Twenty-Four
was a virtue, but she wasn’t sure she had much of that. It had been a few weeks since she had received Paul’s letter, and every day she was on high alert, waiting for his lawyer to tell her when she was supposed to leave.
She would return to a town she never thought she would see again. She had almost forgotten what had happened there. Almost.
Grace was well aware of the connections and strings that pulled people together. Most of those connections were invisible to almost everyone, even to her, but she trusted that was how the universe works, and she knew something, and it was time to tell it.
And now, because Paul’s lawyer had her contact information, and she had her replacements in place at her coffee shop, she didn’t have to stay and wait for the message. She could take herself off on a personal adventure.
She’d have to assure her friends she was fully capable of traveling on her own, and Grace knew a few of them might use their “magical” gifts of remote viewing to make sure she was okay, but the point was, she didn’t have to wait.
Grace had always wanted to visit Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water, and it wasn’t that far from where she lived. She’d start there. Then, if Paul’s lawyer hadn’t contacted her yet, she’d find something else to see. She’d stay close, so she would always be just a day’s drive away from where she had to go and could head there once she got the message that it was time.
The more Grace thought about it, the more she liked the idea. It would give her a break between Doveland and meeting Paul’s widow and time to collect herself before telling her what she knew. Grace knew it wouldn’t be easy to hear and almost as hard to tell. But then, almost fifty years had passed. Perhaps it wasn’t as vital as she kept making it out to be.
Grace sighed as she thought about the past. Years ago, when this thing with Paul had happened, she had been more naïve and much less aware of the ramifications of decisions, and she wondered now if she had made the right one then.
Bruce Dawson logged out of the call with Judith and swiveled his chair away from the computer. As if that would change what had happened.
From his desk, Bruce’s view was a huge apple tree that was now blooming outside his window and was so close he felt as if he was living in it.
Bruce could see that overnight the tree had sprouted a burst of green leaves, replacing some blossoms that were now drifting past his window. The branches waved back and forth in the breeze, bathing the room in filtered light.
He loved all the seasons of the tree. Spring with closed buds one day and bursting open the next, the summer green, fall apples, and winter when the tree stood bare against the often gray sky. Everything about the tree pleased him.
Bruce spent many hours watching the birds that nested in it and the bees that moved from flower to flower doing their work. He loved witnessing how the tree and bees worked together to keep the planet alive, and wished people could be more like birds, trees, and bees.
When he arrived that morning, Bruce had opened the window to let in the light breeze. Now he could smell the apple blossoms and lilacs that grew in the corner of the small garden in the back of the building. The gardener had brought up an armful of lilacs to his secretary, and she had them on her desk, so the smell of spring was everywhere.
Bruce considered the tree and the bees the perfect symbol of how life was supposed to work. Freely giving, flowing with life, and working in tandem and community. Seeing how they worked together kept his drive to do things his way in check. Or at least kept it from running amuck. He told no one, but if he was having trouble deciding what the right thing to do was, he’d ask himself if the tree and the bees would approve of his decision.
It was probably not what people expected of an attorney. It was why he had chosen to be an Estate Planning attorney rather than one that litigated for innocence or guilt. But that decision didn’t change the fact that he was often told things he wished he didn’t know, and he was sometimes angry with himself for taking a client that brought him those things to deal with.
As if I could know in advance, he said to himself. How could he know until they started talking?
Paul Mann had turned out to be one of those clients. But he didn’t know that was going to be the case.
At first, Bruce thought that Paul’s estate would be easy to plan. There was only his wife, and everything would go to her. But then, Paul added a twist.
When Bruce realized Paul wanted to tell him something he would rather not know and didn’t affect the estate plan, Bruce had asked Paul to write it down instead and seal it in an envelope. Bruce would give it to Paul’s wife when it was the right time.
And yes, he’d mail the letters after Paul’s death. He understood Paul knew he was dying and had some things he wanted his wife to know.
“Why don’t you just tell her now?” Bruce had asked.
“I can’t. I don’t want to see Bree’s love for me die out before I die.”
“And you think that might happen?”
“I can’t take the chance. From the moment I first saw her, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I can’t take that away from myself this last year together.”
When Paul told him that story, Bruce had silently laughed to himself. Love at first sight was a myth projected through the media. How anyone could fall for that nonsense was beyond him.
But just a few minutes ago, when that woman Judith popped up on his screen, something happened. He had barely answered her questions, trying to keep himself in the place he always was when he spoke to people—especially clients.
But looking at her was like looking at a fire, and it started melting away his words and his thoughts.
She had stared at him, said, “Oh,” and put her head down as if she was collecting her thoughts. Then she looked up and started asking questions. Questions he couldn’t answer, even if he hadn’t lost his mind at the sight of her.
Now, as Bruce breathed in the spring smell, trying to clear his mind, he asked the tree and the bees, “What do I do about this?”
He could have sworn that the tree shook a little, as if it was laughing, but perhaps it was only a gust of wind.