Great Restorations - 16. Chapter 16

MARC‘S plan was simple: get to Sawyer‘s before anyone else, make coffee, have at least three fortifying cups, and deal with the confrontations one person at a time. Not that he expected any problems from anyone but Rick, but he wasn‘t quite up to Reba‘s mothering and knowing smiles, either. Each member of his team was a separate personal minefield of expectations and explanations, and frankly, Marc wasn‘t sure he could handle it all at once.

The best laid plans….

Sleep eluded him most of the night, and it was near dawn by the time he drifted off, his father‘s words still echoing in his ears: Not the person I thought he was.

He woke to his cell phone ringing a few hours later and spent a frustrating few seconds trying to turn off the alarm before he realized his mistake. He pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah,” he said, the word thick and garbled. Silence followed. Marc squinted at the caller‘s number. Sawyer. “Hello?” he tried again.

“Are you okay?”

Marc‘s fuzzy brain couldn‘t even put together a pat response. “What time is it?”

“Ten.”

Marc collapsed onto his pillow with a groan.

“Are you okay?” Sawyer asked again.

“Yeah.”

“Yo!” he heard Rick call out in the background. “Is that lazy ass still in bed?”

A headache started between Marc‘s eyes. “I take it everyone‘s there.”

“And waiting.”

Marc rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. “I‘ll be there in half an hour.”

“Half an hour,” Sawyer confirmed, too much mirth in his voice for Marc‘s liking.

“Half an hour?” Rick yelled. “What, are we working half days now?”

Marc pressed end, cutting off Rick‘s voice, but he stepped into the shower with a smile on his face. At least he and Rick were talking to each other… after a fashion.

He made the thirty-minute deadline with five minutes to spare and followed the voices back to Sawyer‘s kitchen. At least his luck was holding for some things—nobody saw him immediately—and he used the precious few seconds to his advantage, scanning their faces for clues to how the next few minutes would play out.

They all had full cups of coffee. Marc almost whimpered at the unfairness of it.

“There you are,” Karen said, catching sight of him. She rose, snatched a mug from the counter, and filled it to the brim. “You look like you could use this,” she whispered when she got close enough to hand it over.

“Thanks.”

He‘d prepared a special conversation for Karen. Hell, he‘d prepared to say certain things to all of them. But as she passed over the coffee, her fingers brushed his, and she winked. He‘d known her long enough to understand. It’s all good.

A measure of the tension he‘d been carrying inside of him eased. “Thanks,” he repeated, meaning something altogether different than before. She patted his arm and retreated to her seat.

Marc took a few sips. “Morning, everyone.”

“Morning.” Sawyer was the first to answer. He didn‘t come any closer. In fact, he moved away, putting an obvious and unmistakable distance between the team and himself, and leaned against the counter. “It‘s not like you to be late.”

“Slept like crap,” Marc admitted into his coffee.

“How come that excuse never works for me?” Rick wondered out loud.

“Well” —Reba raised her hand, ticking reasons off on her fingers one at a time— “let‘s see. Because the idea of you sleeping like anything but the dead is hard to fathom. Because being hung over isn‘t the same as ‘had trouble sleeping’.” She set the last bit off with air quotes. “And because staying up until three in the morning watching reruns of Home Improvement isn‘t something you should admit to anyone, let alone try to use as an excuse to be two hours late to work.”

“Hey! Home Improvement is classic television.”

“I hope it wasn‘t thinking about us that kept you awake,” Tim said, rather loudly.

The cup of coffee froze halfway to Marc‘s mouth. He‘d entertained scenarios of how things would play out, but not once had he seen Tim taking an active role.

“No,” Marc said, stumbling over the word. “Not really.”

“Are you sure?” Tim pressed, his voice rising further. He had everyone‘s attention now. “Because that‘s not something you have to worry about.” He panned his gaze across the table, settling on Rick. “Is it? We all live and let live around here.”

So much for the one-on-one approach. And so much for Tim‘s laissez-faire attitude. He‘d shifted their entire group dynamic with a few short sentences.

Rick crossed his eyes at Tim. “Lay off the mystical shit.” He kicked back in his chair, scratching at his stomach. “Listen…. It’s none of my business, anyway, but if you’re dying for my two cents… then I really don’t care, okay? And I get, maybe, why you would think I’d be a prick about it, but I won’t. Just…. Jesus, do we need to talk about it? Like, in detail? I‘m not sure I‘m ready for that.”

By some miracle, Marc‘s knees held out until he made it across the room to the table. “No details,” he said in a rush of breath as he sat. “No problem.”

“What if I want to talk about it in detail?” Sawyer asked, smile hidden behind his cup of coffee.

“Shut the hell up, Romeo,” Rick shot at him. “That rule goes for you too, if you don’t mind.”

Sawyer smiled widened. He raised his cup in a mock salute. “Fine. No details.”

“Dandy,” Rick said, grimacing. “So business as usual?”

The headache between Marc‘s eyes intensified. “Not exactly.”

To his surprise, the entire story took less than five minutes to relate. At the end of it, whatever easy mood Marc had managed to hold onto had vanished. Judging by the looks on everyone‘s faces, they were feeling the same.

“What. The. Fuck,” Rick bellowed, ever eloquent. “They can‘t do that.”

“Oh for Christ‘s—were you even listening?” Reba shot back. “They can and they will.”

Karen stood and began to pace. “We can‘t let this happen. It‘s like Marc says. We need to track down May‘s will.”

“Finn’s working on that this morning, through official channels,” Sawyer said. “There’s got to be something we can do from here, though.”

“We need to get into May’s house,” Karen said. “She’s surely got a copy in her personal records.”

“Marc’s father vetoed that idea pretty vehemently. We could try just showing up and talking or forcing our way in,” Sawyer suggested. He‘d come to stand behind Marc. “But, as Marc already said yesterday, her copy might already have been… taken.”

“You‘re all approaching this from the wrong direction,” Rick said with a snort. “Marc‘s father is like Darth Vader. One evil dude. We‘re not going to get anywhere reasoning with him. We need another strategy.”

Reba popped her gum. “If you say ‘use the Force’, I‘ll smack you.”

“Listen, this isn‘t rocket science.” Rick slammed his fist on the table. Coffee sloshed everywhere. “Some law office, somewhere, knows something. We’ve got the Internet. It isn’t just for porn. Let‘s just get our asses online and on the phone and track this shit down.”

Marc wasn‘t the only one shocked at the outburst. Nobody else moved. For the first time that morning, Rick met Marc‘s eyes across the table. He was clearly still a bit uncomfortable with the new truths in Marc’s life, but he had a cause he believed in. And if Reba was the mother who turned them in the right direction, then Rick was the rebel who got them going.

“It‘s personal,” Rick mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I spent fifteen hours hanging those fancy cabinets in Marc‘s kitchen. He‘s going to damn well appreciate them for another thirty years or so, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Aw crap, Rick.” Reba wiped her eyes. “You‘re going to make me bawl.”

Everyone laughed but Rick, who turned away with a groan. “As long as you don‘t hug me, then we‘re good.”

Reba eased to her feet. “Careful. I just might.”

“Bitch.”

“Ass,” she replied affectionately, coming up behind and throwing her arms around his shoulders. Rick grunted and patted her arm awkwardly.

Karen sighed. “And me without a camera. Looks like their love will have to remain an urban legend.” She scooted past Rick to grab her laptop out of her tote. “Let‘s get to work. Cell phones out. Everybody get a pen. Rick, would you like some guidance on what to ask?”

“I‘m not a complete idiot, you know.”

The tap of Karen‘s pencil on the table and her eye roll was all the answer he received. Marc accepted two pens from Reba, but when he turned to hand one to Sawyer, found an empty chair.

“He went that way,” Reba supplied, nodding toward the living room. Marc slipped away from the table and followed.

The living room window looked out on the front yard. Nearly bare, the trees swayed in a brisk wind. Leaves blew by in waves, swirling into tiny twisters at the corner of the house. Overcast and gray, the sky looked ready to open up any minute. Marc hoped the weather wasn‘t a harbinger of their failure. Would they get a miracle? Or were they hoping for something that simply didn‘t exist?

Marc sighed, but lost in thought, Sawyer didn‘t turn. One hand rubbed his chin, while the other absently traced patterns on the window. “Hey.” Marc ran his fingers down Sawyer‘s spine.

Sawyer glanced over his shoulder, shivering at the touch. “Hey.”

“What‘s on your mind?”

Snatches of conversation drifted in from the kitchen. “I think,” Sawyer said, turning, “that you and I should let these guys take care of the phone calls.”

Marc arched a brow. “While we do what, exactly?”

Sawyer‘s lopsided smile started a tingle in Marc’s chest. “Don’t tempt me.”

Two more steps and they were chest to chest. Marc reveled in the lust he saw bloom in Sawyer‘s gaze. “How do you know what I was offering?”

Sawyer had him spun and back against the window so quickly,Marc gasped. “You really need to stop that,” Sawyer said. Rubbing against Marc like a cat, he dipped to kiss his jaw. “One day you‘re going to tease me in the wrong place, and then this whole damn town‘s going to know what I want to do to you.”

The need arrived in a flood, sudden and uncontrollable. “Okay,” Marc breathed. And it was, which Sawyer must have heard in his voice.

He pulled back, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“Well, maybe not the whole town.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sawyer answered, looking dazed. “Half the town works. Whatever you want.”

Marc wiggled loose. “What were you saying you wanted us to do?”

“Well.” Sawyer settled himself onto the windowsill. He shrugged. “I was thinking we could go see this Simone person you told me about.”

“It‘s a shot in the dark.”

“So you‘ve said, but what have we got to lose?”

It was a good point. Plus, the thought of sitting around and calling every lawyer that popped up on a Google search made his head hurt even more. He glanced out the window in time to see the sun break through the cloud cover. “Okay,” he said. “I‘m game.”

The others didn‘t buy their excuse. Reba smirked and curled over her notepad. Karen rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion. Rick stared at them both, mouth hanging open until Sawyer laughed. Cheeks red, Rick snapped his head down and punched a series of numbers into his cell phone. “Good luck,” he grumbled, barely enunciating the words.

“You too,” Marc said. “We‘ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Uh-huh.” Reba snorted.

“Take as long as you want,” Karen added sweetly.

Rick slumped in his seat. “Ladies, please.”

Marc laughed all the way out to his truck.

***

FORTY minutes later, the expansive green lawns of St. John‘s Retirement Community came into view. The “village,” as it was marketed, consisted of several levels of assistance, a shopping center, movie theater, golf course, and small lake with paddle-boats. On both sides of the road, buildings sprang up, brick low-rises with mature fruit trees lining the drives and bushy hydrangeas blooming under the windows.

Sawyer whistled. “This place is huge. And,” he added as they passed a parking lot full of Cadillacs, “swanky.”

“Yep. It employs a fair portion of Edgewood, actually. Largest retirement community in the state.” Marc pointed out a small park, complete with white gazebo and kissing bridge. “It‘s difficult to get a place here. There’s a waiting list. Aunt May talked about it sometimes.”

Nursing a healthy dose of surprise, Sawyer asked, “She was considering a place like this?”

“Not seriously. But several of her friends did move here, including Simone, and I think she got sick and tired of hearing how wonderful it was. ‘Can‘t make your own jam,’ she said to me once. ‘Why would anybody move anyplace where they couldn‘t make their own jam?’”

They both chuckled as Marc pulled the truck into a parking place in front of the main administration building. Sawyer caught his hand before he could get out. “You okay?”

Marc squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. It feels good to talk about her.”

Sawyer acknowledged the sentiment, and they both stepped down out of the cab. Sawyer stretched, hands in the air, while Marc flagged down a woman in a white coat. Ten minutes later, they were knocking on the door of an adorable brick cottage, situated on the other side of the small lake. Mums spilled out of freshly painted window boxes and there wasn‘t a weed to be seen in the mulched planting beds that flanked the entry.

“Nice,” Sawyer said, admiring the pots of pansies that someone had arranged artfully on the front stoop, hanging on to their blooms despite the chill fall temperatures.

“Who is it?” a strong, but elderly voice asked from behind the door.

At Sawyer‘s nod, Marc answered. “Simone Parks?”

“Yes?” The door opened and a petite woman with long silver hair eyed them from under the brim of her gardening hat. “And you are?”

“Ms. Parks, it‘s Marc—”

“Marc!”

Simone threw the door open and stepped onto the concrete stoop. She grasped Marc‘s forearms and peered up into his face. “What a handsome young man you‘ve grown into. Where‘s your aunt?” Before Marc could answer, Simone was peering behind him at Sawyer. “Hello, handsome number two.”

Sawyer laughed and shook her small, wrinkled hand. “Hello.”

“What‘s your name?”

“Sawyer.”

Simone clucked her tongue and squinted up at him. “Calhoun?”

“Uh… that‘s right.”

“Interesting,” Simone drawled, her blue eyes sparkling. With deft fingers, she twisted her long hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and secured it with a hairpin from her apron pocket. “Where‘s your aunt, sweetheart? May!” she called, peering behind Marc.

“Ms. Parks.” Marc‘s smile faded. “I‘m sorry. She‘s not here. She….” The rest wouldn‘t come.

Simone‘s own grin faded. “Oh, my poor boy. I‘m so sorry.” Tears filled her eyes, and she dabbed at them with the sleeve of her blouse. “Now look. You‘ve made me messy. Come on. Come in.” She disappeared inside.

Sawyer stepped into the shadow of the covered porch behind Marc, and, before they entered, pressed a quick, light kiss to his temple. He didn‘t speak, but the gesture washed away some of Marc‘s grief. With a sigh, he stepped inside, Sawyer behind him.

Simone reappeared from the hallway, sniffling, and gestured them to the two facing loveseats. A low table separated them. She plunked a box of tissues onto it and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her mud-splattered slacks. “What happened?”

“A stroke,” Marc said, steadier. “It was quick, relatively. She only lingered a day.”

“God bless her,” Simone said. “Oh my, I never thought she‘d go before me. What a pistol she was.” She grabbed another tissue and stood. “Would anybody like an Ensure? I‘ve got all the best flavors,” she added. “Chocolate? French vanilla? Strawberry?”

“Nooooo. But thank you,” Sawyer answered.

“Are you sure? I store them in the fridge. Keeps the chalky taste down.” Marc shook his head, and Simone shuffled into the kitchen. “I‘d asked your aunt to come with me when I moved, Marc,” she called. “But you know her. She wouldn‘t leave Edgewood.”

“She loved it there,” Marc agreed, smiling when Simone reappeared with a frothy glass of white liquid. “Ms. Parks, I wanted to ask… do you ever remember my aunt talking about her will?”

“Oh sure. All the time.” She took a sip of the Ensure. It left a thin white mustache on her upper lip. “She was counting the days until you turned eighteen, you know, so she could cut out that ingrate floozy niece of hers. Whoops!” Her hand fluttered to her lips. “Did I say that out loud?”

Marc shot a glance at Sawyer. Far from shocked, he was grinning at Simone.

She toasted him with her Ensure before turning back to Marc. “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

“His parents are back,” Sawyer cut in. “His mother claims she‘s the beneficiary of the entire estate.”

“Well, that was true at one time,” Simone admitted. “But not anymore. May amended her will when Marc came of age. Left everything to him.”

“Are you sure?” Sawyer pressed.

“I witnessed the new will.”

“You did?” Marc leaned forward. “Do you have a copy?”

Simone‘s face fell. “No, child. I‘m sorry.”

“Do you remember who drew it up?” Sawyer fished a pen and a piece of paper out of his jacket.

Simone snickered into her vanilla Ensure. “Of course, but I doubt you‘ll need to write it down. After all, he‘s no stranger to you, my dear.”

Sawyer clicked the pen open anyway. “Oh?”

Simone winked at Marc. “It was her boyfriend who made up the new will.”

Sawyer dropped the pen, while Marc beat back a sudden desire for an Ensure. “I‘m sorry?” he stuttered. “Her what?”

“Oh, can‘t we say ‘boyfriend’ these days? Damn it,” she mumbled and took another swig of her drink. “You know, her gentleman friend.”

Words failed Marc. To his relief, Sawyer came to his rescue. “And who might that have been?”

An evil gleam entered Simone‘s eye. She leaned across the table and crooked a finger at Sawyer. Slowly, like he was being invited into the lion‘s cage, he edged forward.

Simone downed the last of her drink and plunked the glass onto the table. “Paul Steinbrick. Your grandpa.”

Sawyer froze, half hunched over the table. “Simone, are you sure?

“That they were an item? Oh yes.”

‘No, I mean-- well, yes that too. But…my grandfather hadn’t practiced law in nearly twenty-five years when he died.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not officially. But when May asked for something, he never really knew how to say no.”

The statement struck Sawyer speechless for a full ten seconds. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Paul Steinbrick?”

Hand over her heart, Simone nodded, and Sawyer collapsed backward against the sofa cushions. “Huh.” The idea caught up with him a minute later. He rolled his head in Marc‘s direction and grinned.

Marc blanched.

Sawyer‘s grin got wider.

“So they were--” Marc swiped a hand over his lips. “―intimate?”

“Oh, please, Marc,” Simone drawled. “Your aunt was old, not dead.” With a roll of her eyes, she sat back. “They met late in life, yes, but that didn‘t make it any less passionate. At least at first.” She paused and bit her lip.

What did that mean? Marc glanced at Sawyer to find a thoughtful frown on his face. Sawyer returned the look, eyes unreadable.

“You know, don‘t you,” Simone asked Marc, “about her first love? The one who traveled?”

Marc nodded. “Of course.”

“I don‘t think she ever really got over him,” Simone admitted, “but that didn‘t mean she cared for Paul any less.” Her gaze grew pointed. “And he wasn‘t an easy man to love.”

Sawyer snorted. His eyes were fixed on some faraway point.

Simone winked at him. “She thought she could change him, Sawyer. And I‘m sure you have some idea of how that went.”

“I have some inkling,” Sawyer answered in a soft voice. “He wasn’t…demonstrative .”

“He wasn’t,” Simone agreed. She refocused on Marc. “May thought she could change that. Bring him out into the open some.”

“And she couldn’t?” Marc guessed. It was hard to believe. Very little had ever survived May‘s willful disposition.

“Oh sweetheart.” Leaning forward, Simone took his hands. “Some things just aren‘t meant to be.”

“Aunt May said that all the time.”

“It was one of her favorite expressions. Ah.” Simone waved a hand through the air, dismissing the somber feeling that had settled over the room. “They parted as friends, but when they parted, that was the end.”

“How long ago was that?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh, some five years now, I would expect.” A melancholy tone entered her voice, but she recovered a moment later, adding, “It was while they were together that Paul drafted the new will with all the updated provisions May wanted. And that was that.”

“Except that wasn‘t that,” Marc countered, recovering slightly. “I mean, I know that‘s what she did. She told me. But there‘s no record of it anywhere.”

“Isn‘t there?” Simone wrung her hands. “Nowhere?”

Oh, there was one somewhere, Marc was sure. Filed away in one of his aunt‘s desks at her house, more than likely. Not that his parents would ever let him in to search for it. But maybe….

He swiveled to Sawyer, who made the connection at the same time. There were stacks of boxes containing Paul Steinbrick’s personal papers still stacked in Sawyer’s office at the house. Sawyer’s eyes lit up as Marc’s heart leapt with hope. As one, they stood.

“Thank you, Simone,” Marc said. “You‘ve been a tremendous help.”

“I‘m glad.” Simone stood up. “Now go kick those two to the curb.”

Sawyer rocked back on his heels and laughed long and hard, then slid an arm around her tiny waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. “When this is all over, I‘m coming back to take you to dinner.”

“See that you do.” They walked together to the door. At the edge of the porch, Simone stopped to clip a bouquet of pansies. “Put those on your aunt‘s grave for me, dear, will you?” She handed the bundle of flowers to Marc. “She‘s watching you now, so make her proud. Stand up for what‘s yours. And don‘t let anybody tell you how to live.”