One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Bernard bowed his head and sighed. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Maxwell. But everything you need to know is in that envelope. Best of luck to you.”

  With that, he disappeared, leaving her in the hallway with the unopened envelope, which simply said: “Riley Maxwell” scrawled in thick, black marker.

  3

  Donovan

  As he listened to the dog’s breathing, Donovan could hear the faintest sound of a wheeze coming from Bradley’s lungs. A pooch known for his allergy issues, he was having a flare-up, and his owner, Mrs. Beverly Alderidge, had brought him in to get him checked out.

  “Sounds like his hay fever isn’t quite over yet, Mrs. Alderidge,” he said as he plucked the stethoscope from his ears and wrapped it around his neck.

  “Oh, Doctor, does he need the doggie prednisone again?” she asked.

  In her late forties, Beverly Alderidge was the poster model for her peers. With fresh botox and an expensive dye job, she almost passed for mid-thirties and she certainly didn’t behave like the trophy wife of a tycoon. But, she was. After twelve years of marriage, Beverly spent the better part of the summers in Port Henry without her husband, who seemed to work through it instead of enjoying the spoils. This didn’t stop her from throwing lavish parties all season, and it definitely didn’t stop her from trying to bed the veterinarian every chance she got. Beverly brought Bradley, a six-year-old Irish Setter in every three weeks with some sort of allergy. Likely some hypochondria brought on by her own incessant allergies.

  Trying not to stare at her enormous cleavage popping out the top of her skin-tight tank top, Donovan said, “Yes, he’ll need some prednisone, but you should have some left from the last time you were here, right?” He prescribed some not two weeks earlier, so there should be plenty left.

  “Oh yes, I can use that?” she asked, obviously squeezing her tits together as she leaned over the table between them. Now, he couldn’t help but grin, she was laying it on so thick.

  “You can. Just follow the same directions as before. If you don’t remember them, they’re on the label.”

  Beverly righted herself and sauntered to the other side of the table, just inches from Donovan. He was certain her hard little nipples that could clearly be seen through her age inappropriate shirt were skimming his chest. “Do you think you could make a house call later… you know, to check up on poor Bradley?”

  Mulling it over, Donovan almost took her up on the offer. He knew what a house call was, and in the case of single divorced women, or unmarried tourists, he’d say yes. She was close enough to his type, which was more or less any of them, so long as he didn’t have to work too hard at it. But, it wasn’t quite summer yet, when he let that sort of thing happen, and he certainly didn’t fool around with married women.

  “I think Bradley will be just fine, Mrs. Aldridge. Make sure you follow the instructions and bring him back in if he isn’t feeling better in a few days, okay?” He smiled at her and backed away toward the door.

  “Are you sure, Doctor?” she asked, practically purring, the implication that the visit had nothing to do with the dog hanging heavy in her tone.

  “I’m sure, Beverly. But you have a great summer here, and let me know if you have any problems with the dogs.”

  Seemingly defeated, Mrs. Aldridge let herself out of the exam room, passing Donovan more closely than she had to, her strong perfume tingling his nose. He ran his palm down his face and sighed. And so it begins, he thought. When he first opened his practice and his summer became full of the wealthy socialites bringing their anxiety-ridden purebreds in, the thrill of the hunt was fun. For him, it was like climbing an elitist mountain to the top and planting his flag in the uncharted lands.

  These women had no idea he’d grown up as one of their servants, that his mother cleaned their homes. Most of them weren’t particularly kind or thoughtful when he was a child, and it was something he’d long remember. That’s not to say he was revenge banging the wealthy, but their superficial attitudes certainly made it easier to have fun and not look back.

  Besides, he thought, it wasn’t like they were looking for anything more either.

  He decided to go home and take his dogs for a walk. There was a lull in the day, and he was restless. Donovan used to look forward to summers—the carefree and hapless way that people partied, the endless revolving door of new faces. Every summer held a new adventure. A new vista to conquer. But this year, he felt different. He was less eager for the change of season and more apprehensive. What changed? Unable to put his finger on it, he sent Toni to lunch, and they put the closed sign in the window, along with the emergency contact number.

  Once home, he was greeted by his entourage of pets, each with their own quirks. The four adolescent cats were the newest addition, and they’d been rescued from the beach where a mama cat had built a little shelter in the dunes to give birth. Toni adopted the mother after Donovan performed the spay surgery, but she didn’t want to take all of the kittens. They required bottle-feeding and weaning for the first two weeks, which meant constant care, and a few of them had mild eye infections that cleared up quickly. Normally, he wouldn’t have separated them from their mother; however, the eye infection may have been transmitted from her, so he felt it best to get her a new home sooner rather than later. Toni had teased him relentlessly about keeping four kittens, but he didn’t care. The shelter was filled to the brim, and he wasn’t going to allow them to stay homeless or live in a cage when he had a house big enough for those four, and more, if he damn well pleased.

  Archie and Veronica, his two pups, wagged their tails so hard they looked as though they might lift off the ground. Donovan didn’t always come home during the day, so the dogs’ excitement was understandable and brought a smile to his face. As soon as he uttered the “w” word—walk—they jumped into overdrive, prancing about and barely staying still enough to get leashes on.

  The house Donovan purchased was centrally located between the various neighborhoods of the Port. He decided to follow the path toward the beachfront homes as it was a long walk and the salty scent of the ocean enticed him in that direction. Several of the homes weren’t occupied just yet, but a handful had year-round renters or owners. The properties were set far enough away from each other that nobody felt crowded, but not so far that any one person had a bigger piece of beach than his neighbor.

  As they continued their walk, they happened upon the butler for Jameson Prescott, who was pulling weeds at the end of the driveway. He wasn’t really a butler, he was the caretaker of the estate, and of Mr. Prescott.

  “Bernard, how are you today, sir?”

  He stood up from where he was crouched and brushed the dirt off his hands down the front of his jeans. “I’m well, Doctor. Out for a lunchtime stroll on this lovely day?” Bernard smiled and extended his hand to shake Donovan’s before he reached down to scratch the heads of the dogs.

  “I wanted to get out of the office for a bit. It’s so nice out right now, you can’t beat an afternoon stroll with the dogs.”

  “No, you sure can’t.” Bernard grinned a toothy smile and leaned against the nearby mailbox.

  “How is Mr. Prescott doing? I haven’t seen him or Scrappy in a while.” Jameson Prescott adopted a Great Dane about a year prior and could be seen walking him on the beach fairly regularly. He’d grown into a massive, affectionate tail-wagger and companion for the thrice-divorced man.

  “I’m sorry to say, Doctor, that Mr. Prescott passed away a few days ago.” The heaviness of grief was apparent in the old man’s tone. “He went on a trip to Switzerland for experimental treatment but it was too late. His cancer was too far gone at that point.”

  Just when Donovan thought the afternoon was looking up. While they weren’t close, Jameson Prescott was a kind man and the two always spent time chatting when they ran into each other, or during Scrappy’s checkups. He knew that he was sick, but hadn’t realized it was as bad as it turned out to be. “I’m so sorry, Bernard. Mr. Prescott wa
s a good man.”

  “That he was, Doctor.”

  “Did he have any family? I don’t remember him ever speaking of them in our talks.” Donovan was pretty sure Jameson was a committed bachelor after his failed marriages, none of which resulted in any children he recalled.

  “No, none to speak of,” Bernard replied.

  “What will happen to the house? And to Scrappy?” The poor puppy was probably depressed without his buddy, Donovan thought.

  “The will hasn’t been read officially yet, but he left his home, his assets, and all of his belongings, including Scrappy, to someone he cared about very deeply. I hope to see her here in the next week. Until then, I’m taking care of things.” Bernard had a hopeful gleam in his eye, and Donovan wondered who this special woman could be. Perhaps Jameson hadn’t given up on the ladies after all.

  “If there is anything that I can do to help with the pup, please don’t hesitate to call me, Bernard. I’m truly sorry for your loss as well,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s definitely going to take some getting used to,” he replied.

  “Will you stay on as the caretaker of the estate?” Donovan asked.

  “I think that will be up to the new owner. I’m prepared to stay as long as she’ll have me, and I suspect in the beginning, as she’s finding her way, that she will.”

  “I certainly hope so. You’re a part of the Port family too, ya know.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot. I’ve lived here on this property for over thirty years now. I’m not quite sure what I’d do someplace else.”

  “Well, let’s hope you don’t have to find out anytime soon.” Donovan felt the dogs tug at their leashes and he knew they were getting restless. “I better get back to the office soon. We can’t have Mrs. Astor’s cat waiting too long for me or I’ll have to refer it to a therapist.”

  The two men chuckled, and Bernard tipped his ball cap at Donovan as they parted ways. On the way home to drop of his dogs, Donovan wondered who Prescott would have left everything to. If he wasn’t leaving any of it to his ex-wives, and he didn’t have any children, who else could it be? Prescott was worth a small fortune, so whoever the beneficiary was, they’d be inheriting a hefty sum of money. Must be nice.

  4

  Riley

  Riley took the envelope inside and sat down at her desk before she opened it, knowing whatever the letter said made the news final. She sighed as she pulled out a typed letter, and a smaller, sealed envelope also fell onto the desk. She read the words on the enclosed fancy stationary with tears in her eyes.

  Dear Ms. Maxwell,

  Enclosed is a personal letter written to you by Jameson Prescott, Esquire, to be delivered to you upon his death. As the sole beneficiary of his estate, we ask that you make arrangements immediately to visit our office for a formal reading of his last will and testament. This matter does require some urgency, as the inhabitants of the estate are now legally in your care as well and will need to be tended to as soon as possible.

  While I am sure you have many questions, we will do our best to answer them and to assist you in the transition of ownership of assets, per Mr. Prescott’s wishes.

  We look forward to seeing you.

  Sincerely,

  Annabeth Carmichael, Esq.

  The address of the law firm was a short subway ride away from her home and Riley glanced up at the clock on the wall to see if she could go now. Unfortunately, it was after hours for most normal businesses, so she resolved to go downtown first thing in the morning, without an appointment.

  Riley was still in shock, and read the lawyer’s letter several times before remembering there was a letter from Jameson. Scrambling to open it, she didn’t recognize the scrawling penmanship, as they’d only ever emailed or spoken directly. The cream-colored stationery had an embossed logo at the top of the page. A swirling “JP” was encompassed by a circle at the center, just above his words.

  Dearest Riley,

  If you are reading this letter, unfortunately, the news isn’t good. I went to Switzerland not on business, but for the treatment of a rare type of bone cancer. I’ve been unwell for some time now and knew that the possibility I might not return existed, so I have taken precautions to ensure everything is handled, and that you are taken care of.

  I’m sure this is all quite overwhelming, and I do not wish to burden you, so I have made arrangements for you to have legal counsel as well as help when you go to Port Henry. As I look back on our friendship, I have but one regret, and that is how I wasn’t honest with you about my condition. In my defense, it was such a great joy to me when we’d chat that I selfishly didn’t want to ruin it with talk of cancer and disease. Instead, I chose to keep our talks to the things that made us both laugh and smile.

  In all my marriages, I never had children, but if I did, I’d have been the proudest man in all the world if they’d turned out to be as kind and smart as you are. Which brings me to what will happen next. Since I did not have any official heirs, I am leaving everything that was mine to you. I can only imagine your jaw is on the floor right now. I’ve sensed your speculation about how much money I actually had, and you will know soon—it’s a lot.

  There will be enough for you to travel the world, which I hope that you do, as well as take care of any financial responsibilities that you have. My home will also be yours, and everything inside. My caretaker and longtime friend, Bernard, will be waiting for you at the house in the Port, ready to help you. He has been in my service for thirty years or so and can answer most of your questions, as I’m sure there are many.

  Lastly, Riley, I wanted to thank you. Our friendship has meant a great deal to me, and although it began as a business transaction, you’ve gotten to know me better than anyone I’ve ever met, aside from Bernard. It has been my honor to be your friend, and in my passing, it is my honor to help take care of you and your future. I wish that I could be there to answer your questions, and to help you transition into what most assuredly will be a bit of a strange new life, but know that I am with you in spirit, always.

  Your loyal friend,

  Jameson Prescott

  Riley gently set the letter down on the table as the tears poured down her face. Until that very moment, she hadn’t realized just how valuable her friendship with Jameson had been. The financial windfall she was to receive was so far from her conscious that she’d completely forgotten about it until she read the letter again and then one more time after that.

  I can’t believe I didn’t know. We talked almost every day.

  She opened her laptop, which was sitting in front of her, and pushed the two letters to the side. It wasn’t too late in the day to send an email, so she pulled up her account and drafted a note to Annabeth Carmichael, indicating she would be at their office at nine the next morning to discuss the Jameson Prescott letter she received. Within moments of hitting send, a reply arrived from Ms. Carmichael, thanking her for the expedient reply and letting Riley know she’d be ready to see her.

  After a restless night of tossing and turning, Riley pulled herself together and headed downtown to meet with the lawyer. With a combination of sadness and apprehension, she found herself walking in slow motion through the lobby of the large building. The spring sun cast a glaring light across the marble floor, causing her to shield her eyes for a moment while she tried to figure out where she was supposed to go.

  “Riley Maxwell?” a voice called to her.

  She spun around to see a rather tall woman approach, wearing tall heels and a very big smile. “Uh, yeah?” she replied tentatively.

  Shoving her hand out, the woman reached for Riley’s and introduced herself. “Riley, I’m Annabeth Carmichael. One of Jameson Prescott’s attorneys.”

  “Oh, hi.” Riley shook the woman’s hand and tried to collect herself. She was a New York City professional, but long gone were the days of dressing up in heels and a skirt for work. She’d been living in casual attire for years at this point, and the formal
ity of the city corporate life was something she didn’t miss.

  “I figured I’d meet you in the lobby to expedite this process. It’s quite imperative that we get some things handed over to you sooner rather than later.” Annabeth smiled and waved for Riley to follow her to the elevator.

  On the ride up, Riley asked, “What’s the big hurry, exactly?”

  A small chuckle escaped the lawyer. “Well, I think you better be sitting down for this. Come, we’re almost there.”

  The elevator door opened and Riley followed her down another marble-floored hallway to a set of giant, oak double doors. Once they entered, the area transformed into a lush, corporate office space. There were no cubicles, but several large offices against the high-rise windows could be seen from the reception area, which they blew past.

  Guess I don’t need to check in.

  “Have a seat,” Annabeth said as they entered a large corner office at the edge of the space. She gestured to the large leather chair across from an equally large desk that was covered in papers and a short stack of files.

  Riley sat tentatively, taking note of how large everything seemed. The chairs were huge, the desk dwarfed the lawyer on the other side, and the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows reminded her just how large New York was. She could see the Empire State Building and imagined what an amazing view that might be in the evenings as it was lit up.

  “I’m sure you have some questions, but how about if I start and you can interrupt me at any time?” Annabeth’s kindness wasn’t so much unexpected as it was surprising for someone who seemed to be a high-level attorney. She was not only very pretty, with long blonde hair, a perfect manicure, and what was probably a thousand-dollar suit on, but she was sweet and welcoming.

  “That would be great,” Riley replied.