Chapter Thirteen

Michaela

 

December 27^th had just changed my life forever.

I sat on my bed, Moira’s landline phone on my lap buzzing the disconnect tone.

Beep-beep-beep-beep…

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s very sudden for all of us,” the housekeeper Abby had said.

She wanted to know if I was coming for the service, whatever it would be.

I said I didn’t know and ended the call.

What was I supposed to do now? Oh. “Hang up the phone, Michaela.”

Yes, it was better without that noise.

I would send flowers.

Very nice flowers.

The cordless in my hand rang again, making me jump. We had the landline before we could afford cellphones, so only family had the number. It was practically free now with our internet package, and you never knew when cells would die, likely at the worst time.

“Hello?”

“Miss Simon, I’m William Howell, your uncle’s estate lawyer. Abby told me you had been notified of Harry’s passing, but there are details we need to discuss.”

“What details?” My voice sounded strange to my ears, like someone else.

“Though your mother is still extant, Mr. Blackwell has specified his affairs be put in your hands, meaning we need your input on the funeral. Are you able to come to Virginia?”

Who used words like extant?

God… “I just spoke to him Christmas morning,” I whispered.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Simon. My job is to make this difficult time as easy as possible, but that does require your presence. May I arrange a plane ticket for you?”

A sigh trembled out of me. “It doesn’t sound like I have much choice.”

“We always have choices, Miss Simon. Just not always easy ones.”

“Do what you need to, Mr. Howell.”

“Thank you, Miss Simon. Do you possess a smartphone? A purchased air travel ticket can be accessed with the airline’s app and it will be your virtual voucher for getting through security.”

“Yes.” I gave him that number and my e-mail address.

“You will have the details you need by this evening, Miss Simon. Again, I’m terribly sorry. Harry was a pleasure to know and his absence diminishes us all.”

Mr. Howell ended the call.

I returned the cordless to its charging cradle. Some Saturday.

Well…

Mr. Strawbridge didn’t need me until after New Year’s, so I had time for a funeral if it was organized quickly. What did Mr. Howell mean by affairs? The cremation or burial? The will? Did Uncle Harry put me in charge of divvying out his wishes?

Wouldn’t surprise me if I was the only relative he trusted to not pull shenanigans. Our living family generally despised one another and the two of us were the only decent people of the whole bunch. We stuck together, even if it was virtually.

I hated to interrupt Moira’s day with her boyfriend, but I texted, needing my best friend.

It didn’t take her long to come home, bursting in the front door. “Oh, Mic…”

Mo was my biggest fan. She loaned me money for a demo, kept us in the apartment when I couldn’t find a gig, and handed out flyers to everyone she knew when I sang. We’d been close since we were eight and nothing could break us apart.

I accepted her exuberant hug.

“Are you okay? You know what I mean. What happened?”

We sat on the sofa. “Heart attack or something. His housekeeper found him this morning. His lawyer is arranging a flight. They need me to come out there.”

She held my hand in her two. “I’ll go with you. You don’t need to be alone.”

She’d been here for everything I went through with Jonny.

“Thank you for offering, but I can’t ask you to dump work short notice. This should be quick.”

Her big brown eyes were full of concern. “Don’t worry about me. I have some seniority. Last time you had to grieve—”

“This isn’t the same.” I pulled away and moved to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

“Only your favorite uncle.”

“My only uncle.”

“What if your mother shows up?”

“She lost her hold on me ten years ago.”

Mo came to me. “Yeah, but family drama won’t make this easier. You should have someone there who’s got your back.”

I thought of Lincoln growing up in the same town, before pushing that factoid away.

“It’s the lawyer’s job to protect Harry’s wishes. I’m merely the next of kin.”

She raised her hands. “Fine, you’ve got it handled. Call me the second you don’t.”

Turning from the sink, I hugged my sister from another mister. “Always. You and me against the world.”

My cellphone chimed with the alert for new e-mail.

I checked it and Mr. Howell had sent instructions for redeeming the ticket voucher. I loaded the e-ticket on my phone and printed a paper copy with Moira’s printer bought at work during a Black Friday sale.

She’d worked at Target long enough that most things in our apartment were from there.

My flight was at eight tomorrow morning.

“The computer is yours for the rest of the night.”

“I’m going to miss you, but at least it will be quiet around here,” she teased.

I threw a pillow at her. “Gee, thanks. Like I ever bother you when you’re studying. I only practice here when you aren’t home.”

“Okay, then the neighbors will be happy it’s quiet around here.”

“Keep it up and I might not come back.”

She giggled. “You can’t quit me.” Too true.

I got a ride early the next morning to LAX. I was flying straight to Newport News/Williamsburg International Airport, where Mr. Howell said there would be a car waiting. It had been arranged that I would fly first class. I boarded the jet liner and prepared to get comfortable for the five-hour flight.

Music on my phone kept me calm.

One black Town Car was waiting outside so I took a chance and walked up to the driver.

“Hi, I’m Michaela Simon.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me for not spotting you right away,” the older gentleman replied. “I was picturing a younger you.”

If there was a stereotype for the appearance of a rich man’s butler, it was this guy. He wore a suit and his perfectly-combed hair was gray at the temples.

“Let me guess. It was the one with my hair at my shoulders and I’m wearing a bright pink t-shirt? I was fourteen the last time out to Uncle Harry’s. Do I look that different?”

He scrutinized me. “No, I guess not. More mature, of course, and your hair is much longer. I met you and your mother briefly when you were last here.”

“I remember now. You’ve been with Harry for a long time. Shall we get going?”

“Right away, Miss Simon.”

He opened the door for me, then got in the driver’s seat after stowing my bag in the trunk. I fit a week’s worth of clothes in a carry-on. In the back, I sunk into the soft black leather. The ride felt like you were gliding along the street and there was plenty of room to stretch out.

A thought occurred as we made our way into town. “I realized I don’t know what to call you.”

“Thomas, Miss Simon. Have you had a chance to see Williamsburg before?”

“A little. My mother wouldn’t take me into the city when we stayed at Harry’s. I’m sure you know how she is.”

“Yes, quite,” he said in a dry tone. “Possibly Mr. Howell will be able to give you a tour.”

“Ah, the lawyer. What’s he like?”

“Professional.”

“Well, if Uncle Harry trusted him, he can’t be all bad. Thomas, was anyone with Harry for Christmas?”

“Do you remember Mr. Torrance?”

“Donald? Of course. He taught me how to fish. How has he been?”

“Holding up, I suppose. I’m sure he would love to see you.”

“I’d like that, too.” The car crawled. “Are there any good radio stations out here?”

He fiddled with the dial until he found a classic rock station.

We were quiet for the rest of the drive.

I dozed off about halfway through.

We paused at the gate while Thomas punched in the code, then rolled down the driveway. It was lined with trees and in front of the house was a stone fountain.

The usual Christmas decorations were missing, though.

Did they not make it up, or were they removed due to…

The driveway made a circle around the fountain. Thomas pulled up in front of the manor. The brick Georgian Colonial mansion was properly symmetrical. My grandparents and uncle wanted to pay homage to the Early American history of the area.

Seated on twelve wooded acres of serenity.

The house caught my breath, as it always did.

“Miss Simon, we’re here,” he said.

Thomas got out of the Town Car and walked around to the right side of the vehicle to open my door. I slid out. He lifted my luggage out of the trunk.

“Welcome to Blackwell Man—”

“Michaela!” A middle-aged woman had burst through the front door, interrupting him. She gave me an enthusiastic hug. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? You’re a beautiful young woman now.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Abby was Uncle Harry’s cook and housekeeper.

“Come in and tell me all about what you’ve been up to the past fourteen years. I was only telling Thomas yesterday that you were just what’s needed.” She kept chattering as she took me by the arm and led me inside.

I looked back at him. He shrugged helplessly.

“Mr. Howell is waiting for you in the study. I told him he should give you until tomorrow to settle in from your trip, but he insists on meeting you today. He’s rather impatient sometimes.”

“Talking about me again, Abby?”

I turned toward the speaker. The man was around six feet tall with blond hair and a trim build. He wore a shirt in blue and black slacks.

“You must be Miss Simon. I’d know you from your uncle’s photos, though I was expecting someone…younger,” he said, looking me up and down.

Sorry to disappoint. “Do you mind if I put my bag in my room first or do we have to discuss business now?”

“I don’t mind at all. I only wanted to introduce myself. William Howell, esquire. Shall we meet over lunch?”

“Set it up with Abby.” I shook his hand firmly, then turned to go up to my room.

Abby followed me upstairs. She took a seat on the bed while I put clothes away in the closet. “This was always your favorite room as a girl.”

“Because of the view of the garden. The décor’s been upgraded, though.”

“Your uncle refreshed them about five years ago. He wanted all the rooms to be suitable for his friends. I think he chose the blue with you in mind, though. It’s a shame you haven’t been able to come out here more.”

I may never stop feeling guilt for that.

“Mother stopped supporting me the day I graduated high school. I had my clothes, my car, and some stuff from my room, and that was it. My best friend and I have made it work since. But it’s better than marrying some rich fool like she wanted me to.”

“Tell me, is there a young man in your life now?”

“I’m not interested in dating, Abby.”

She chuckled like I was silly. “There’s still time. What would you like for supper? I’ve stocked ingredients for your favorites.”

“I don’t know, surprise me. I’m going to take a walk. Being cooped up in a plane for five hours is not my idea of fun. First class was a nice touch, though. Mr. Howell’s idea?”

“I guess. He made all the arrangements upon your uncle’s passing. You’ll be down in the garden?”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you again.”

Abby smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”

I put on a pair of sneakers and went down the stairs and out the back.

The garden actually started a ways from the house. There was a large deck, then steps down to the pool and spa. Harry liked things to be functional, so while the pool was large, it wasn’t fancy. The classic rectangle fit with the traditional house.

The garden was simple and practical. Frames had been set up to create raised planters. Each planter held a different group of plants, with the gravel path between them. Most of the garden was full of vegetables and the last pair of planters was for melons. My uncle loved fresh carrots, green beans, and tomatoes. And rhubarb.

There was always abundance. My grandmother had a green thumb.

Against the wooded acres were fruit trees on the right and nut trees on the left. Not enough to be called an orchard, but plenty for the bachelor and his guests.

Of course, in winter, everything was dormant.

It brought back memories of when my cousins and I used to play here when we were little. Grandma had siblings and their descendants would visit from Pennsylvania.

Past the orchard, a trail led through the woods to a creek.

I walked back through the trees and turned right toward the structure next to the house, the garage. It was recessed to not be in direct view from the front and housed ten cars at full capacity. I let myself in and switched on the lights.

What greeted me was a sight of beauty.

Uncle Harry’s most prized possessions. There was my grandfather’s ‘50s Studebaker, a ’66 Mustang fastback, a Model T roadster, a classic Jaguar convertible, and a Ferrari 550 Maranello. The Town Car sat parked outside.

I walked down the row, considering each automobile.

Then went upstairs and knocked on Thomas’ apartment door.

He smiled upon opening. “Miss Simon, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you have the keys. I’m thinking of taking a few test drives.”

“Of course. Well, I have copies, but the originals should be on your uncle’s key ring with the house keys. Abby should know where those are. Anything you want to know about the cars?”

“Not right now. Harry told me in his letters whenever he had new work done, so I’m pretty well versed, I think.” He talked a lot about the property and his hobbies after retirement.

“Alright. You should head back soon. She’ll have lunch ready,” he said, looking at his watch.

“Thanks. Are you going to eat with us?”

“No, thank you. I already have plans. Have a good evening, Miss Simon.”

“You, too, Thomas.”

I made my way back to the house. I’d been wandering for several minutes, so Abby was getting ready to serve the meal when I came in.

“Have a nice walk, dear?”

A host of wonderful aromas greeted me as I pushed the kitchen door open. “Yes, I did. It’s in the sixties like home. This smells great. What are we having?”

“Roasted herb chicken, carrots, red potatoes, and acorn squash. And I picked up a cheesecake this morning for dessert,” she replied from her place at the stove.

“Sounds fabulous. We can eat at the breakfast table since it’s the two of us. Thomas said he has other plans.”

She chuckled. “That means he’s working on his model train. He’s been building the whole layout in the spare bedroom up there.”

“It’s good he has a hobby. I wonder if Harry was able to hang on to Grandpa’s Lionel set?”

“You’d have to check the basement.” She finished carving the chicken and dishing up the plates, then set one in front of me before taking her own seat. “Oh, I forgot drinks.”

“Stay there, I can get it. What do you want?”

“There’s sparkling water in the refrigerator. Do you remember where the glasses are?”

“As long as you haven’t moved them. One sparkling water and orange juice for myself.”

I carried the glasses to the table and set them down.

Looking around the kitchen, it hadn’t changed much since the last time I sat in it. The appliances had been upgraded from Grandma’s ‘80s choices, but the countertops and custom cabinets made to Harry’s specifications were the same. There was a generous window at the farmhouse sink and a large center island.

Every part of this house had been meticulously designed to show off both Harry’s carpentry skills and the history of the area.

“Hello?” a man called. The door opened. Mr. Howell found us. “Afternoon, Miss Simon. I trust you settled in well?”

“Fine, thanks. The house hasn’t changed much since I was a girl.”

“I’ll get you a plate, William,” Abby said.

“That isn’t necessary, Abby.”

Thomas wasn’t a great judge of age. Seeing William Howell in this light, I’d say he was closer to forty than thirty—which made sense. Uncle Harry would want an experienced lawyer to handle his considerable assets.

“Why don’t we get down to business?”

“As you wish,” he replied, taking a stack of papers out of his briefcase. “You’ll need to sign these wherever you see an ‘x’. These documents are all so we can transfer the titles and accounts to your name.”

“Transfer what into my name?”

He met my gaze over his reading glasses. “Everything. Nearly.”

“I thought you asked me here to help with the funeral.”

“Well, yes, because Mr. Blackwell—Harry—named you his heir.”

My favorite uncle left me his fortune.

Not that I’d ever ask for it, which is probably why he chose me.

I was a starving artist, as my friends always teased me.

No more starvation, now.

I would be left with millions after taxes, if my uncle’s accountant was correct.

There was the house in Williamsburg, a yacht (?), shares in a European resort on the French Riviera, the country club membership, cars, and Grandmother’s jewelry. Grandma Vida had always hoped her son would marry and give the jewels to his wife as a wedding gift, but he remained a confirmed bachelor his whole life.

He was too independent to settle down with anyone.

“Your uncle wanted this to go as smoothly as possible, so measures were provided. His accountant is already prepared to do all the paperwork when taxes are due.”

“I guess Harry learned from the hassles of dealing with my grandmother’s will.”

His sister, my mother, thought the fortune would go to her, but all he left her were mementos of their childhood. The other cousins didn’t even get that. I guess it was his final F-you to the family that caused so much heartache after Grandma and Grandpa died.

So many families fell apart because of inheritances.

I skimmed over the paragraphs on each page before signing my name, then came to an item that caused my eyes to widen. “Harry had a condo in Florida?”

Mr. Howell nodded. “That was a recent addition. He was planning on using it to escape the cold winters here.”

“That makes sense. Did he ever get a chance to use it?”

“Last winter, I believe. That was the only time. Do you have any other questions?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around being an instant millionaire.” I shook my head in wonder.

“Try not to spend it all at once. Your uncle wanted you taken care of.”

Excuse me? “I’m not some eighteen-year-old handed her first credit card. You think I don’t realize the opportunity I’ve been given?”

I stared at him for a minute, then quickly signed the last few pages. Stood, pushed my chair in, not caring that it banged into his knee, and turned to Abby.

“See Mr. Howell out once he’s finished eating. Our business is done for the day.”