped for cash if she had to be off a longer time. Her husband Kyle has a good job.”
“They have kids?”
“Twins: Kyle Jr. and Kylene; they’re fifteen.”
“I don’t know Penny very well; she was so much younger than us.”
“She’s got a very strong faith,” Scott said.
“You do, too, don’t you?”
“I want to believe, but the older I get the more it all sounds like a fairy tale. ‘Be good down here and the old man in the sky will reward you up there.’ It sounds like a pretty flimsy premise on which to base your whole life.”
“I can’t imagine you turning to a life of crime,” Claire said.
“I know, right?” he said. “Even if it turned out it was all hokum I’d probably still do what I think is the right thing. Not because of some reward I’m hoping to get after I die, but just because I want to be that kind of person.”
“You’re the best person I know,” Claire said, and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m lucky to know you.”
Scott took her hand and held it in his.
“What are you and Sam up to?”
Claire withdrew her hand, got up, and moved some things around on the kitchen counter.
“C’mon, Claire,” Scott said. “I’m not stupid; don’t shut me out.”
Claire turned around and leaned back against the counter.
“I’m not going to tell you,” she said. “Not because I’m ashamed of anything or I don’t trust you. I’m not telling you because what I’m going to do next isn’t exactly legal, and if you don’t know about it you can’t get in trouble for it.”
“Claire,” Scott said. “It would be dangerous to play around with these people. You know that better than anyone.”
“Sean’s coming in the morning and we’re going to meet with Stanley at noon. I’m going to sign a new confidentiality agreement and then Sloan and her entourage are going to leave Rose Hill.”
“That sounds legal enough.”
“It is,” Claire said. “Now stop asking questions.”
“I trust Sean,” Scott said. “Does he know what you’re going to do?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it on the phone,” Claire said. “He’ll know everything after he gets here in the morning.”
“Do you want me to keep an eye on The Bee Hive, or hang out with your Dad all day?”
“No, it will all be fine,” Claire said. “You take good care of your mom. I’ll call you as soon as they leave.”
“I don’t like this,” Scott said as he stood up. “I wish you trusted me more.”
“You’re a sweetie pie,” Claire said, and then she hugged him.
The instant attraction he felt surprised him, and he kissed her before he could decide if it was the best idea. To his further surprise, she kissed him back.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said when they stopped.
“Don’t worry so much,” she said. “I may not be as smart as Stanley but I’m definitely smarter than Pip.”
“I can’t find anything wrong with it,” Sean said the next morning, looking over the agreement Stanley had delivered to his home the night before. “It basically says you can’t talk about Sloan or anything that happened while you were in her employment, forever and ever, amen.”
Sean and Sam were sitting in the hydraulic chairs at The Bee Hive while Claire paced the floor. Mackie Pea was watching her from her carrier, which was perched on the back counter.
“I drew up the agreement making you the legal owner of the dog,” Sean said. “But what would compel her to sign it?”
“This would,” Sam said, and held up the key ring with the flash drive attached.
“I thought that was lost,” Sean said.
“Sammy had it,” Sam said. “I just thought it would be safer in my hands than in anyone else’s.”
“I’m guessing Scott doesn’t know you have it.”
Sam gave Sean a pointed look.
“Okey dokey,” Sean said. “I guess we’ll call that privileged information.”
“Sarah can’t pursue Sloan now, anyway,” Claire said. “So I might as well use it to get custody of Mackie Pea.”
“Do you even know what’s on the flash drive?” Sean asked. “There was some mention of a book.”
“Tuppy wrote a book about Sloan,” Claire said. “I don’t know why he bothered; the penalty for breaking his confidentiality agreement couldn’t possibly cover any advance a publisher could pay.”
“Did either of you read it?” Sean asked.
“I skimmed through it,” Claire said. “Tuppy’s only known her for eighteen months. His stuff is inflammatory but nowhere near as damaging as revelations about her past would be.”
Sean looked at Sam, who was wearing one of his inscrutable poker faces, like a puzzle box that seemed impossible to open.
“Okay, then,” Sean said. “We offer the key ring in return for the transfer of ownership of the dog.”
“Here’s the thing,” Claire said. “Stanley’s going to think I had the book all along, and that I’ve made copies of it. He’s going to be really mad thinking I’ve tried to one-up him. He may just refuse our offer and then burn down the whole town.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Sean said.
“I assure you I’m not,” Claire said. “You remember that scene in the Godfather where the producer wakes up to find his prize thoroughbred’s severed head in his bed? That’s Stanley’s favorite part; he laughs his ass off. That movie is like a workplace comedy to him.”
“What if he refuses to sign?” Sean asked.
“We have a back-up plan,” Sam said.
“Please, I beg you,” Sean said, “no guns.”
“No guns,” Sam said. “Just many, many witnesses, too many to kill; trust me.”
“I trust you,” Claire said.
Stanley’s car glided up to the curb across the street from The Bee Hive and Sam stood up. He held the door open for Stanley to come in as he went out, and walked away without looking back.
“Sloan’s staying in the car,” Stanley said. “I guess you said your goodbyes yesterday evening.”
Stanley shook hands with Sean and seemed very pleased with himself.
“All signed?” Stanley said to Claire. “Ready to start your new life?”
Sean gave Stanley the signed confidentiality agreement, which Stanley quickly looked over, folded, and put it in his inside jacket pocket.
“There’s one more thing,” Sean said, and held up the key ring.
Stanley’s face turned blood red. If he had been a character in a cartoon, steam would have come out of his ears.
“I know you won’t believe this, Stanley,” Claire said, “but I didn’t find it until after you left our house last night.”
“If you ask for one penny I’ll have you arrested for extortion so fast your empty little head will spin,” Stanley said, and then pointed at Sean, “and you will be disbarred.”
“I don’t want any money,” Claire said. “I want custody of the dog.”
“Out of the question,” Stanley said. “How do I know you haven’t made a dozen copies? A publisher may pay millions into an offshore account for the chance to publish it, but I would know it was you who did it. There wouldn’t be a cave deep enough in which you
could hide from me.”
“The kind of people you’re used to dealing with might do that,” Claire said, “but I don’t need any more money and I certainly don’t want to get it that way. I just want to be as far away from Sloan Merryweather as possible. All I need is for her to sign the paperwork making Mackie Pea my dog, and you’ll never have to deal with me again.”
“No,” Stanley said. “You’ll come back for more. I don’t do business with blackmailers; I bury them.”
Stanley’s back was to the front door and the windows of The Bee Hive, so he couldn’t see the people quietly lining up outside between the building and his car. Almost every person in Claire’s extended family was there, plus neighbors, students, and tourists, all people who’d been told that Sloan Merryweather was in The Bee Hive and would be signing autographs. The Pendleton Press had sent a photographer and a features editor. A local television station news crew was setting up to record the event.
As the crowd swelled Stanley’s driver blew the horn and Stanley’s phone buzzed. He finally turned around.
“What the hell?” he said.
“I told you not to underestimate me or this town,” Claire said. “All those people believe that Sloan Merryweather came to town just to give me the dog, as a gift in return for all my years of service. All I need is for her to do so, in front of everyone, and you can have the book.”
“I won’t allow it,” Stanley said.
“Too late,” Claire said, and pointed toward Stanley’s car.
Like a flame lit to please a million moths, Sloan Merryweather emerged from Stanley’s car in full on movie star mode. She had on skintight black pants, knee-high black high-heeled boots, a black turtleneck, and a short black trench coat. Her auburn hair flowed in big soft waves from a side part, and huge dark sunglasses completed the glamorous ensemble.
The crowd parted as she walked slowly across the street to the door of The Bee Hive, greeting people and touching hands along the way. When she reached the salon door she turned, pulled off her sunglasses, and posed for the cameras. Claire watched her run through her repertoire of stances and hand gestures, intuitively adjusting for the angle of the sunlight reflecting off her gorgeous hair.
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