by Nancy Adams
He said, “So your lawyer told you about all that?”
“Yes. He told me how unlike other lotto winners, you invested your money, making billions from real estate investments among other things. But most importantly, he mentioned how you help people. And not just burned-out execs, but how you established additional homeless shelters in every major city. Providing job placement and counseling services to those who need it. He told me how there are more of these “resorts” in other places and how you use the revenue to provide homes and food to single mothers and their children.”
He was silent for a long while and then said, “So you think you know everything? And now what? I forgive you? You forgive me? And we’ll do our own version of happily ever after? Is that what you thought?” He came closer to me. “You thought, ‘Oh, he isn’t the bad guy. I can give him another shot.’”
There was something about his tone that sounded mocking, ominous even.
“You should have just stayed in Massachusetts, Marie. You have no place here.”
I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t even breathe. I felt as if he had punched me in my gut.
“Let me tell you how unlucky I actually am. Let me tell you the real reason I bought this place,” He sat down heavily in his office chair and continued, while I stood there speechless. “When I won the lotto, I blew through a big chunk of it. I spent that money as fast as I possibly could. Jessie and I lived like royalty. I couldn’t spend that money fast enough. She wised up, told me to slow down. But I was on top of the world, I didn’t need her advice. I got involved with the wrong crowd. Started drinking and taking the best drugs money could buy. And one night, a bar called my wife, told her to come get me. That I was rowdy and if she didn’t come for me, the bar owners would have me arrested. She should have just left me there, but being a sweetheart she came for me, and on her way to get me she was killed by a drunk driver.”
“Oh, Ezra, I’m so sorry.”
He seemed to battling emotions as he said in a whisper, “While I was drunk out of my skull my wife lay in her car dying. And it was my fault…”
I shook my head and started to argue the point, but he held up a hand. “Please, no amount of therapy or reason will change how responsible I feel. If I hadn’t been out drinking, she would have never been in that car. And I can’t take that back.”
I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “I was broken when she died. And so were Mark and his wife, Lucinda. They were all I had left of my wife. So we grieved here together. And the pain didn’t go away, but it became bearable. So when the owners wanted to sell this place, I bought it. And then to keep it sustainable, I set up the resort business. And then slowly, I started to come out of the trance I’d been in while grieving Jessie’s death and I started to invest the lotto money and use it for good. All the shelters I open are called Jessie’s House.”
He stopped talking; telling his whole story clearly made him feel tired, as if all the energy had been sapped from his body. It was emotional exhaustion. I had seen it daily on my mother’s face after she’d brought my father home from the hospital.
I sat down across from him and said, “So that’s how Scott knew you?”
He nodded, “Yeah. We used to party together. He didn’t know I was a millionaire. He just knew I had some serious money and I liked to spend it. Not that he knew me well, but he at least made sure I didn’t drink and drive. I frequently paid for drinks for the entire bar and then would catch a random taxi home. It made me feel important being Mr. Big Spender. Now I just feel stupid when I think about the life I used to lead.”
I didn’t know what to do or say. I was sure he didn’t want to hear any platitudes from me, so instead I thought to tell him everything about myself that I had been keeping from him.
“I’ve been married before.”
He looked at me sharply. I started to explain, telling him about my elopement and finally about Philip and how he had duped me out of millions.
He was silent again, as if taking it all in. He then sighed and said, “So that’s why you had me investigated. You wanted to be sure I wasn’t another con artist like your scheming ex?”
“Pretty much. I thought at first that the secrets you were keeping were just really personal, nothing nefarious, but when I overheard your exchange with Scott I came became even more suspicious and I just did something rash. I’m ashamed that I reacted the way I did. I should have just asked you how you knew him instead of assuming things.”
“I guess we’re both reacting to our present with coping mechanisms from our past. We’re both a piece of work and not in a good way.”
“We need to do better,” I said nodding.
“I know.”
He stood up and then surprised me by coming around the desk and sitting in the chair next to mine. “Forgive me for being unforgiving and stubborn.”
“Only if you forgive me for being intrusive and crazy.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“Hey! You weren’t supposed to agree with the crazy part of that statement.”
He laughed, and I found myself smiling back at him.
“So do you think we could pick up again from where we left off?”
“I thought you would never ask,” he said quietly, and then just as softly, “Thanks for walking into my life.”
“Thanks for not walking out of mine.” And then, with that, we both stood up slowly, and he took my hand in his. He kissed it gently and said, almost to himself, “You taught me how to love again.”
My heart thudded in my chest and I didn’t know how to respond, so instead, I said what was in my heart. “And you taught me what it means to be loved.” He then leaned down and kissed me, tenderly, sweetly and that kiss held so much promise, so much love, that I looked forward to our present and to the love that I knew would define our future.
BOOK TWO
LIBBY'S LOVER
Chapter One
“I can’t do this.”
“You can do this,” I said, sitting down on the sofa in Sarah’s living room and looking for the remote control. I found it and pointed it in the direction of the TV, but Sarah was standing there with a look of doubt on her face as she studied her choice of dress for the evening. She was a petite brunette, but despite this, I still couldn’t see around her enough to figure out what was happening on the screen.
“No, I’m pretty sure that I can’t,” Sarah responded, now looking dejected. I sighed, turned the volume down on the TV and gave Sarah my undivided attention.
“Sarah, it’s just a date. It’s not going to kill you,” I said sounding surlier than I intended.
“Maybe the date won’t kill me. But what if he does?” my friend since childhood said, narrowing her eyes at me. Her barely perceptible accent became more pronounced when she was emotional. Her parents had emigrated from Eastern Europe to the United States when Sarah was in grade school, and every now and then, you could hear a hint of a foreign accent when she spoke.
“You’re more likely to die of boredom,” I responded, crossing my legs and rubbing the bruise on my shin. I coached soccer in my old neighborhood and one of my players had a crazy strong kick. The ball had connected with my shin, and at the time, I hadn’t thought much of it. The bruise showed up days ago, but it was still tender. I poked at it, waiting for Sarah to move from in front of the television.
“Well, if anything happens to me, I’ll have you to blame for forcing me to take a risk and go out with him,” Sarah whined.
I raised my brows and said, in a voice reserved for narrators of epic fantasy stories, “Well then give me his name, license plate number and social security number and I promise you your death by boredom will be avenged.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” she said pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me.
I took it puzzled. “What is this?” I unfolded it and saw a man’s name, phone number and address neatly written out. “Ummm…Are you seriously giving me his
contact information?”
“You can’t be too careful nowadays. Remember what happened to Marie? You can’t trust anyone!”
“Marie’s happily living in Texas planning her wedding to a billionaire,” I said matter-of-factly. Our friend Marie had fallen in love with a billionaire cowboy who ran some sort of hippie resort in Texas.
“I mean before that,” she hissed. “And why all of a sudden are you Miss Positive?” I rolled my eyes. Before Marie had met her current beau, she had eloped with a man who turned out to be a con artist, but her father’s lawyers had quickly seen to it that the farce of a marriage was annulled.
“Water under the bridge as far I’m concerned,” I said with a shrug.
“I wish you would take this seriously,” Sarah said, flopping down on the couch next to me.
I sighed and turned off the TV, taking one last glance at the movie I had been dying to see, though I’d been much too cheap to rent or stream it.
“Listen. You have to take a risk sometime.”
Sarah placed a hand under her chin and said, “I really do like him. And he knows his dog breeds really well. And Machiavelli liked him.” At the sound of his name, Machiavelli came running in as fast as his puppy feet would carry him. He was actually the reason I was there. I was supposed to babysit the charming little ball of brown-and-white fur while Sarah was going out on her date. She didn’t want to leave her recently adopted pup on his own, since this was his first evening in her home. That, more than anything else, I suspected, was stopping her from going out and enjoying herself. She had fur-mommy guilt.
I tried to soften my voice as I said, “Listen, he’ll be fine. You’ll have the rest of his life to spend time with him. It’s just a few hours.”
“I just don’t want him to think I’m abandoning him.” She began rubbing his belly and his tongue lolled to the side of his mouth as his leg began to jiggle and his tail wagged.
I laughed despite myself. I was a dog person, but worked so much that I’d never actually owned one. I just didn’t feel I could give a pet the kind of attention I knew I should. I was too busy building an empire and saving money. I didn’t have much time for anything else.
It was then that a knock sounded at the door and Sarah jumped up nervously and smoothed out her skirt. Her expression was full of doubt. Machiavelli ran off towards the door barking. Apparently, he wasn’t shy. But he definitely wasn’t too brave either, I thought to myself as he came racing back.
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
“Go get ‘em tiger!” I cheered.
She walked purposefully to the door, squaring her shoulders and nervously pushing her hair out of her face. I giggled. She turned around and glared at me.
“You’re not going to face an executioner. Who are you? Anne Boleyn?”
She stuck her tongue at me. “Wish me good luck.” She opened the door.
I wasn’t subtle as I stretched my neck as far as it could go. I was super curious, trying to see the man at the door. He sounded sexy as he greeted Sarah with a soft compliment.
Not able to smother my curiosity, I picked up Machiavelli and made my way to the door. Her date stood there looking very debonair. He was handsome without a doubt, but too dorky and clean cut for my taste. His smile had an “aww shucks” type of charm to it. And I guessed. like Sarah, he looked years younger than he actually was.
He saw me approaching and gave me a little smile. Sarah turned and introduced us. “Ummm, this is my best friend, Libby. Well one of my best friends. The other one is in Texas planning her wedding.”
I stuck my hand out, and to my surprise he reached not for my hand, but for Machiavelli, whose tail was wagging so hard his body seemed to shake with every thump.
Machiavelli licked Sarah’s date all over his nose, cheeks, and mouth, and the man chuckled in response. As if just realizing he had made a major faux pas by leaving my outstretched hand unattended, he quickly apologized.
“I’m so sorry. I just saw Machiavelli and forgot my manners. I’m Harrison. Harrison Stone. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, briefly shaking my hand.
I liked how formal he was. He seemed like a gentleman, and Sarah definitely deserved to go out with a gentleman.
I smiled as he let go of my hand and said, “It’s no problem. I know how you dog people are.”
Sarah laughed and said, “Actually, he’s a cat person.”
I pretended to be offended and gasped, “Sarah, are you sure you want to go out with this person? Everyone knows dogs are the only pets worth having.”
Harrison smiled at my joke. “Well, I’m not sure how valid that statement is, but I will say Machiavelli is quite a charming animal. I fell in love with him when he used the bathroom on the wheel of my car.”
I rubbed Machiavelli’s head fondly and said flippantly, “He saves that charming behavior for only the best of people. Take it as a compliment.”
He and Sarah laughed. I took the dog out of Harrison’s hands. “You two have a great night.”
And with that, they were gone, and it was just me and Machiavelli in the house to occupy ourselves.
“So what should we do with ourselves? Netflix maybe? Or do you want to see what’s on TV?”
I flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote. We snuggled up together and that’s all I remembered before my phone abruptly woke me up.
I struggled to open my eyes, digging under Machiavelli’s sleeping form instead, his tongue again out of his mouth as he snored gently. I couldn’t help but think of how cute he was. I found my phone under his butt and answered just before the person disconnected.
I didn’t recognize the number, I thought sleepily as I said hello. I didn’t know who could be calling me. I looked at the time. It was after nine already.
“Hello?” I said, rubbing at my eyes.
“Is this Libby Turner?” asked a woman in a no-nonsense tone.
“Yes. This is Libby. How can I help you?”
“My name is Lucia. I’m an RN at St. Luke’s. We have your grandmother, Mrs. Cynthia Turner.”
I immediately jumped up, startling Machiavelli, who abruptly sat and looked around with one ear raised.
He blinked up lazily at me and rolled over to expose his belly. Normally, I would have responded by rubbing it enthusiastically, but not this time. St. Luke’s was a well-known hospital in the medical center not more than thirty minutes away.
I could barely breathe as I asked the nurse what had happened to my grandmother.
“She was in critical care. She had a bad case of pneumonia. But now that she’s stable, she’s asking for you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I placed Machiavelli in his crate, tossed in his favorite toy and promised to be back soon. I raced to my car, texting Sarah on the way there. She immediately responding by calling me back, but I didn’t pick up. I knew she was concerned. She and Marie were also very close to my grandmother, but right then, I couldn’t answer. I was too focused on praying and hoping that my grandmother would be alright. I was scared, more afraid than I had ever been in my life. My hands shook as I sped down the highway. I was doing a hundred miles per hour easily, and I forced myself to slow down. I would do no good for my grandmother if I arrived at the hospital dead, I said to myself, trying to be reasonable when I really felt like screaming in frustration as I got stuck behind someone with a flat tire who was trying to make his way to the shoulder. The drive to the hospital felt like hours, although it was only on the opposite end of town. I parked and made my way to a kiosk on the main floor that read “Guest Relations”.
“I’m trying to find my grandmother. Cynthia Turner.”
The woman behind the desk looked up at me and then typed my grandmother’s name into the system. “Room 218. The elevators are to your right.”
I thanked her and then walked as quickly as I could and practically plowed into a man wearing scrubs.
“Excuse me,” I said as
I dashed into an open elevator and pushed the button for up.
“Come on!” I screamed at the elevator irrationally as I impatiently hit the button to close the door. The doors finally shut, and a short trip later they opened to the second floor. I stared at the wall in front of me, hopped out the elevator and looked around confused, not sure which way to go. Attempting to ignore the pungent smell of antiseptic in the eerily quiet hall, I followed the signs that directed me in the right direction, suddenly aware of the tears that were falling down my face.
With blurred vision, I walked into her room and paused. My grandmother lay in the bed furthest from me. She was lying there looking tired and worn out, but she was awake, just staring at the ceiling.
“Grandma,” I said shakily, walking slowly towards her.
She rose sluggishly to a sitting position and looked over at me. “Libby! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she said happily as I neared. I wrapped my arms around her. It didn’t escape me how frail and weak she suddenly felt as I hugged her tightly.
“Are you okay? How long have you been here? Why didn’t you call me earlier?” I said, all this while taking her face into my hands.
She responded not with answers, but with a question of her own. “Are those tears? I’m sorry that I scared you. I can’t believe you’re crying. Surely I raised you tougher than that. Don’t waste your tears on little old me. I might be a bit under the weather, but I’m not giving up the ghost anytime soon.”
“Of course I’m crying. How would you react if you got a call telling you that I was sick in the hospital?”
“Hmmm…” She didn’t immediately answer the question; instead, she adjusted the pillows behind her back.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, reaching around her.
She gave me a grateful smile. “Well, I guess I understand the tears, but cut it out, I’m fine.”
I gave her a long look. “You don’t look fine. You look pale and thin. Are you eating anything?”