“Who are you?” He didn’t like the turn their conversation was taking.
“A friend.”
Phil was beginning to wonder about that.
“You have Greg’s loan application on your desk, don’t you?”
How she knew that, he wouldn’t ask. He’d been reading it that very afternoon just before he’d left the office, but only one person in the entire loans department was aware of it. He narrowed his gaze and studied this woman, who seemed to know more about him than she should.
“You haven’t forgiven him for what he did to your mother, have you?”
“Damn straight I haven’t.”
“Then it might surprise you to learn that he hasn’t forgiven himself, either.”
“Pigs will fly before I believe he has one iota of remorse.”
Frieda Barney turned around and glared at Phil. Someone else indicated her displeasure with his talking by pressing her finger to her lips. From the opposite end of the riser he could feel his wife’s look burn right through him.
The music started again and Phil did his best to remain focused on it. The warmth he’d felt toward the beautiful willowy blonde had evaporated. By some corrupt means, his brother had finagled this…this spy into the church choir one week before Christmas. Greg always had been a good manipulator.
“You haven’t spoken to him in all these years.” A second voice came from beside him. This woman was slightly taller than the other. A second blonde? And one who sang? That didn’t make sense. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, thinking he was losing his mind.
“Who are you?” he demanded in an angry whisper.
“The more appropriate question would be who are you.”
“I know who I am.”
“Do you?” the second woman asked. “Do you really?”
“You’ve always thought of yourself as the good brother,” the first soprano chided.
“The churchgoer.”
“The choir member.”
“Yet all the while you’ve been plotting your brother’s downfall, relishing it. You can hardly wait to see him suffer.”
Female voices were coming at him from every direction. Not one voice, not even two, but three distinct voices. He thought he’d go mad if he heard another word. “Would you kindly shut up.”
The room abruptly went silent. Everyone turned to stare at him. “I’m sorry,” Phil mumbled. He could feel the heat rush into his face as he returned his attention to his music. He didn’t know what had come over him.
Evelyn, the choir director, looked at him sternly. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The director asked the altos to go over a particularly tricky piece of music while the others waited. They’d just sung the first line when the blondes started in on him again. “It’s the season of brotherly love,” the one beside him said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you know what that means.”
Phil ignored her, refusing to let his gaze waver from Evelyn. At last the choir director motioned for the other sections to join in. These spies of Greg’s could say and do what they wished, Phil thought, but he wasn’t going to listen.
“You hide behind a cloak of decency all the while plotting your brother’s downfall,” the first blonde sang, the words fitting the music perfectly.
Phil’s breath caught. He sincerely hoped no one else could hear these ridiculous lyrics.
“The good brother.”
“The churchgoer.”
“The choir member.”
These three lines were sung as solos. The words seemed to linger in the air long after they’d been sung. Phil was convinced everyone knew the taunts were meant for him. Angry and embarrassed, he was about to get down off the riser and escape when he noticed the blonde beside him had vanished. He looked toward the row of first sopranos and saw that the other one was gone, as well. He’d never even seen where the third one had stood. How they’d left he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Good riddance. His relief was almost palpable.
Sandy began to berate him the minute they were in the car. “Your behavior tonight was appalling,” she said angrily. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” The car engine roared to life and he drove out of the church parking lot, eager to put the entire episode behind him.
“Telling Evelyn to shut up was probably the rudest thing you’ve ever done.”
“I wasn’t talking to Evelyn.”
“If not Evelyn, then who?”
Phil exhaled sharply. “The blonde.”
Sandy was quiet for a long moment—unfortunately not long enough to suit Phil. “What blonde?”
“The one standing in front of me. Actually, there were two blondes. No, three, only I didn’t see the third, only heard her.”
Once more his wife grew quiet. “Phil, there wasn’t any blonde standing in front of you,” she finally said. “No blonde singing first soprano.”
“Yes, there was.” He didn’t know how Sandy could be so blind. Did she honestly think he’d make up something like this? “Greg sent them.”
“Greg? Your brother?”
“Who else would do anything so underhanded?”
Silence again. Sandy didn’t seem to believe him, which irritated Phil even more. Of course Greg was behind this. He’d put those women up to mocking him in front of his wife and all these other people—and then disappearing. This was exactly the type of stunt his brother would pull, but Phil wasn’t going to stand for it. Oh, no. If Greg was planning to make trouble for him, he’d be ready.
“What does Greg have to do with any of this?” Sandy asked.
“He’s paid them to spy on me.”
“Oh, Phil, that’s crazy.”
“They had to be spies to know the things they did. Only someone who’s been watching me would know I have Greg’s loan application on my desk. Furthermore these women seemed to know how much I’m looking forward to turning him down.” He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but it was too late now.
“You’re rejecting Greg’s loan application.” The accusation in his wife’s voice stung.
“He’s a bad credit risk.”
“Phil, this is your brother.”
“My selfish arrogant brother.” Apparently his wife needed to be reminded of that. “Even at the end of her life, Mom was making excuses for him. Don’t you start.”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you? Both your parents are long dead, and you still think they loved your brother more than you.”
“They did.” It was a fact he’d lived with his entire life.
“Greg has come to you looking for help. It couldn’t have been easy for him.”
“It’s not going to get any easier, either,” Phil snapped.
“You sound…happy about it.”
Phil entered the ramp leading to the freeway with a burst of speed, pushing the accelerator all the way to the floor.
Sandy waited until they were moving smoothly along with the traffic. “Greg’s your brother,” she said again. “And you have the power to help him.”
Phil tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “You’re beginning to sound just like those blondes, singing their solos, humiliating me in front of everyone.”
“The blondes sang?” Sandy sounded worried.
“You mean to say you didn’t hear them, either?”
“No,” Sandy said. “Should I have?”
“Yes…no.” Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”
“Saying what?”
“That you didn’t hear them.”
“I didn’t,” Sandy assured him. “But I still want to know what they said.”
He sighed. “According to them, I like to think of myself as the good son and I wear a cloak of decency while plotting against my brother. Something like that.” Phil checked the speedometer and realized he was speeding. As he slowed the car, he glanced at his wife, only to discove
r that she was staring intently at him. “Don’t tell me my own wife agrees with them!”
Sandy didn’t answer, but her silence said it all.
“Go ahead and be angry,” he said, and noted he was speeding again. He seemed in an all-fired hurry to get home and he wasn’t sure why. If anything, this argument was bound to escalate once they got there.
“I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for Greg to come to Pacific Union,” Sandy said not for the first time. “Especially when he knew that you’d be the one who’d ultimately accept or reject his loan application.”
Phil refused to dignify her comments with a response.
“Greg is coming to you for help.”
Despite himself, Phil snorted with laughter.
“Oh, Phil, how could you?”
“Easy.”
Right after Christmas he intended to call Greg into the bank. He’d leave him to wait and wonder during the holidays. When his brother arrived at the bank, Phil would have him escorted into his office. It would be the first time they’d been face-to-face since their mother’s funeral.
Then he was going to personally deliver the news.
Ten
C hristmas Eve Matthias stopped at the hospital following his grandson’s bone-marrow procedure. Gloria had spent the day with Tanner and called to tell Matthias that the transplant had gone well. Tanner was in an aseptic room Matthias couldn’t enter. Only Tanner’s mother was allowed to visit, and even then the boy was kept behind a protective plastic barrier. Despite that, Matthias couldn’t think of anyplace in the world he’d rather celebrate Christmas.
Because of the unknown bone-marrow donor, they actually had something to celebrate. The change in Gloria since the donor had been located was dramatic. The edge of fear was gone from her voice, and color had returned to her cheeks.
“Dad!” Gloria waved to attract his attention when he walked into the hospital lobby.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek.
“Dad, Tanner’s donor is still here. Everything went as expected, but when he stood up to leave, he blacked out and fell against the hospital bed. He’s got quite a gash on his head.”
The donor had asked to remain anonymous and had given up today—Christmas Eve—for Tanner’s sake. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Said he felt foolish for causing all this fuss. He’s in the emergency room, waiting for his wife to pick him up now.”
“I’d like to thank him personally,” Matthias said. “Do you think he’d mind?” This stranger, who’d responded to a newspaper article, had given his grandson a second chance at life. The only reward he’d received for his effort had been a cut on the head—and the grateful appreciation of Tanner’s family. The least Matthias could do was sit with him until his wife got there.
“Well, I’ll go and talk to him.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go up to Tanner again.”
“Good idea,” Matthias said. He followed the sign that pointed to the emergency room; it led him to a large waiting area. Groups of people were scattered about. A lone man sat in a shadowy corner, his forehead bandaged. That had to be him.
He walked over. “Hello, I’m Matthias Jamison, Tanner Westley’s grandfather, and I—” Matthias didn’t finish. He couldn’t finish. All he could do was gape at the man he’d hated for fifteen years.
“Matthias, is that you?”
“Greg?”
In shock, they stared at each other for the better part of a minute.
“You’re Tanner’s grandfather?” Greg finally asked.
Matthias nodded.
Apparently Greg hadn’t known of the connection between him and Tanner. The anger and hatred Matthias had lived with all these years flared back to life, racing through his blood like a shot of adrenaline. But to his surprise, it died a quick and sudden death.
Matthias claimed the chair across from Greg, astonished that he couldn’t think of a single word to say.
“That explains it,” Greg said, slowly shaking his head.
Matthias had no idea what he was talking about.
“Now I understand why I was a match for Tanner. It’s because you and I are second cousins.”
“You mean you really didn’t know? That Tanner’s my grandson?” Matthias had to ask.
Greg smiled wryly. “Not a clue. You’re telling me that was Gloria I talked to a few minutes ago? Your Gloria…and Mary’s?” As soon as he spoke, he seemed to regret bringing up Mary’s name. “She’s certainly changed from the little girl who used to race up and down the vineyard rows.”
“It’s been a long time.”
Greg nodded. He splayed his fingers through his hair and winced when he touched the bandaged gash. His hair was almost completely gray now, but it looked good on him. “She isn’t the only one who’s changed.”
“We’ve both changed,” Matthias murmured, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“About Mary,” Greg whispered. “I…I was wrong. I’ve thought of Mary, of you, so often…” He seemed unable to continue.
Emotion blocked Matthias’s throat. It’d been so long since he’d cried that when the tears filled his eyes, they burned and stung like acid. Embarrassed, he blinked hard and looked away. “She died fifteen years ago and I still miss her. Doesn’t seem right not having Mary.”
“Can you forgive me?” Greg’s voice was raw with pain.
“The Lord takes away, but He also gives. Mary’s gone, but because of you, young Tanner’s got a real chance at beating the same cancer that killed his grandmother.”
“Mr. Bennett.” Tanner’s doctor joined them. Judging by the way he was dressed, he was about to leave. Not that Matthias begrudged him that, seeing as it was Christmas Eve. Edward, like everyone else, wanted to be with his family. “I just heard about your accident and I came to tell you how sorry I am.”
Matthias, for one, was grateful for the distraction. It gave him a moment to compose himself.
“Not to worry,” Greg said, as if the stitches in his head were of little significance. “It’ll be healed in no time. Besides, I should’ve known better than to stand up without the nurse there.”
“I did warn you not to be in too much of a hurry.” The doctor smiled, then glanced at Matthias. “I see you two have met.”
“We’re old friends.”
“Cousins, actually,” Greg added, and because they needed an excuse to laugh they both did.
“I see…” the doctor said. “You have a ride coming for you?” he asked Greg next.
“Yes. My wife will be here any minute.”
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“I won’t,” Greg promised.
Dr. Thorpe nodded. “I probably won’t be seeing you again, Mr. Bennett, but I want you to know that I think you did a brave thing. A selfless thing. Thank you.” With that he held out his hand. Greg stood and clasped it firmly.
“Thank you,” he returned.
Greg slumped back into his chair, eyes on the retreating physician. “He’s a fine young man, isn’t he?”
Matthias heard a catch in his voice. “One of the best cancer specialists around.” Gloria had repeatedly told him of the wonderful caring physician who’d been so good to Tanner and to her.
Greg’s gaze lingered on Dr. Thorpe and his expression was oddly pained.
“You okay?” Matthias asked.
Greg’s nod was slow in coming. “I will be.”
Not understanding, Matthias frowned. “You want to tell me about it?”
“Perhaps someday,” Greg mumbled.
The tension was broken by the sound of carolers. “Joy to the World” drifted toward them, the music festive and lively, a dramatic contrast to their current mood.
“Is it close to Christmas?” Greg asked, seemingly unaware.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Matthias told him.
Greg’s eyes wide
ned with surprise. “I didn’t realize…”
The music made for a pleasant background as the two men continued to talk, mostly about Tanner and Gloria. Several minutes later Matthias brought up the subject of the vineyard. “I read about the fan leaf problems in your area.”
“It wiped me out,” Greg said.
That accounted for his cousin’s haggardness and his beleaguered look, Matthias thought.
“A lifetime of work destroyed in a single season,” Greg murmured.
“You’re replanting of course.”
Greg shook his head. “Takes capital, more capital than I can muster.”
“Get a loan. That’s what banks are for.”
“You think I haven’t tried?” Greg’s voice rose. “I’m not a poor risk, at least not on paper, but money’s tight. Tighter than I realized. Despite everything, I haven’t been able to convince a single bank to give me a loan.”
“I’ve been working with Columbia Wines up in Washington. The vines there are stronger, more resilient. Say the word and I can arrange for you to replant with those.”
Greg shook his head again. “Hell, I’m sixty. Too damn old to start over now. Lately I’ve been thinking of selling out completely and hiring on with one of the other wineries.”
That wasn’t the answer, as Matthias was well aware. “You never could tolerate working for others. You like being your own boss too much. Besides, you’re still young. I’m damn near seventy and I don’t think of myself as old.”
“Well, I can’t get the financing.”
“What about Phil? He works for a bank, doesn’t he? He should be able to help you.”
Greg shook his head. “He has as much reason to hate me as you do.”
The carolers drew closer, drowning out any chance of further conversation. Matthias could only imagine what had caused such a rift between the two brothers.
Memory told him that Phil had always resented Greg’s good looks, his social skills and sense of purpose. Whatever happened had been building for years. Matthias didn’t doubt that Greg had played a role—but Phil had already been holding a grudge. Looking for a reason to justify his resentment.
Then, without warning, Greg rose slowly to his feet, almost as if he was being drawn upward against his will.
A Gift to Last Page 15
