Seasons of the Heart (27 page)

Although she didn’t have time to entertain much, she did throw one big housewarming party for their friends. While chiding herself for the petty triumph, she couldn’t help smiling at the astonished expressions on Ruthie’s and Kenny’s faces when they were ushered into the foyer. Then she remembered that whatever Kenny’s faults, Ruthie was a good friend and she had her own problems these days. Kenny had been fooling around with his receptionist, and from Ruthie’s drawn face it was possible that she had found out. Ann hugged her and walked her over to the bar.

Still, she couldn’t help but be proud tonight, in her own lovely home, with her handsome husband by her side.

Life soon fell into a pleasant pattern for the Coulters. Phillip no longer seemed bitter about his mediocre career or jealous of Ann’s success, and both parents were happy to see Evie growing into a lovely young woman. She was happy in her new school, and the house was constantly filled with her friends.

It was just after her sweet sixteen party that the nursing home called to tell them that Simon was dead. He had seemed the same the last time they had visited, but looking back, Ann realized that he had adopted a new air of tranquility. It was almost as if he welcomed the end.

Much as they loved him, it was impossible for either Ann or Phillip to wish him back; he had spent his last years trapped in a body which had betrayed him. Evie, however, reacted differently. Ever since Simon had been put into the nursing home, she had visited him faithfully several times a week. There had been times when neither Ann nor Phillip could make it, but Evie had hardly missed once in the two years her grandfather had been there. In fact, she had seen him just the day before he died.

When she heard the news, she stared at her mother in horrified disbelief. “No! He can’t be dead! He simply can’t be!”

Ann had put her arm around her, saying sympathetically, “I know it’s a great shock to you, honey, but you know, Simon is far happier this way. He was ready to go, darling.”

She squeezed Evie’s shoulders comfortingly, but there was no response.

Finally, Evie said, “Okay, Mom. I understand what you’re saying. I think I’ll go to my room for a while.”

Ann frowned. She had thought Evie was prepared for the inevitability of Simon’s death. But this was Evie’s first experience with death, so she was bound to be upset. Maybe some cocoa would be comforting. Ann fixed a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of Oreos. Knocking gently at her door, Ann called softly, “Honey, I’ve brought you some hot chocolate.”

Turning the knob, she pushed the door open. Ann had expected Evie to be weeping; instead, she sat near her window, staring into the night.

“No, thanks,” Evie murmured as Ann set the tray down.

“Why don’t you try to eat a little something, sweetheart? It might make you feel a little better.”

Evie shrugged. Ann touched her shoulder. She couldn’t think of what to say to ease the pain. After a minute she left the room, hoping Evie would feel better later, but she refused dinner and spent the night in her room, saying she was tired.

Evie went to school the next day, but when she came home, she went straight to her room and flung herself down on the bed. When her parents came home from work she heard them talking in the living room. She knew that they were worried about her, but somehow she couldn’t reassure them. They thought that she had prepared for Grandpa’s death, just because he was old and sick, but she had had no idea how totally final death was. The idea that she would never again see his face or hear him say, “My little Evie,” devastated her.
If Grandpa could die, one day Mom and Dad could die, too.
It was a notion that Evie was unwilling to face. The three of them were so close, Evie knew she wouldn’t survive if anything happened to either of them, and she was terrified.

Ann came up later with some supper, but didn’t try to force her daughter to eat. Instead, she put down the tray and handed Evie a little package wrapped in candy-striped paper.

“Sweetheart, I know you will miss Grandpa a long time, but I thought this present might cheer you up a bit.”

Evie tried to smile. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

“Well? Open it, darling.”

Evie unwrapped the box to find a lovely pale-pink angora sweater. A lump rose in her throat as she stared at it, then at her mother. All she could think was,
Someday you’re going to die too—and I won’t be able to bear it!
Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ann sighed. Poor Evie. Maybe they were taking the wrong approach. She tried a rallying tone.

“Evie, honey—please. You must not carry on like this. You know, Grandpa wouldn’t have wanted you to feel this way.”

But Evie’s tears at that moment were not for Simon.

The next day was Saturday, and although Evie came out to breakfast, she picked at her food, saying little, then retreated to her room.

Ann usually worked Saturdays, but today she hesitated to leave. She went in to see Evie and once again tried to comfort her. “I know how much you loved Grandpa, Evie. We all did. But his time had come, don’t you see that?”

Evie just nodded.

Ann came out and sat down across from Phillip at the table. “I don’t know, Phillip. Nothing I say seems to help. I don’t know what to do for her. I had been planning to go in to the office, but I don’t like to leave her. Maybe she would like to go to a movie or something. What do you think?”

“I don’t think a movie is quite what she’s in the mood for. Listen, Ann, if you need to go to the office for an hour or two, why don’t you go? I’ll be here, and maybe I can talk to Evie.”

“I don’t know …” Ann protested, but in the end, she decided that an hour or two wasn’t going to make much difference. She would stop and get scallops for dinner on her way home. Evie loved those. And maybe a chocolate cake as well.

When Ann had gone, Phillip put aside his paper. Knocking on Evie’s door, he said, “Princess? It’s Daddy. May I come in?”

“Yes,” came the muffled response.

Evie was lying on her bed. Phillip sat down next to her without saying anything. The misery and loss reflected in the clouded violet eyes pierced his heart. He longed to pick her up and cuddle her as he had when she was little, but she was no longer a little girl.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered.

It was the sorrow in his own eyes as much as the sympathy in his voice which shattered her defenses. Her lower lip quivered, and at the sight Phillip forgot that his daughter was almost grown up. He reached over and pulled her to him, cradling her gently.

“Oh, Dad, it’s so awful!” she wept.

Rocking her back and forth, Phillip murmured over and over, “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart. Daddy’s here.”

It was all Evie could do not to sob,
It’s not just Grandpa, Daddy. It’s you and Mom. Please don’t die, don’t die!

As the storm began to subside, Phillip spoke softly. “I know how much Grandpa meant to you. You and he were buddies, weren’t you? When Mom and I were both working, he took you everywhere, didn’t he? School, and the playground. You know, Mom and I had kind of forgotten how much time you spent together when you were little. It’s no wonder that you feel sad.

“Now, I’m not going to try to talk you out of feeling that way. Right now I’m sure you don’t want to hear that someday you’ll feel lucky that you had him for as long as you did. But it’s true.

“And you know, Evie,” Phillip continued, his voice tender, “you were the most important thing in the world to him. More important, even, than I was. It was as if he got Eva, your grandmother, back when you were born. I remember how happy he was that day.”

Evie heard her father’s voice tremble on his last words and, wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “Daddy, I love you so much.”

“I know, honey,” he whispered. “And I’m still here for you, even if Grandpa’s not.”

S
OMEHOW, THROUGH SOME DIVINE
Providence, life got back to normal in a fairly short time after Simon’s death. Evie was feeling her old self again, and for that Ann was greatly relieved.

Life at the office was as hectic as ever. It seemed everyone wanted to buy a house or trade into a bigger one. It was after a particularly lucrative November that Ann sat at her desk and pondered a proposal sent in by a broker friend in the city.

The sound of it intrigued her: an invitation to participate in a series of real estate syndication deals, put together by a consortium based in New York. They took unimproved parcels and created office parks and suburban shopping centers all over the country.

It was relatively safe, because the risk was dispersed, yet the potential gain was enormous. Ann had studied similar proposals before, but had always held back, unwilling to dive into something over which she would have no direct control. It took a fair amount of financial savvy to sift the wheat from the chaff. The real estate field, like any other, has its share of shady dealers and outright con men.

But each passing year had bolstered her confidence, and now she felt she was ready to take a closer look. Adam Gayne was the man behind this syndication, and her broker friend had assured her he was tops in the field—a lawyer, investment adviser, real estate financier. “It would be impossible to list all the pies he has his finger in, Ann,” her friend had said. “You have to meet him—he’s quite a guy.”

Well, why not?
Ann thought, intrigued. She had dealt with most of the big names in San Francisco; there shouldn’t be anything so very different about this New York attorney. She had money to invest and clients who would follow her advice. She would just have to see what it was he was proposing.

Ann was happy that Phillip was spending so much time with Evie these days: it would make it easier to be away from home for a while. When they saw her off at the airport, Ann felt she could leave them with an easy heart.

New York was exhilarating. The discomfort of the December chill was offset by deep blue skies and clear, pale sunshine. Ann left her suite at the Plaza and walked down Fifth Avenue, then east, to her appointment, excited by the prospect of her first syndication deal. The properties were in a boom area—Dallas—and seemed virtually fail-safe.

As she stepped into the soaring atrium of the steel and granite skyscraper, she felt a tingle of anticipation. Today she would meet Adam Gayne. She pictured him as a man of medium height, portly, with thinning gray hair and steel-rimmed spectacles. He was probably quiet and self-effacing; contrary to popular belief, real estate tycoons tend to be the opposite of flamboyant, though there are notable exceptions.

The doorman showed her to a green-carpeted elevator, which shot silently and swiftly to the 47th floor. For a moment Ann’s heart hammered against her chest and her hands began to perspire. She would have liked a few extra minutes to compose herself. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out into a cold-looking, uncarpeted foyer. Above the only doors appeared the name
ADAM GAYNE, ATTORNEY
.

The atmosphere of the office itself seemed strangely charged, but Ann reproached herself for having too much imagination. After all, she had dealt with many high-powered lawyers and speculators in the past few years, so why should this one be any different? And the name Ann Coulter was one to be reckoned with in real estate circles, wasn’t it? Still, something about this office made her take a firmer grip on her briefcase when she walked up to the receptionist.

“Mr. Gayne will be with you in a few minutes,” the woman murmured. “If you would care to take a seat?”

Ann had barely sat down and unlocked her briefcase when a door opened and a tall, lean, athletic-looking man impeccably dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit strode up to her, his hand extended.

Ann was so dumbfounded that she stumbled a little when she got up to shake hands. This was Adam Gayne? She took in the handsome features, the thick, wavy black hair with just a hint of silver at the temples, and the riveting black eyes.

“Mrs. Coulter … I’m happy to meet you at last,” he said with a disarming smile.

“Mr. Gayne …”Ann managed to say as she pulled herself together.

“Shall we step into my office?” Gayne said softly.

Ann was very aware of his nearness as she walked past him and took a chair.

He seated himself at the large ebony desk opposite her and smiled. “Shall we get down to business? I trust you have the copies of the agreement I mailed you.”

His neutral, businesslike tone and the familiarity of the legal documents allowed Ann to order her thoughts. She retrieved the relevant papers from her carefully organized case and began: “Mr. Gayne—I have a number of questions regarding page seven….”

From then on, it was all business, Gayne explaining the ins and outs of the syndication in question with such lucidity that Ann could immediately see why he was considered one of the foremost experts in the field. They got into the details of a particularly thorny tax question, and before Ann knew it, the afternoon was half gone. They had been talking for over two hours.

Glancing at her watch, she exclaimed, “Oh, my—it’s nearly two o’clock. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, tossing the papers aside. “I wanted to make sure you were all clear on the various ramifications.”

“In any case,” Ann announced, more abruptly than she had intended, “I guess we’re about finished. I won’t keep you.”

“You’re not keeping me,” he murmured.

Barely hearing him, Ann shuffled her papers into her briefcase any which way, and began to get up.

“Mrs. Coulter—haven’t you missed lunch?”

She looked at him inquiringly. He seemed amused.

“No,” she said hesitantly.

“You have other plans?”

Ann flashed him a rueful smile. “Actually, I have no plans at all.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

In front of the building, Adam hailed a cab. “Russian Tea Room,” he said before recalling himself and asking, “Is that all right with you?”

“Fine,” Ann answered coolly. Now it was her turn to feel amused. Plainly, Mr. Adam Gayne was not in the habit of consulting anyone’s wishes save his own, although he covered it adroitly with that graceful manner of his.