Second Chance Love (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Two hours later, the meal was finished, with leftovers packed up and distributed to the rehab staff who had given up their own Thanksgivings to take care of others.

As darkness fell outside, Steve and Elizabeth said goodnight to Gordon and Margaret, then helped Maybelle carry the last of her utensils and containers out to her van. The season’s first snowfall had been threatening all day, and had since arrived. The stripes of the parking lot were invisible beneath a fine white layer.

Maybelle started the van and turned the heater on high before turning back to Steve and Elizabeth. “You two better jump in that car of yours and turn the heat on, too. I know you’ve got your love to keep you warm, but a few degrees from the heater doesn’t hurt!” She laughed, shut the van door, turned on her wipers, and pulled out of the parking lot before either of them had a chance to thank her again.

“Lizzie, I think you should spend the night at my place. It'll be cold in your apartment.”

“You always think I should spend the night at your place. I’ll be fine. Sebastian will help keep me warm. You can just take me home.”

Steve sighed, turned the defroster on—one of his minor successes in understanding a vehicle that did not take verbal orders—and drove toward Elizabeth’s part of town. While the Taurus’s wiper blades wiped increasingly heavy snowflakes side to side, the headlights lit a crazy kaleidoscope of flakes swirling in their beams. The chiming bells of The Eagles’
Please Come Home For Christmas
played on the radio.

A few blocks before reaching Elizabeth’s apartment, Steve pulled off in front of a mostly vacant lot. Vacant, except for a few rows of fir trees and a crude, hand-painted sign: XMAS TREE'S $25 AND UP.

Steve turned to Elizabeth. “I know it’s silly to park this far away from your place when it’s snowing and cold out, but—"

“No explanation necessary. Come on.” She got out and walked to where the trees lay bundled together, ready to be set up for sale. She pulled her glove off to touch the needles.

Steve caught up and put an arm around her. “It hasn’t even been a year, but everything in my life has changed. Everything is good now.”

Elizabeth nodded, snow falling off her hair and onto her face. “Do you remember that Christmas Eve, twenty years ago? It was snowing that night, too. I was so excited all that day. It already felt like I had loved you forever and I was so happy to think that I was finally going to tell you.”

Steve nodded, his face just inches from hers. “I felt the same way that day, like I was about to set out on an exciting adventure with my best friend. Then I left, and we lost twenty years.”

“And none of that matters now. I love you so, but right now, things feel so…transitional.”

A flicker of worry crossed Steve’s face.

“I don’t want transitional any more, Steve. I want permanence. I suppose the proper thing to do is to wait for you to get around to asking me, but I don’t care about ‘proper.’” Elizabeth took a step back and put her hands on his shoulders. “Steven Robert Larson, will you marry me?”

The cold night air caught in Steve’s throat. His eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm waiting," she said.

“Lizzie…are you sure?”

“Are you suggesting I should rethink this?”

God, I'm stupid sometimes!
Steve smiled, grabbed Elizabeth, picked her up and whirled her around. “Elizabeth Lynn Coleman, yes. Yes, yes, yes! Of course I will marry you!”

Of all the questions that awaited answers, at that moment, not a single one of them mattered.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Betty Spencer had been Steve Larson’s secretary for twenty years, following nine years of the same service to Steve's father. In spite of the 'administrative assistant' trend, Betty had retained her original title with pride. Her power came not from her title, but from her long service to top management. She not only knew where the bodies were buried, she had exhumed and reburied a few.

Though the various legal proceedings would continue for months, possibly years, the first day of December, 2014 would be Larson Industries' last day as a going concern. Betty walked into Steve’s office and set a small box in his empty Inbox. Steve was in his chair, turned toward the window.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Larson, if there’s nothing else…”

Steve’s chair swiveled around. She would never have remarked on the reddened, puffy eyes, not even under torture.

“Is it that time already?” Steve asked.

“Well, it’s after five, but if there’s anything at all you need from me, I’m more than happy—"

“No, not at all.” He paused. “I’ve known this moment was coming. I shouldn’t be surprised. But, still, I am.”

"I know what you did for our worker and his family over there, Mr. Larson, and I respect it. I am by no means the only one." There was an odd look in her eyes.

Steve wanted to hug her, but Betty was a woman of palpable dignity and formality. He stood up, walked around the desk, and put his hand out. She took it, her own right hand small and aged. “Betty, it seems so inadequate to say a simple 'thank you' for all you've done for my father and me, but it’s what I’ve got. So, thank you, Betty. You’ve been a jewel. I don’t think I could have built this company without you.”

“I don’t doubt that’s true, but you’ve done far more than simple words, Mr. Larson, and you know it.”

“I wish I could have done more.”

"Most would have done far less." Betty reached out, touched the box. "New cards, I see?" The vendor had used one as an address label. The return shipping label read: “Cheap-EEEE Printing,” with an address in Waukegan, Illinois. The card packing-taped to the outside read:
Steve Larson, Second Chance Remodeling. Because Every House Deserves a Second Chance
. Betty reached into her purse, took out a card of her own, and handed it to him.

"Elizabeth W. Spencer Executive Services," Steve read aloud. "You don't want to retire?"

"I would be of no use to anyone but my homeowners' association, and if I may be so frank, the leadership there is drunk with the only power it will ever have. Mr. Larson, may I please have one of your new cards?"

She still had that odd look in her eyes, but Steve slit open the box and proffered one of the plain white cards. Betty accepted it with courteous attention, reading it in silence as though she had not already seen an image. His Larson Industries cards had been heavy-stock linen, cream, with the venerable Larson Industries logo in embossed gilt. He remembered okaying an invoice for the old cards, a shade over $400 for a box of five hundred. The enclosed credit card receipt from Cheap-EEEE Printing, also a 500-count box, came to $19.99 plus shipping.

The things you learn when it’s too late. Still, it’s a little bit like comparing my 2001 Ford Taurus to my 2013 Mercedes SLS—different products at different price points
.

"Thank you, Mr. Larson. And now, Spencer Executive Services makes its first sales call. May we be of service to your firm, sir?"

Steve looked at her eyes once more, saw no levity, stopped to consider for a moment, then decided that this was a time to listen. "Please sit down, Betty." He did likewise before continuing. "What do you propose?"

"Insofar as I am aware, Mr. Larson, your new firm will need executive services familiar with the local real estate industry. My company has expertise in this area."

Now this is becoming painful. What's gotten into her?
"Betty, I can't afford it," he said, as gently as possible.

"You already have. My records reflect that you have made six months of advance payment on our services. To refund that payment would be a great hardship for my company, though if necessary, I will."

She's not joking
.

"By my reckoning, should you contract with my firm, you will be entitled to all reasonable executive assistance services we can provide for six months. At that point, I hope you will find the relationship more than satisfactory, and will wish to renew our contract. At that time, we can negotiate the future financial relationship. Our goal is to shoulder headaches so that you can focus on your business."

"Betty, it's hard for me to know what to say."

Betty smiled.
Nowadays she is more elegant than gorgeous, but before I was born, she was making jaws go slack
. "That sounds like a headache in need of shouldering," she said, standing up and extending her hand once again. "Let me provide a free sample of our services. We can solve this in seconds, Mr. Larson. If you but take my hand and utter the sentence 'it's a deal,' this headache will disappear."

Steve Larson had not become a real estate magnate without learning when to gamble, even if not every gamble had worked out.
Checkmate. She even knows to ask for the sale. She leaves me no viable option. Plus, she's right, and I'm beaten, and I'm happy to lose this round
.

He stood up and shook her hand. "It's a deal."

Betty beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Larson. I know this relationship will work well for both our companies. And since I was fairly confident it would, I have taken the liberty of making a few arrangements."

"You mentioned a contract. Shouldn't we sign it?"

Her eyes sparkled. "It is policy at Spencer Executive Services to do business only with companies whose reputation enables business contracts to be executed by handshake. We are contracted."

The next time I hear some blowhard make a comment about dumb secretaries
, thought Steve,
it will be all I can do to refrain from kicking his ass
. "Very good," he said, striving for formality. "You mentioned a few arrangements?"

"That's correct, Mr. Larson. Two days hence, I will be picking up Mr. Bayani Alidon at the airport."

"What?"

"When I learned that you would be renovating homes, I contacted Mr. Alidon. I knew that you would need a trustworthy superintendent, someone resourceful and absolutely committed to your success. The work permit is in his hands. He will know where to recruit and manage other capable artisans. I did some reading on Filipino culture, and I learned that prestige is very important. There is a significant local Filipino community, and your prestige among them is already high in ways you do not realize. Mr. Alidon has relatives in this area. While he can probably expect a rush of cousins who think they have an in, I have explained to him in tactful terms that it will be some time before your company can afford much patronage. He understands."

Steve was silent for a couple of moments. "And you financed this how? Larson Industries is broke."

"Spencer Executive Services, however, is not. We will request reimbursement in good time, when the revenue stream begins. Mr. Alidon and his family will live in a motel until he can renovate your first purchase to habitability—which I might remind you carries a slightly lower standard back on Palawan—then move in. The home will therefore be safe from vandalism or materials pilferage. Mrs. Alidon will apply a woman's eye to the household fixtures, and in time, the family will be able to afford a home of their own. I can even imagine a day in which Second Chance Remodeling works out an outcome involving a renovated dwelling for the Alidon family, though of course, no such promise has been made. All Mr. Alidon knows is that we will take care of his living arrangements and basic family needs for the time being."

Steve Larson looked very much as if he would cry again.

"Do you approve, sir?"

God, she's enjoying this! But it's not at my expense. I am a fortunate man.

"I do, Betty. Shouldn't I address you as Mrs. Spencer from here on out, though?"

"I would very much prefer, in honor of our continuing association, if you would continue to use my first name." Her eyes laughed, even if her voice remained decorous. "Thanks for working with us, Mr. Larson. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some important work to do. I'll be in touch."

He shook her hand one more time, saw her to the door, and went back to his chair.

Steve looked out through the open door of his office and saw two men moving one final desk, on which rested a sad little potted ficus, toward whatever office liquidation center was cleaning the place out.

He dropped the Larson Industries card into the trash can under his desk and put a small handful of the new cards into his suit jacket pocket.
This won't be so bad. Before college, I worked on a framing crew for a contractor that did work for my dad. It was good for me, and I liked creating something with my hands. I'll get to do it again
.

Two men appeared at his office door, looking apologetic. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Larson, but we’re supposed to clear this floor before we can go home tonight.”

Steve smiled. “No problem.” He reached out, turned off the desk lamp, and walked out of Larson Industries for the final time.