Express Duet

by Jody Day

  Scott offered me a chair. “I hope you don’t mind, Bailey. Everyone agreed to come and pray for you. It’s even better that you came by.”

  He was trying to take care of me. His thoughtfulness warmed my heart. Before my time in the prayer garden, I would have folded that into my soul that maybe I was worth caring for. But now, after the cleansing and healing that had taken place, I could look at Scott for who he was. A great respect and admiration sprang up at that moment. But this felt different. It was about him, not me. My low self-esteem had somehow always made me filter everything through how it made me feel. Father, had I really been that selfish?

  The group prayed for me, aloud, with such concern and caring. Peeps kept murmuring, “Lord, Lord, Lord,” softly as the prayers were spoken over me. I heard the bell on the door jingle.

  My mother entered with Mandy and Macy following behind. Peeps, Scott, and Toppy stood respectfully and introductions went around.

  “Scott called and invited me to this prayer meeting.” Mom hugged me tight.

  Love bloomed even brighter for this group of people gathering around me. I felt God’s love for me in each look, touch, and prayer. An old thought wormed its way into my brain. I don’t deserve this. I replaced it with a silent prayer of thanks. I’d been renewed. The old thoughts were going to pose a battle, but one that I planned to win.

  “Coffee anyone?” Toppy held up a pot of fresh brew.

  Liz rose and started serving everyone.

  “Are you sure you don’t want someone to go with you to your meeting, Bailey?” My mother smoothed my hair behind my ears and let her hand remain on my cheek.

  “No, Mom, I’ll be fine. I just have to tell the truth. I’m not looking forward to seeing Darryl, but the sooner I get it over, the better.” Sweat moistened my palms.

  Scott’s eyes darkened. He pressed his lips together, but didn’t say anything.

  “It’ll take you better than thirty minutes to get to town, little lady.” Toppy poured coffee in a to-go cup and handed it to me. “You better get on the road.” He patted me on the back.

  “Yes, I better be off.” I took a big here-we-go breath and stood to leave.

  “Go, Bailey. Go, Bailey. Go, Bailey!” Tracy started the chant, and everyone joined in and marched me to the door.

  I love these people. They waved from the window as I backed my car from the diner and headed to town.

  ~*~

  Marshall is known for its Civil War history and beautiful antebellum homes. Mr. Ballard practiced law in one of these, just off the town square. His secretary met me at the door.

  “Hello, Miss Brown. Right this way.” She ushered me into a meeting room. Dark and cool, it had a calming effect on me. Decorative ficus trees graced each corner. Paintings of snow-covered mountains lined the walls. My eyes closed as I tried to gather my wits. Instead, my mind wandered to an image of Mr. Ballard on skis in his business suit, sailing down the snow. Focus, Bailey.

  A magnificent conference table in rich, shining mahogany and surrounded by matching leather chairs shone even brighter as the secretary opened the gilded drapes.

  “Mr. Ballard will be with you in a moment. Would you like something to drink?” She pulled out a leather chair and motioned for me to have a seat.

  “No, thank you. I’ve just had coffee.” My mind relished the memory of my friends waving good-bye to me, coffee cups still in hand. I felt they were all close by.

  I bit a rough fingernail at the thought of seeing Darryl. He’d probably have Phoebe with him. Imagining what she’d wear to this meeting warded off my shaky nerves. I’d noticed on crime shows that they always down-dressed a brazen women for trial. I could not imagine Phoebe without makeup or poufy hair.

  Finally, Mr. Ballard entered the room.

  “Hello, young lady. No, please don’t get up.” He leaned over and gave me a hug. “You look so much like your grandmother, and she was a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ballard. That’s very kind.”

  He sat next to me and pulled some papers from a bulging file folder. “Here is a copy of the power of attorney that I received by fax.” He slid the document in front of me.

  I looked over it a moment. “Yes, this is what I signed. There is nothing mentioned about Pinewood Manor.”

  “That’s right. But here”—he pulled another document out and put it directly into my hands—“is the quitclaim deed, also signed by you and notarized.”

  “What?” I stared in disbelief at the words before me.

  THE GRANTOR Bailey Helen Brown of…State of Texas for the consideration of $0, CONVEY ownership and QUIT CLAIM to Darryl Evan Graham…all interest in the following described real estate…Pinewood Manor Estate…

  The words blurred before me. I pushed the document away and dropped my swooning head into my hands. “I don’t understand.”

  “Think, Bailey. Are you sure you didn’t sign two documents that day?” Mr. Ballard spoke softly.

  I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember. We walked hand in hand into the office. Darryl introduced me to the notary. I read over the power of attorney and then took my pen out of my purse. As I signed my name, Darryl teased me to hurry because he had a surprise for me, my ring. I mentally retraced that memory several times.

  Then I remembered.

  Darryl leaned over me and flipped up the pages I’d just signed. “Now the duplicates, Bailey, and hurry, I have a surprise for you.” Duplicates hadn’t registered. I was too excited about the ring.

  “Duplicates. He mentioned duplicates in the same moment he showed me my engagement ring. Duplicates aren’t signed, right? Wouldn’t he just have made copies after the papers were notarized?”

  “So, you thought you were signing a duplicate copy of the power of attorney?”

  “I’m afraid thinking didn’t enter the picture after I saw my engagement ring. I trusted him, Mr. Ballard.”

  “I see, well, maybe we can get to the bottom of this in a few moments.”

  “Oh, we’ll get to the bottom of this all right.” Darryl took one step into the room and stumbled. He shuffled around the table and sat directly across from me.

  “Will your lawyer arrive soon?” Mr. Ballard clicked his pen and wrote something on a yellow legal pad.

  “I’ve decided to represent myself.” His speech slurred, and he spoke slowly and deliberately. “There’s nothing complicated about this. Bailey gave the house to me. You’ve seen the signed and notarized document. Can’t get much simpler than that.” He glared at me, his arms crossed in triumph.

  Was he drunk? Or just nervous? I’d never seen him trying to hold himself together like this before.

  Mr. Ballard took off his glasses, cleaned them with his handkerchief, and then looked daggers at Darryl. “Why don’t you save yourself a world of trouble and admit the duplicate you asked Bailey to sign was really a fraudulent quitclaim deed.”

  Panic began to creep over me.

  Peace, peace, peace. Peeps’s words filled my mind. The memory of Scott’s smile shored me up. I will never leave you or forsake you. The Father strengthened me.

  “Giving me the house was Bailey’s idea. She was so afraid, and rightly so, that she couldn’t compete with Phoebe. Bailey practically drove me away with her pathetic jealousy. I had to fire her.She couldn’t keep her insecurities out of the office.”

  “You didn’t fire me, you sent your lover in to do it, you…” I started, about to punctuate the word “coward” with slap on the table.

  Mr. Ballard gently touched me on the arm. “I think I’ve heard enough, Mr. Graham. We’ll see you in court.” Mr. Ballard stood, clearly indicating that Darryl should leave.

  The conference room door swung open. Phoebe Waverly appeared in the doorway. She posed in a way that said “Here I am.” She smiled, enjoying the sudden silence caused by her entrance. Perfectly coifed and made-up to qualify for any photo shoot, her little—and I do mean little—black dress was covered in enough bling to warrant a
security guard. She reached into her matching purse and brought out a lace handkerchief. She dabbed at fake tears.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ballard.” His secretary looked battle worn, as though she’d been fighting samurais. “But this woman insisted on seeing you. I tried to tell her you were in a meeting.”

  “I am Phoebe Waverly, and I have something to say on Miss Brown’s behalf.” She put her hand on my arm as she spoke.

  Speaking on my behalf? How did this fit into Darryl’s scheme?

  “It’s all right. Please come in.” Mr. Ballard shut the door and ushered Phoebe to a seat next to me.

  “You stay out of this.” Darryl seethed at her. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  Phoebe turned to me and reached for both of my hands. “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, Bailey. I deserve it. Please listen to what I have to say. I think it will help you.”

  I couldn’t answer. Did I hate her? My head roller-coastered through the events of the past few weeks. I couldn’t find Phoebe anywhere in this mess except as a stealer of fiancés and jobs.

  “You better keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.” Darryl’s green-around-the-gills face morphed to bright red. He massaged his temples.

  “And you…” he said, pointing his finger in my direction. “You better give this up. The mansion is mine. The community will stand behind me. They love having access. It belongs not only to me but to the town.”

  “As I said, Mr. Graham, we will see you in court. You may leave now.” Mr. Ballard opened the door and stood, his lips set in a resolute get-out-of-here line.

  Phoebe put her arm around me as if to protect me from Darryl’s rant. His anger frightened me. I wondered what it would have been like to be married to that and felt very glad that I didn’t have to find out.

  Darryl headed out of the room, but held onto the table for support as he walked.

  Mr. Ballard closed the door with a little extra oomph this time. He sat, cleaned his glasses again, straightened his legal pad and pen.

  “Well, I never. Can you imagine?” Phoebe smoothed her skirt then reapplied her lipstick.

  Imagine what? What in the world was happening? Something Gran used to say came to mind. What is to be the pill in all this jam?

  “Please continue, Miss Waverly.” Mr. Ballard poised his pen to yellow paper.

  “Well, we were both duped by that charlatan. It wasn’t long after you left before I saw what a jerk Darryl is. He thought I had money and wanted to borrow some. I told him that the Miss Texas pageant is a scholarship program, that I didn’t have a huge cash prize. He didn’t like that, I can tell you. Then he asked me to borrow money from my father. I dumped him. But that’s not what I want to tell you.”

  This little speech dumbfounded me. He only wanted her money? Not her beauty and title?

  “Darryl borrowed a half a million dollars based upon ownership of Pinewood Manor. But the lender is…let’s say you won’t find them in the phone book. Now they want their money, and Darryl doesn’t have it. That’s why he made a big play for me. He is desperately trying to hold on to Pinewood Manor so he can sell it and pay off his debt.”

  “Do you have names, dates, anything to prove these statements?” Mr. Ballard asked.

  “I’ll have to pin the exact date down, but it was about mid-August when I heard him tell someone on the phone that he’d acquired a property that the sale of which would more than cover his debt. He later told me about his troubles, how he’d had to flee the real estate scene in Houston and relocate. He’s been accused of real estate fraud more than once.”

  No kidding.

  “All his plans started going downhill. I think that he rushed to open the mansion to the public because he thought you would cave under the public attention and embarrassment that resisting him would cause. He’s a desperate man.” Phoebe took a deep breath and reached for more tissue.

  “I’m so sorry, Bailey. I’m glad we’re both rid of him, but I know it hurt you. Maybe, we could start over. Be friends?” She looked sideways at me, as though she were afraid of my answer. “Assuming you and your handsome lawyer here don’t think I had anything to do with Darryl’s plan.” The pill appeared.

  “I don’t think you’ll be implicated, Miss Waverly.” Mr. Ballard stood and gathered his things. “I will ask you ladies to write your statements and get them to me by first thing tomorrow morning. I’m afraid Mr. Graham is going to find himself in a world of trouble. I have another appointment soon, so I need to run. Don’t worry, Bailey. With Miss Waverly’s testimony, we have a case.”

  “I have a job interview in a few minutes, so I need to run as well. I don’t suppose I could use you as a reference, Bailey?”

  Seriously? She wanted a recommendation from me? Since I didn’t know exactly what Phoebe Waverly could actually do, I was speechless. My blank stare must have tickled her.

  She giggled. “That’s OK. They don’t usually ask for my references.” She winked and then made her best pageant exit.

  “Bye, Mr. Ballard, and thanks so much.” I shook his hand.

  “Graham would be a fool to pursue it. He’s banking on your reluctance to have a public scandal. He doesn’t know he’s dealing with the granddaughter of Helen Barkley, a woman who knew how to protect her own. You have that same spit and fire. You deserve better than that scoundrel. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe I have.” Darryl was right about one thing; I shuddered at the thought of telling that pitiful story in a courtroom full of people. But if it was the only way to keep Gran’s house, I would do it.

  I walked outside to find Scott parked next to my Olds, leaning against his truck. He rushed toward me the moment he saw me. “Well?”

  “It looks like everything will be all right. I’m praying so, anyway.” I sank into his arms.

  “Let’s go for a ride. We’ll come back and get your car later. I bet you could use the break.” He led me to his truck without waiting for an answer. He couldn’t have been more right.

  13

  We cruised around town randomly. I leaned into Scott’s side and let myself relax. Though the issue of Pinewood Manor remained unresolved, I floated on a cloud of peace and gratefulness.

  Scott softly sang a tune I recognized, about walking together in the rain. I joined in.

  “Ahh…a John Denver fan, too?” Scott peered at me sideways.

  “Mom played his music all the time. I probably know the words to all his songs.” I continued to hum the tune.

  “My mom, too. The only entertainer Mom loved more than John Denver was Jimmy Stewart. She actually stood in the grocery store parking lot crying her eyes out when she saw the newspaper headline that he died.” Scott’s wistful grin produced that distracting dimple. His eyes misted over.

  “Let’s drive up to Pinewood Manor.” I knew Darryl might be there, but I wanted to see it.

  “You sure?” Scott’s eyes widened as he turned his head toward me.

  “Yes, it’s my house, after all.” I gently pushed his face back toward the road. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Your house, that’s right. Sure, let’s go.” He turned the car out of town toward the mansion.

  My head rested on his shoulder. I could have dozed except for loud fire truck sirens. I normally prayed silently when emergency vehicles passed. Little did I know how badly I would need answers to those prayers.

  I sat bolt upright in my seat and gripped the dashboard with both hands. “Those fire trucks are headed straight for my house!”

  Scott peeled my hand from the dashboard and held it to his heart. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Bailey, but your face is scaring me. God is with us. It might not be Pinewood.”

  “But there’s nothing else up there.” I prayed silently as another fire truck passed us.

  The pressure of his hand tightly holding mine calmed me a bit. He whispered prayers aloud and quoted scriptures alternately. “Trust in the Lord with all y
our heart…”

  Trust in the Lord. Trust in the Lord…I focused on that thought, but hardly breathed until we pulled into the driveway of Pinewood Manor.

  Police cars lined the road to Gran’s. My blood ran cold when I saw the blaze. The fire seemed concentrated on the north wing of the house. We couldn’t get through so we stopped the car and got out to run.

  The firefighters didn’t seem to be making much headway. The fire spread from the north wing to the back of the house and rapidly worked its way forward.

  “It will be a total loss, I’m afraid,” one of the firemen said as he passed. “Somebody better call their insurance agent.”

  My mother arrived and came up beside me, sinking to the ground. She rocked on her knees in the grass, dissolved in tears. I felt like a cold, steel blade turned and twisted at the core of my heart. I sank to the ground next her. We fell into each other’s arms and stared in horror at the sight before us.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Scott take an ax from the nearest fire truck and sprint toward the house.

  “Scott! No!” I screamed.

  He kicked in the glass front door and crawled in. Smoke came billowing out of the door. I tried to run to him, but my mother and those around me restrained me. What was he thinking?

  I held my breath as fire continued to consume my family’s legacy. Timbers cracked, windows popped. And Scott remained inside.

  I cried against my mother, never taking my eyes off the home. The firefighters’ hoses sprayed water onto the roof, into the windows. Still, flames licked at the curtains—my grandmother’s lacy window coverings. She’d scrimped and saved for those, and she’d always taken meticulous care of them. Gone.

  But I didn’t care. Something more precious than my legacy remained inside the burning house, and I loved him with all my heart.

  Dear God, please don’t let my foolish relationship with Darryl take the life of Scott. I love him, Lord. He’s my future.