03_The Unexpected Gift

by Irene Hannon

  “I’ll be sure to review it before the meeting,” she promised, setting it on her credenza. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t want to keep you from your work.” He surveyed her cluttered desk.

  “It’ll wait. Have a seat.” She punched the button for the intercom. “Lauren, could you bring my visitor a cup of coffee?” She settled into her chair and turned her attention back to Grant. “So, how are you doing?”

  “Okay, I guess. I’m just trying to take it a day at a time right now. Thank you again for coming for the funeral. I didn’t expect that. I know it’s a long trip.”

  “I wanted to be there. For myself. And maybe to represent Aunt Jo. You and she must have been great friends.”

  “Yes, we were. I met her at church when I was eleven, right after my parents separated, and she became sort of a mother figure to me. So I knew her for more than a quarter of a century. For the past fifteen years, I’ve handled all of the maintenance and upkeep at Serenity Point.”

  Lauren interrupted then with the coffee, lingering as long as possible. When she finally left, Morgan spoke again.

  “I noticed how well cared for the place is. And the furnishings in the cottage are beautiful. There’s a lot of original art, and some of the wood furniture is gorgeous.”

  “Jo believed in supporting local artists and craftspeople, and my family benefited from that philosophy. My father made the bookcase by the window in the living room, and my uncle made the rocking chair.”

  “I’m impressed. What about the secretary?” She’d noticed that piece in particular, with its intricate carving and mullioned glass doors.

  “That’s one of mine.”

  “Now I’m even more impressed. It’s beautiful.” She reached for a pen and played with it, her face thoughtful.

  “You know, I had no idea what your profession was until I called your shop the day of our meeting. I was…surprised…when I found out you were a carpenter.”

  Grant stiffened. He knew what that look on her face meant. Can’t you do better? He’d seen it before, on occasion, and it used to make him feel compelled to defend his choice of profession. But not anymore. He was fine with his life’s work, and if others weren’t, that was their problem. So he gave his standard answer to her reaction. “Yes. Just like the greatest man that ever lived,” he said with quiet conviction.

  His withdrawal was palpable, and Morgan knew that she had offended him. Which had in no way been her intent. But she supposed her response could have been interpreted as snobbish. In her circle, people who worked with their hands were somehow held in lower esteem than the people who carried cell phones and pagers and had power lunches every day. After all, the “white-shirt” crowd was doing important things. Things that mattered.

  Like creating fleeting ad campaigns for toothpaste, she thought, sparing the layout in front of her a quick glance.

  By contrast, the beautiful secretary created by Grant was a work of art, destined to be a treasured heirloom that would be passed from generation to generation.

  Suddenly she felt ashamed.

  “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said, her voice contrite. “That didn’t come out quite right. My own father worked with his hands. In a different way, though. He was a simple farmer who loved the land. A good man, who worked too hard and died too young.”

  A wave of melancholy washed over her, and her eyes grew sad. Her dad had been a good father. But she’d seen what heartache—and hardship—and an unstable profession that depended on the vagaries of the weather could do to a person. She’d wanted a more forgiving career for herself, one that offered security and steady income, as well as the luxuries that she’d never known growing up. She had those now. Yet something still seemed to be missing. Something she hadn’t yet defined—on purpose—because somehow she sensed that it represented a threat to the life she’d constructed with such care and singular focus. And that scared her.

  Realizing that the silence had lengthened, she continued. “Anyway, I had the greatest respect for him and his choice of career. We all have to march to the beat of our own drummer.”

  There had been an appealing softness in Morgan’s eyes when she’d spoken about her father, Grant realized. And for just an instant he’d glimpsed in her what his father had commented on once—a sense of yearning, or perhaps searching. As if the life she had chosen was perhaps not the one that best suited her—and she knew it. Not on a conscious level, perhaps. But somewhere deep inside.

  “No offense taken,” he assured her.

  She gave him a grateful smile. “Good. Then tell me more about Good Shepherd Camp. And how Aunt Jo got involved.”

  “I can take the credit—or the blame—for that.”

  “How so? When I talked to Mary, she said Aunt Jo had been involved for many years. Long before you were an adult.”

  “That’s right. As I said, when I first met Jo, my parents had just separated. I was pretty angry at the world, and I’d started to get into some minor trouble at school. Jo not only took me under her wing, but found Good Shepherd for me. If you’ve read the material I sent earlier, you know it’s a Christian camp for troubled children. She thought it would be a good environment for me and, as usual, she was right. It gave me a new perspective and helped me establish a solid foundation for my faith. I went every summer until I was sixteen, and then worked for a number of years while I was in school as a counselor. I still volunteer as a counselor one week each summer.”

  “But now there are problems with the camp?”

  “Yes. Our operating costs are continuing to climb and donations no longer cover our expenses. So the camp is facing a severe financial crisis that could put us out of business. Yet the need for the camp is as critical now as ever. Maybe more so. I told you my story, but we have kids today who come from far worse situations than I did, who are in desperate need of guidance and a loving hand. Society has already written off some of them. But we give them another chance. For a lot of the kids, it’s their last hope of a turnaround. We don’t reach everybody, of course. But a significant number do respond. So we want to do everything we can to keep Good Shepherd running.”

  Morgan was impressed by Grant’s passion for the camp, and by his determination to keep it solvent. Most of the people of her acquaintance only got excited about things that offered some sort of pay-off. The old what’s-in-it-for-me routine. But Grant really cared about this cause. Even though he’d paid off his own debt to the camp long ago, he was still committed to supporting it because it might help other people. It reminded her of the way her sister, A.J., operated. She was always more concerned with helping others than helping herself, an attitude that had cost her—in more ways than one. And Morgan was sure it had cost Grant in ways he hadn’t articulated.

  “Well, I’ll do my best to help,” she promised.

  “That’s all we ask.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I’ve jotted down the board meeting dates through May. Mary will send you more detailed information and the agendas. But I wanted you to have these so you can incorporate them into your schedule. As you know, we meet at the headquarters, in Portland.”

  Scanning the list Grant handed her, Morgan noted that all of the meetings were on Saturday—which was almost always a workday for her. And Portland was a long way from Boston. At least it was only for five months, she consoled herself.

  As if reading her mind, Grant spoke. “We’ll appreciate whatever help you can give us. I know this is very inconvenient for you.”

  “True. But I’ll manage. This is far easier to deal with than Aunt Jo’s other stipulation. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be lucky to log a week at the cottage, let alone four, before the six months is up.”

  Grant took a last swallow of coffee, put the cup on the desk, then stood. “Well, I’m sure Jo put the conditions in her will for a reason. She was a very smart woman.”

  As Morgan said her goodbyes, she reflected on his last words. Jo had
been a smart woman. But she hadn’t exactly made it easy for any of her nieces to claim their bequests. Morgan in particular. Yet Grant seemed convinced that she’d had her reasons. And maybe she had.

  But Morgan didn’t have a clue what they were.

  Chapter Six

  “Oh, Grant, come in! You have to see what just arrived!”

  Grant stepped into the foyer of Kit’s house and smiled at his sister. “Whatever it is, it must be good. Your face is lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  She took his hand, led him into the dining room and pointed to the table, where a huge arrangement of tropical flowers occupied the place of honor in the center.

  Grant stared at the overflowing basket. “Wow!”

  “My sentiments exactly. Come and look.” She pulled him into the room and began pointing out the exotic blossoms. “Protea, birds of paradise, orchids, ginger, more orchids…I feel like I’ve been transported to the tropics!”

  Bill was always good about sending Kit flowers on their anniversary, but that was two months off. And her birthday wasn’t until June. Besides, he never ordered anything as extravagant as this. Grant turned to her with a puzzled look. “So who sent them?”

  “Morgan! It’s a thank-you for Christmas.”

  He turned back to the flowers. He couldn’t even imagine what the extravagant arrangement had cost. More than he made on a good day, no doubt.

  “Can you believe she remembered one random comment I made at dinner, about how nice it would be to spend a few days somewhere warm and tropical this time of year? Listen to the note.” Kit picked up a small card from the table. “‘Sorry this is a bit belated, but things have been hectic here. Thank you so much for your gracious hospitality on Christmas. I can’t transport you to Hawaii, but maybe this will bring a little bit of the tropics to you.’ Wasn’t that thoughtful?”

  “It was a very nice gesture,” he conceded.

  Setting the note down, Kit placed her hands on her hips. “That, dear brother, is an understatement. A simple thank-you note would have been more than sufficient.”

  “Maybe this was easier. All she had to do was pick up the phone and place an order. It didn’t take much time away from her work.”

  She tilted her head and studied him. “That wasn’t a very gracious comment, considering she made the trip all the way up here for—” she blinked back sudden tears “—for the funeral.”

  Grant felt his neck grow red. He hated being called on the carpet by his older sister. Especially when she was right. “That’s true. It wasn’t,” he admitted.

  “So what gives with you and Morgan? She seems like a nice enough woman. Why don’t you like her?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like her. We’re just very different.”

  “So? You’re only business partners, after all. And she strikes me as very efficient. I would think you’d be glad to have a partner like that.”

  Again, she was right. The fact that he and Morgan clashed philosophically and personally was irrelevant. Their partnership was short-term at best. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “You sure don’t cut a guy any slack.”

  Her eyes softened, and she slipped her arm around his waist. “Sorry. I know you’re not yourself right now. I just think you’re being too hard on her.” Then she threw him her zinger. “Probably because you think she’s a lot like Mom.”

  He shot her a startled look. “Have you been talking to Dad?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I just wondered. And she does remind me of Mom.”

  “I don’t think they’re anything alike,” Kit declared.

  His eyes grew suspicious. “Are you sure you haven’t talked to Dad?”

  “Did he say the same thing?”

  “More or less.”

  “Well, I think he’s right.”

  “How can you say that? She’s driven, work-focused and has no life except her job. Nor does she seem to want one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve talked with her enough to get the picture. And I know you. You’re a talented graphic designer and you love your work, too. But you’ve got balance in your life. She doesn’t.”

  “I’m also married. With children. It might be different if I was single.”

  “I doubt it. Besides, I suspect Morgan has put marriage on the back burner so she can concentrate on getting ahead in her career.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, as Uncle Pete put it in his usual succinct style, she’s a looker. She’s also smart. And considerate,” he added, indicating the flowers. “There must be plenty of guys who’ve pursued her.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she’s just never met the right man?”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “I don’t think she’s in the market.”

  “Or maybe she’s divorced,” Kit speculated, her tone thoughtful.

  Grant frowned. That possibility had never occurred to him. And for reasons he couldn’t even begin to understand, it bothered him. So he changed the subject. “Look, am I going to get that lunch you promised or not?”

  Kit grinned and gave him a playful jab in the shoulder. “Changing the subject does not get you off the hook, dear brother. We’ll resume this conversation another day. But in the meantime, lunch is ready.”

  As Grant followed her toward the kitchen, his frown deepened. Not because Kit had made it clear that she wasn’t finished with this subject. But because the subject itself bothered him.

  Which didn’t make any sense. He and Morgan were merely business partners and her personal life should be no concern of his.

  “Hey, Morgan, did you hear the news?”

  Annoyed at the distraction, Morgan glanced up from the layouts she was reviewing. David Butler, another account executive, had entered her office and closed the door behind him. And he looked worried. “No. What news?”

  “The acquisition is a done deal.”

  Morgan felt her stomach lurch. There’d been rumors for the past few weeks that her firm was going to be acquired by a larger agency, but management had assured them that there was no immediate need for concern. So much for the firm’s professed value of open, honest communication with employees. “Are you sure?”

  “It just came through on e-mail. There’s a meeting in an hour. What a present to come back to after the holidays,” he said in disgust, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So what do you think is going to happen?”

  “I don’t have a clue.” She wasn’t that worried, though. She’d put in her time. Clark knew she was a hard worker and was committed to her job. She was less sure how David would fare. Though he was talented, he’d never put in the long hours she did or been as single-minded in his pursuit of success. He’d made time for other things in his life—which might come back to haunt him now. But she didn’t point any of that out. He was worried enough as it was. “We both have high-profile accounts. If anyone is going to be safe, it should be us,” she reassured him.

  David didn’t look convinced. “Yeah. In a perfect world that would be true. But you know what they say about the rat race. You have to be a rat to participate. And I have a feeling the rats are about to come crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “Let’s not panic,” Morgan said, though her own stomach was still fluttering with tension. “Maybe we’ll find out more at the meeting.”

  But she didn’t feel any better after the brief gathering an hour later. It was clear her own boss had no idea what was coming next. Management had simply asked people to be patient as transition details were worked out, and had assured them that there would be no immediate changes.

  So Morgan didn’t suspect a thing when she was called into Clark’s office on Friday—until she saw a human resources representative sitting at his conference table. She came to an abrupt halt on the threshold as a sudden feeling of dread washed over her.

  Clark ushered her in, then shut the door behind her. “Have a seat, Morgan. Can I get you something to drink?�
� There were lines of tension in his face, and his voice sounded tight.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You know Luke Preston, don’t you?”

  “We’ve met,” Morgan said, forcing her legs to carry her forward. She shook the man’s hand, then sat across from him.

  Clark sat at the head of the table and opened a folder that lay in front of him. “First of all, Morgan, I want you to know that your contributions to this firm have been much appreciated over the past eight years. You’re dedicated and hard-working and have great potential. If things had remained the same, I think it would be safe to say that you were destined to rise very high in the ranks here.

  “But, as we all know, things change. And our acquisition is going to have a tremendous impact on this firm. Much more so than we first thought. Our new owner has lost some major accounts in the past few months, and the management there has decided to assign some of its key people to our primary accounts. Many of which you handle.”

  He took a deep breath. “Aside from asking you to take a step back—which I would never do because I don’t think it would be in your long-term best interest—we have no choice but to let you go, Morgan. However, we’ve worked out a nice severance package for you, which Luke will explain.”

  As the human resources representative began to go over the severance pay, extension of benefits, outplacement help and myriad other things, Morgan felt as if she’d been dropped into the twilight zone. The whole experience was surreal. This wasn’t how things were supposed to work. If you gave up your life, if you devoted yourself to your job, if you made sacrifices and put your own needs last, you were supposed to be rewarded. Not fired. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t do this to her! She’d been told she was a rising star. That great things were in store for her if she kept up her pace and her focus.

  But it had all been a lie.

  “That’s pretty much it, Morgan.” Luke closed the folder and slid it across the table toward her. “Do you have any questions?”