Better Than This: A Nine Minutes Spin-Off Novel

by Beth Flynn

  “Does he think it’s possible your father never acquired that coin and left the spot open hoping to find it one day and add it to his collection?”

  I scratched the side of my nose. “The appraiser said it was a possibility.” I paused and thought for a moment. “My father left his collection at the house when he moved away and married my mother. It’s possible he took the one coin with him to sell.” Since we had no way of ever finding out, I continued, “Regardless, I have two appraisals now, and because they’re so close I’m not going to bother getting a third.”

  I was satisfied that I was finally in a position to confront my sister, share half of what was rightfully hers, and move on with a life that didn’t include Frenita Anderson. Leaning over the counter, I hugged Darlene and told her I would text her when I got back to town. I was on my way to a three-day medical conference in New York. I’d daydreamed more than once about asking Jake to join me, but an overnight trip would come with complications. Most particularly, the sleeping arrangements. I may have been more than a little aroused by seeing his naked body in my bed, but that didn’t mean I was emotionally ready to jump into the sack with him.

  I wasn’t surprised that I found myself fantasizing about Jake on the three-hour drive to the airport in Greenville. But what I did find astonishing was that my musings weren’t about sex. I pictured myself walking hand in hand with him through Times Square, sharing a cappuccino while visiting the Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. Or laughing over a joke while we ate at a restaurant that only served macaroni and cheese concocted a hundred different ways. I discovered that I liked being around Jake, and wondered if he enjoyed my company as well.

  When I landed at LaGuardia, I got a text from him saying he knew it was short notice, but would I be interested in having dinner tonight at his place? I couldn’t contain my smile at the invitation and noted that I found a smidgen of satisfaction in being justifiably unavailable. I caught a cab and reflected on my way to the hotel how I’d hardly seen him since that Sunday morning. And when I had seen him, he’d seemed preoccupied. I was going to ask Darlene exactly how much of a scolding she’d given him the day they’d driven off together, but whenever I tried to bring it up, she shrewdly skirted around it.

  I texted back that I was out of town, but that I would’ve said yes. And seeing how I was in New York City for three days, I would have to decline politely. Those days flew by with a frenzy of conferences, catching up with old friends and making a few new ones. The last evening I found myself having dinner with six colleagues. Slowly, the dinner guests politely excused themselves until I found myself alone with Dr. Gil Saunders, a neurology professor at a prestigious New England university. He’d been one of the guest speakers at the conference, and I didn’t think it was a coincidence that he kept showing up in my small circle. My suspicions were confirmed when he reached for my hand and told me he’d like to pursue our friendship, offering to travel south as often as possible to see me. I gazed into his intelligent and hopeful eyes, and willed myself to say yes. After all, he was a smart, attractive widower with no children. We had a lot in common, but I couldn’t.

  He saw my hesitation and told me that if I changed my mind, I knew where to find him. When I got back to my hotel room, I wondered if my judgment had been clouded by thoughts of Jake. It’s not like we’d communicated all weekend. He wasn’t a texter. He still used an old flip phone, so I knew texting with his meaty fingers was difficult. Regardless of the reason, I couldn’t seem to drum up any enthusiasm for Gil Saunders and that was that.

  My flight landed in Greenville without incident. I took a deep, calming breath when I saw Fancy’s white BMW parked in one of the two allotted spots for my condominium. I had a key but didn’t want to barge in unannounced, so I knocked. I was surprised when Fancy opened the door, looking haggard. It was the first time I could ever remember seeing her without makeup since she discovered mascara when she was eleven. She had her long hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, the gray roots Jake had noticed weeks earlier screaming for attention. She was wearing a bathrobe that was two sizes too big and her bare toes boasted chipped pink polish.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, big sister?” came her sarcastic drawl. She stepped aside and I walked past her into the bare and expansive foyer that overlooked a huge formal living and dining room, my eyes widening as I went.

  I spun around and asked her incredulously, “Where is everything? Where’s all my furniture?”

  She closed the door and sauntered toward me. With a casual shrug, she offered, “Needed some cash.”

  I didn’t care about the furniture. There wasn’t anything in the house that I’d wanted anyway. Perhaps my offer was going to make this easier than I thought. “I’ve got something for you.” I reached into my pocket and took out an envelope. “This is for your fair half of Dad’s Civil War coin collection. Darlene has been holding on to it since Grandma died. I’ve had it appraised.” I gestured toward the envelope she held and continued, “Two independent appraisals are in there. I could’ve bought you out for the average, but I’m giving you half of the highest appraisal.” When she didn’t respond, I promptly added, “And I’m meeting with a realtor in thirty minutes. I’m putting the condo up for sale. You have until they sell it to find a new place to live.”

  She leaned back against a wall and did a slow clap. “I guess this is you being holier than thou? Tossing your sister a bone so you don’t have to feel guilty for kicking me out of my house?”

  “My house,” I interrupted. “It wasn’t my fault Richard didn’t leave a provision for you in his will. Not that he had anything left to leave. I’ve been more than generous by letting you live here, Fancy. And you should consider yourself lucky that I don’t deduct the cost of the things you’ve sold out of that check.” I pointed to the envelope she was still clutching.

  She rolled her eyes and tore into the envelope. I watched as her expression changed from one of disinterest to one of excitement. She hadn’t estimated the collection’s worth, and I could envision her licking her lips in anticipation of where she would spend the money. I didn’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t her next comment.

  With feigned concern, she let out a long sigh and asked, “You’re certain I can’t stay here?”

  “Yes, I’m certain,” I said with a smirk. “It’s time for us to part ways, Fancy. I don’t want any ties to you or Richard. This condo is a reminder of a past I’d like to forget. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  She stood up a little straighter and walked toward me as she returned the check to the envelope. “Of course I’ll be fine, Barbie. After you give me the rest of what is rightfully mine and mine alone.” She looked up at the ceiling, and with a tone dripping with mock sympathy, said, “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but it’s your fault. Believe me when I tell you, I never wanted to play this card, Barbie. But you’ve given me no choice.”

  I couldn’t even begin to fathom what she was talking about, but found myself getting lightheaded when Frenita Anderson dropped a bombshell I hadn’t seen coming. Never in a million years would I have believed it if she hadn’t sashayed off to another part of the house and returned with the offensive proof.

  I read the document, and with a shaky voice said, “This means nothing. So Dad married Mom when she was pregnant with me. So what?” I’d always been told my parents’ anniversary was in June. Their original marriage certificate had been lost in the blaze that took their lives. Apparently, Fancy had sent away for a copy that listed the actual date in September.

  “It’s true, Barbie, and we can prove it with DNA testing. You’re not an Anderson. Dad married Mom when she was pregnant with another man’s baby. That other man being your real father.” She reached out and gave a disgusted flip of my hair before adding, “The man whose anti-aging genes you so obviously inherited.”

  Shaking my head I spat back, “No. No way. There is no way that our hateful grandmother wouldn’t have thrown this in my
face for all those years.”

  “For someone so smart you really are dumb,” she countered. “Why do you think Granddaddy had the deed to the farm put in your name? Because he knew. And it was the only way he could keep our grandmother from telling you.” She cocked a hip and said with a droll laugh, “Think about it. You were blackmailing Juanita Anderson and didn’t even know it. If she’d so much as spouted off one word of this to you, you could’ve sold that farm right out from under her and she’d have had no place to go.” She looked at her fingertips that were in dire need of a manicure and added, “I wouldn’t have even known if she hadn’t started calling me before she died, ranting about how mad she was at Granddaddy for giving you the house.” She waved her unmanicured hand in the air before adding, “How he threatened to kick her out when he was still alive, and still lording it over her after his death by making sure you got the farm and all the property.”

  I’d always figured my grandfather deeded the farm to me before his death to ensure I’d always have a home, not because he was blackmailing my grandmother into keeping her mouth shut about my paternity. I was too shocked to remind her that I didn’t have to split the profit with her after the farm sold, but apparently she was thinking the same thing.

  “I could’ve probably taken you to court for the whole return on the farm after she died. You know, since you weren’t a rightful heir.” She blew out a breath and said, “But I wasn’t hard up for money then.” Her eyes turned menacing and she added, “Poor Barbie. I remember you proudly telling your stupid friends that our mother told you how Dad fell in love with her after a three-day whirlwind romance. Guess she left out the part that she was pregnant with another man’s illegitimate child.”

  If it were true, it would explain a lot. My parents’ need to distance themselves from my grandparents. Juanita Anderson’s disdain for my mother and more than instant hatred for me. Her favoritism toward Fancy, her grandchild by blood. My thoughts drifted to my sweet granddaddy, who, if what Fancy was telling me was true, wasn’t even my real grandfather. He knew, and he protected me before and after his death. First by forbidding Juanita Anderson to tell me, and later by transferring the farm into my name. A guarantee that his hateful wife wouldn’t risk having me sell the property right out from under her. She probably could’ve legally challenged it, but didn’t want to chance it not going in her favor. I could’ve rightfully evicted her and a then eleven-year-old Fancy from their home. Too bad the miserable old crone never knew me well enough to know that I would never have done that.

  “Like I said, I’ll be needing the other half of that stupid coin collection’s value.” She crossed her arms and smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You scraped together the first half so I’m sure you won’t have any trouble coming up with the rest.” She leaned back against the wall and tilted her head to the side, her evil grin revealing the empty space in her chest where a heart should have been.

  I sucked up my obvious discomfort and looked Fancy in the eyes. I wasn’t in the mood to be bullied. “If what you say is true, I’ll take it to my attorney to sort it out. In the meantime, I’ve decided to rescind my offer to pay you for even half of the coin collection. It was left in the house when Grandma died, and since the house was in my name, it belongs to me.” I had no idea if this was true, but it hit the target. Fancy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. A very bewildered deer. “And you sold my furniture.” I swept my hand over the room. “That’s stealing, and I’ll have to think about whether or not I’m going to press charges.” I snatched the envelope out of her hand.

  I walked to the door, and after opening it, I turned to her and said, “As far as letting you stay here until it sells, as of this moment, consider yourself officially evicted.” I strutted out of my condo without bothering to close the door behind me.

  Chapter 24

  Andersons Are Connected By Their Hearts

  I barely remembered my conversation with the realtor as I sped back to Pumpkin Rest. I’d signed the appropriate paperwork, permitted them to do whatever was needed if Fancy didn’t cooperate when they need to show the condo, and sought the refuge of my car in a trancelike state. I called Darlene from the road and breathed a sigh of relief when I found out she was home and not at work. I wanted her to be with me when I talked to the one person who could confirm what Fancy had told me. I wouldn’t need a DNA test, as I trusted this person wholeheartedly.

  I realized on the long drive home that I wasn’t as upset about Fancy’s revelation as I should’ve been. I didn’t care if I wasn’t an Anderson by blood. I bathed in the warm remembrance of my parents’ and grandfather’s love, and that was enough for me. And if there had been even a smidgen of guilt about removing Fancy from my life, I could honestly say it was gone. But still, something deep inside me needed to know the truth.

  I picked up Darlene and shared the details of my conversation with Fancy. I could tell she didn’t believe me when I told her I was okay and was afraid I might have a breakdown once I knew the truth. She gave me a doubtful and worried glance.

  “You’re sure you want to know?” she asked as she got out of my Jeep and slammed the door.

  “Absolutely,” I assured her. And I meant it.

  We found Darlene’s granny on the back porch snapping green beans. Granny “Dicey” Zachary was born and raised in Pumpkin Rest, and considering she’d be celebrating her one-hundredth birthday next year, it was probably safe to assume she’d spend the last of her days here as well. She’d raised seven sons, the youngest being Darlene’s father. Dicey still lived with her oldest child in the home where her husband had been born. Darlene’s bachelor uncle had never married. He was now of an age that they both needed help from the family, and Darlene’s plethora of cousins always pitched in to take care of their personal needs and their home.

  “Granny,” Darlene said, before parking herself on a sturdy crate across from her grandmother, “Barbie wants to ask you something. It’s very important to her. Something she heard from Frenita.”

  Dicey set her bowl of green beans on the table next to her rocker and reached for her pipe. After tamping down the tobacco and lighting it up, she took a long, slow draw before blowing the match out with an exhale.

  “Is that okay with you?” Darlene prodded.

  “If it’s what I think it is”—she looked up at me through wizened eyes—“she needs to be sure she’s prepared to hear the answer.” Her voice was husky. Exactly what you’d expect from someone who’d been smoking tobacco since she was ten years old. When I nodded, she pointed with her pipe to another crate. I took a seat next to Darlene and rested my elbows on my knees.

  “I’m not afraid of the truth,” I confessed.

  “Good,” she said before taking another puff. “I take it the apple didn’t fall far from the evil witch’s tree?” I smiled at her Snow White reference. “That little shrew of a sister told you, didn’t she? I had a feeling Juanita didn’t take that tidbit to the grave with her.”

  “So it’s true?” I confirmed. “My mother was pregnant with me by another man when she married my father.” Darlene reached for my hand and grabbed it tightly. “I’m not an Anderson, am I?”

  “Your granddaddy knew this day might come. I’ve always wondered why the good Lord kept me around longer than a person has a right to walk this earth. Now I know why. It was so I could be a voice for Fred Anderson. To tell you the truth, and more importantly,” she added with a cackle while aiming her pipe at me, “to make sure you know that you are more Anderson than your sister and wicked grandmother could ever hope to be.”

  I didn’t know what she meant but knew not to interrupt.

  “You’re right. Your mother had unmarried relations before she met and fell in love with your father. Your granddaddy, Fred, didn’t get many details about who your blood father might be, but I got the impression it wasn’t a good story. One that was best left alone.” She gazed out over her back yard and took another draw from her pipe before continuing. “But wh
o sired you didn’t matter to your daddy or granddaddy. They both loved you with their whole hearts and then some. But that evil Juanita wouldn’t have it. She not only resented your mother for keeping your father away from Pumpkin Rest, but she saw her sin, her secret, and it ate her alive. Eventually churning out hatred toward an innocent.”

  “Her sin? Her secret?” I heard Darlene’s voice asking the question that had been ready to explode from my lips.

  Dicey scoffed, and then proceeded to tell a story about the most beautiful woman in the county. Juanita had been a real stunner back in the day. Unfortunately, the only man she wanted didn’t want her. And when she found herself unmarried and pregnant with that man’s child, she did what any desperate woman would do back in those days.

  “She pulled a Scarlett O’Hara,” Dicey stated. “Just like in the movie with that handsome Rhett Butler, Juanita went after her sister’s intended. Fred Anderson was engaged to Juanita’s younger sister until she swooped in while her sister was away at nursing school. She turned on the charm and wooed your granddaddy like there was no tomorrow. Made him believe she was in love with him. Got him to marry her.” There was a dramatic pause, and I wondered if there was more to the story. Taking a deep breath, she looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fred Anderson never forgave himself for falling for her and breaking his intended’s heart. But, back in those days, you lay in the bed you made for yourself.”

  I was certain my jaw hit the floor. “Are you telling me my father wasn’t even an Anderson? That my grandmother was pregnant with him when Granddaddy married her?”

  Dicey bobbed her head with a solid, “Yes,” and followed it up with, “Juanita Anderson was nothing but a hypocrite!”

  “Did my grandfather know?”

  She gave me a knowing look. “Since the beginning of time, women have been covering up illicit pregnancies with accidental falls causing them to go into early labor. In Juanita’s case, she hid the pregnancy well, eventually telling everybody her water broke when she fell off a stool while retrieving a jar of pickled okra off the top pantry shelf. She proceeded to give birth to a healthy ten-pound baby boy almost two months before her due date.” She scoffed. “He was no preemie, and your granddaddy was no fool. She came clean with him and begged his forgiveness.”