Bad Heiress Day (10 page)

Even though he’d been half expecting her to come unglued one of these days since Paul’s death, he hadn’t expected it to be here. “Dar, you’re a mess. What happened?”

“I had a…I had a huge fight with Kate.”

Jack’s response traveled from relief, to annoyance, to amused concern in the space of about ten seconds. Part of him was ticked at her bringing something like this into the office; the other part of him was glad to be the place she had run to. Even if it meant she ran here. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and handed her another tissue. “Come on, you never fight with Kate.”

“I know.” It came out as a moan.

He pushed a stack of files aside and leaned against the desk corner beside her. “What about?”

“About me.”

Well, he doubted that. These days most of the spats in his life were about everything but the argument at hand. Everybody was short-tempered with everybody, and it didn’t really matter why. Dar and Kate were as thick as thieves—too close to have an actual fight between them; it had to be something else just now coming to the surface. “You fought about you?” He tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice. She was really upset.

“She says I’ve been blowing her off. Things have been…I don’t know…tense between us. It’s never been weird between us and suddenly now everything is strained.”

Truth be told, he’d seen this one coming. It had “too much Glynnis Bidwell, not enough Kate Owens” written all over it, and it had been brewing for the better part of a month as near as he could tell. Better to go slow, just ask her questions until he got all the details. Even though he knew the answer, he started with, “Well,
did
you blow her off?”

“I didn’t mean to. It’s not like I’m ignoring her or anything.”

“But you did blow her off? Even if you didn’t mean to do it?”

Darcy sniffed. “I suppose. Yeah. I forgot about a date, twice.” She looked at Jack. “But that’s not the same thing as standing her up. Jack, she even whipped out her calendar to show me the dates. That’s going a bit far, don’t you think?”

“That is far, even for Kate. She must really be mad.”

“She told me that everything is different now, that I’ve changed, that I spend all my time with Glynnis. Jack, it sounded like Paula and her friends, ‘You like so-and-so better than me!’ What’s gotten into her?”

Jack knew exactly what had gotten into her. Good for Kate, he thought to himself, for coming out with it. How many times had he bit the same sentiment off his tongue when Dar had spent every waking moment with Paul? He had wondered how the strain of all this was going to show once life settled down. Everybody had their own way of coping with Paul’s death. Dar’s fixation on this project of hers had been her coping mechanism. Sure, there were worse ways to handle grief, but he had to admit he was hoping she’d get over this particular idea.

“I thought you and Kate were in on this idea of yours together.”

“She is. She was. But it’s not about that…at least I think it’s not about that.” Darcy blew her nose. “She’s jealous of Glynnis. Of my friendship with Glynnis.” Her eyes grew narrow and sharp. “Like I’m going to haul off and have new rich friends now. Mutate into some sort of socialite.”

“She’s hurt you forgot the dates. It’s a natural reaction, Dar.”

“No, it’s more than that. She thinks I don’t care about her anymore.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s what she said.” Darcy accepted another tissue. Jack tried to check his watch unobtrusively, glad it was Thursday. Thursday was his boss’s day at the other building. He hooked the leg of his desk chair with his ankle and pulled it up next to Darcy’s chair. He sat down in it, and began rubbing her wrists with his hands. She had the most exquisite, tiny wrists. He could feel her pulse when he held them, tapping lightly against his fingers. He began to work his way through the problem.

“Did she tell you why she thinks that? If I know Kate, she had a dozen good reasons all lined up ready to go.”

Darcy nodded. “Oh, she had her argument all laid out, that’s for sure. She had a shopping list of family news I’d managed to miss.” Dar looked up at him with shimmering eyes. “Did you know Don was passed over for a promotion?”

“He told me, yeah.”

“And that Thad broke his finger?”

“Uh-huh.” Darcy’s response told him this was not the answer she was hoping for.

“And that Kate’s aunt has breast cancer?”

Jack was almost grateful he could say, “Hadn’t heard that” to that last one.

“Well, I sure heard about it today.” Darcy blew her nose again.

“Look, you and Kate have been friends forever. I think you’ll find a way out of this. The whole world’s a ball of tension these days.” Jack swept his hands around the office. “There have been fights here between people I’ve
never seen fight before. Tension does nutty things to people. Kate and Don are no different.”

“I suppose. I have been in my own little world for a while.”

Now there was an understatement. Jack chose to let it slide. “You’ve been through a lot. Nobody blames you for taking care of Paul. It was a good thing you did.” He lowered his voice a bit, wondering just how far to go with this. “But lots of us have been out here, slugging it out in the rest of the world, waiting for you to come back. Kate’s been holding you up for a long time. Maybe she just wants a little holding in return.”

“You’re right. It’s not been fair to her, has it?”

“It’s not been fair to anyone. Life is pretty much unfair all over town these days.”

Darcy looked at him. “I can’t bear the thought of not having Kate.”

Jack smiled. “I’m sure Don’s having the same conversation right this very minute—that Kate’s on the phone with him, just as upset.” He brushed a lock of honey-blond curl out of her eyes. “Honestly, you women.”

He saw her smile. It felt good to be the one to make it better for her. He loved how she leaned on him, how she let him play knight in shining armor. It had been hard with Paul—there were no fixes to be had, no way to solve things for her, and he had hated that about it. “How ’bout I call Don and set up B-ball for Saturday afternoon? The guys can tear up the court and you and Kate can get back to whatever it is you do together.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m in this for me. I can’t have you crying in my office every day until you patch things up.” He took her hand. “You’re lucky it’s Thursday as it is, and Mr. Big Shot’s at
the other plant.” He was teasing her. He’d have rescued her any day of the week. He ignored the e-mail notification signal that came in over the computer.

“My hero.”

Man, how long had it been since he’d heard that? “Take a little advice from your hero?”

“Okay.”

“Make good and sure the next lunch you eat out is with Kate Owens, and not Glynnis Bidwell.”

She looked at him.

“I’m right, Dar, and you know it.” He was right. She was spending hoards of time over at the Bidwells’, and it was starting to put ideas into her head. Some of which worried him. She was a tangle of emotions yet, not half-healed over Paul’s death. Now was no time to get all fired up to do something drastic.

And drastic, it seemed, was a standard Bidwell operating mode. “Hey, wait,” he said as she gathered up her purse. “I’ve got another idea….”

Jack always had the best ideas for fixing stuff like this. At his suggestion, Darcy stopped at the United Dairy Farmers convenience store and bought Mint Milano cookies. She wrote “I’m sorry” in black marker across a package and slipped it into Kate’s mailbox.

She inhaled a second package on the way home in the car.

Every great idea can always be improved—a bit.

T
hat Saturday was one of October’s spectacular last hurrahs to warm weather. A last blast of sunshine and autumn-colored glory before winter took over the Ohio Valley. It had even been warm enough to grill lunch out on the deck. Darcy and Kate, having had a good long string of “I’m sorry’s” and honest conversation over lunch—yes
lunch
—on Friday, sat staring out the kitchen window. Jack, Don, Mike and Thad were going father-and-son two-on-two at the basketball hoop in the driveway. Paula and Jessica were up in Paula’s room creating a Barbie dynasty, and all felt right with the world. It was one of those glorious fall days, the kind that made you want to don a sweatshirt and sneakers, kick back in your deck chair, and wish Monday would never come.

“I swear Mike’s grown half a foot since school started,” said Kate, laughing at a wild jump shot from one of the boys as they watched through the kitchen windows.

“He eats like he’s growing a foot a second. Last night he ate three double cheeseburgers. That’s got to be a week’s worth of fat grams in one meal.” Darcy pulled a second pair of diet colas from the fridge, fondly remembering the days she didn’t have to count fat grams.

“Oh, to be young again.” Kate accepted the can from Darcy’s outstretched hand. She popped the tab and made a toast. “To the boys.”

“The boys. May they hoard their fat grams wisely.”

“As if. How many brats did Jack eat, anyway?”

“Three. They’re his favorite. I owed it to him after—well, after this week.” They’d talked long and hard on Friday about the argument they had in J.L.’s. It felt good to get it all out on the table, to have them both on the same side of the challenge again. And they both had work to do. Kate needed to remember that life was not all hunky-heiress-dory for Darcy and that grief wasn’t a four-week stint. Darcy needed to remind herself to check in on the rest of the world and to take the time to keep relationships strong in all the transition. Jack’s prediction, by the way, had been correct: Kate
was
sniffling on the phone to Don at the same time Darcy was using up Jack’s office tissues. No doubt about it, life would hold its share of challenges for both of them in the next few months.

“Jack’s a good guy,” Kate replied leaning back against the counter. “Speaking of which, what are you planning to get him for his birthday?”

The refrigerator gave out a high whine and a series of menacing clunks. “Think he’d go for a new fridge?” Darcy quipped.

“Sure. Then he can buy you another vacuum cleaner for your birthday. It’ll be an appliance extravaganza. I think
Little Orphan Heiress and her Mr. Moneybags can do better than that, though.”

Darcy was sorry she’d ever leaked the nickname to Kate. She chose the most annoying times to use it. Not to mention she’d taken to calling Jack Mr. Moneybags—behind his back, of course. But the names meant the returning of joking about it, which Darcy welcomed. It meant they were finding their way back to normal. Or the new normal, whatever that was. Personally, Darcy thought Ed Bidwell made a better Mr. Moneybags—right now Jack was so concerned about finances she was thinking she might be lucky to get to buy him a present at all. There were times, like last Thursday, when Darcy loved Jack for his calm sensibility. Then there were times—times when a bit of imagination or dashing was called for—that she wanted to strangle him for it.

Global crisis or not, Darcy Nightengale wasn’t in the habit of skipping birthday presents. Darcy loved presents. Buying them, giving them, pondering them, helping other people pick them out, you name it. Even if they had to be teeny tiny, birthday and Christmas presents were nonnegotiable in her world.

It was another one of those things Jack never quite understood.

“Believe it or not, I don’t know what I’m going to get him. I’ve got another week, though.”

“You don’t know yet?” Kate had good reason to be surprised. Darcy usually planned presents weeks and weeks in advance.

“I’m stumped. Really. There’s just been so much going on between us, nothing seems to be appropriate, and I don’t want to give him just anything—especially after all we’ve been through.” Darcy took a long swig of her soda. “This one has to be good.”

“Don’t suppose we can kidnap him to Ernestine’s to give him a makeover?”

Darcy laughed. Jack and a manicure—the most unlikely combination on earth. “Very funny. But you know, I’d like to do that sort of thing—not the makeover part, but the…I don’t know…
spark
of it. I want him to feel the same spark I did when we were there. To catch the idea of it. I want him to understand The Restoration Project, to get why it’s so important to me, to understand what it can do for people.”

“Pretty big agenda for a birthday present.”

Darcy looked out the window again. “Tell me about it.”

“Too bad everyone expects better of you than a gift card. You’ve a reputation to maintain. You can’t give wimpy presents like normal people—you’ve been too perfect at it before.”

Cries of victory erupted from the driveway, pulling the women back out the door onto the deck. From the looks of things, Thad had just made a spectacular shot, securing the game for Team Owens. The guys stood around the hoop, gesturing and pounding each others’ backs, deep in playback analysis.

“Man, that was such a cool shot!” Thad was evidently as thrilled with his game-saving swish as the rest of them. “Mr. Nightengale, this ball really rocks. Do you have it pumped up to a different pressure or something? It feels different than mine.”

Kate and Darcy grinned at each other. Jack’s obsession with quality sports equipment was about to get a major shot in the arm. Not that it needed it. Don’s kids may be heavy on the talent, but Jack’s kids always had the best of equipment. The man scanned sporting goods catalogues the way most men looked at power tools. Even Paula’s tiny
soccer shin guards were the best the Nightengales could afford.

“It’s an indoor ball, Thad. They’re more expensive, and they wear out faster playing out here, but I love the way it feels in your hands. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” He held it up for inspection. “The skin gives you a really good grip.”

Thad, true to the nature of any fourteen-year-old basketball star wannabe, eyed his dad. “Can we get one of these?”

Don smirked. “Thad, if we got every piece of the Nightengales’ sports equipment you’ve asked me for, we might not have enough left over to get you a car anytime this decade.” That brought “Ooos” from the men. Don even dangled the car keys out of his pocket for emphasis.

“Very funny, Dad. It’s only a ball.”

Moans of “Don’t say that” rose up around the boisterous group. To Jack, it was never “just a ball” and everyone knew it. Jack shot the ball into Thad’s chest and within seconds a new game was underway. The pure exuberance of it made Darcy smile.

“Oh.” Kate made a strange sound.

“Huh?” Darcy looked at Kate. She was staring at Jack. Hard. With a really odd look on her face.

“Oh, man, that’s it…that’s
it!
”

“What? What?”

Kate grabbed Darcy’s arms and began to pull her inside the door. “Oh, I got it, Darcy, I got it. I’ve got the absolutely perfect birthday present idea for Jack. You’re going to love this. You
are
so going to love this. Get in here!”

“It was awful, Glynnis. I didn’t think it would be so hard, going to Bob Denton’s funeral. But I walked in there,
and I saw that casket, and it all came rushing back at me.” Tuesday Morning Prayer in the Henhouse had hosted a packed agenda for the last two weeks.

“Are you really surprised?” Glynnis handed her another tissue. Glynnis simply kept a box on the table now. Darcy wondered if “tissues for Darcy” had its own line item in the Bidwell family budget these days.

“I thought I’d handle it better. I wanted to be there for Angie. She looked awful. Even worse than when I saw her last at the hospice.”

“She’s hurting.”

“I keep thinking about how alone she must feel. I lost Dad, and it was awful, but I had Jack and the kids. She’s alone. What must it have been like to go back to an empty house after a funeral?”

Glynnis leaned on her elbow. “I doubt she went home to an empty house. You said she has a circle of friends who have been helping her. People tend to step up to the plate at a time like that. It’s all the other times—the ordinary empty days after the funeral flowers have all gone—that they forget to pay attention.”

“That’s true.” Darcy thought about all the people who kicked so quickly into “normal” with her, as if the loss resolved itself after thirty days like a sprained ankle. There were people who had asked her constantly about Paul’s condition, who now never even brought up his name in conversation.
Poof. You die and you’re gone. People are always too busy to remember.
Even the articles about those who’d died on September 11 had stopped showing up in the papers.

“That’s why I think God is asking you to do what He’s asking.” Glynnis’s voice brought Darcy’s thoughts back to the conversation. “Because
He
pays attention. He knows
what they need, and He knows you know how to give it to them.”

“I don’t know, Glynnis. I don’t think we’re any further along in getting The Restoration Project up and running.”

“That’s not true. You talked again to Meredith at the hospice, didn’t you?”

“Yes. She’s completely onboard with the idea.”

“Well, that’s something. And you patched things up with Kate, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, that, too. She even came up with the idea for Jack’s birthday present.”

Glynnis grinned broadly. “I remember. Oh, and I think it’s a humdinger.”

Humdinger.
Who said
humdinger
anymore? For a spry gal, Glynnis’s vocabulary would occasionally remind Darcy that the woman was as old—if not older—than most of the grumpy old ladies she knew.

She leaned in toward Glynnis. “It is great, isn’t it? You’ve got to pray hard Friday night, Glynnis. Pray really, really hard, ’cause this has just
got
to work. Everything else won’t matter if we can’t get Jack to come around.”

Glynnis’s face registered a look of supreme satisfaction. “Oh, I’m sure it will work. One hundred percent.”

Darcy was sure—one hundred percent—she didn’t want to ask how Glynnis knew
that.