by Mary Campisi
“Why would she do this?”
Max snuffed out the visual of Grace’s hands on his body. She’d called him a summer romance that lasted too long. Sure, whatever. She’d said it wasn’t love, had never been about love. Lust and desire, she’d called it. Right. Except, it had been about love for him. And now she was here, sipping scotch, looking as untouchable as she had the last time he saw her. So, what did he think he was going to do now? Fantasize about her? Take her to bed and show her how much she’d missed all these years? No. Hell, no. He’d better shut down the visuals, and he’d better do it now.
“Max?”
“I like the idea of you being here even less than you do. But Frances thought it was necessary.” He rubbed his jaw, sighed. “You see, she always thought we had unfinished business that affected our decisions and our lives.” Like my inability to trust a woman or let her see the real me.
“Why would she think that?” Those dark eyes threatened to burn him. “Did you tell her something that would give her that idea?”
He didn’t miss the way she licked her lips and clenched her glass, like she was worried he’d toppled her halo. “Relax, I didn’t get personal, but she wasn’t stupid. Frances saw a lot more than anybody thought.”
She had no response for that. “Do you have my list?”
He eyed her. “Nope, but I do have a letter for you.”
“Did you read it?”
There was no missing the accusation in those words. “Actually, no.”
She sat up ramrod straight, lips pinched, all business. “May I see it?”
He smiled. “You may.” Max eased out of the chair, made his way to the secretary desk, and pulled out a legal-size envelope. He stood over her, envelope in his hands. “Let’s just get this out so there’s no misunderstanding. You might be used to controlling situations, but you’re not in control here. Frances is, and we’re going to set aside our personal feelings and honor those wishes, no matter how much it hurts.” He tossed the envelope on the table beside her. “I’ll be back later. Make yourself at home.” Max turned and walked toward the back door, anxious to put several miles between him and his ex.
“You’re really going to stay here?”
He swung around, let the annoyance slip into his words. “Yeah, I really am. Why wouldn’t I? This is my house. I bought it five years ago.” If she hadn’t pissed him off so much, he’d have enjoyed the shock on her face. “So, it looks like you’re the guest. By the way, we’ve got a meeting with the lawyer tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock.”
“We?”
“We,” he repeated. “I’m the executor of Frances’s estate.”
* * *
Two seconds after Max pulled out of the driveway, Grace snatched her phone and punched out Jenny’s number.
Her sister answered on the first ring. “Grace! How’s Magdalena?”
“Did you know? Is that why you were tossing in those comments about him?”
“What are you talking about? Who’s him?”
“Max Ruhland, that’s who.”
“You saw him already?” Jenny’s voice hitched two decibels. “Wow, that was fast.”
“He showed up at the house, which, by the way, happens to be his house. Apparently, he bought it from Aunt Frances five years ago.”
“No kidding.”
“I wish I were kidding.” She didn’t miss the excitement in her sister’s voice or the curiosity that would lead to a barrage of questions. “Jenny, what am I going to do? This is a disaster.”
“You have to stay calm.” Pause. “I knew I should have bought you another lavender and chamomile lotion for the trip. How about deep breathing in a quiet room? That usually helps me.”
Grace closed her eyes, blocked out images of the only person who’d ever made her forget the rules she’d set for herself. “I’m going to need a lot more than deep breaths to get me through the next month. Do you know he’s the executor, too? And we have to work on the list together?”
“What’s the list say?”
“I don’t have it yet. I’m guessing the lawyer will give it to me tomorrow.” Grace glanced at the envelope on the coffee table. “Max gave me a letter from Aunt Frances, but I haven’t opened it yet.” Pause, followed by a sigh. “I think I need another drink first.”
“Another drink? Grace? This doesn’t sound like you.”
“I know.” Being around her ex made her reckless, do things she’d never normally do…
Jenny’s voice filled the line. “Listen. Open the letter and read it to me, then we’ll figure out what to do.”
All their lives, it had been Grace who guided Jenny, laid out the plan, took care of her little sister. Too often, she’d picked up the pieces from Jenny’s latest misadventure. But Grant’s death and betrayal had left Grace scarred. She no longer trusted men or relationships, and while Jenny’s psychologist husband had tried to help Grace accept her life as a work in progress, she remained uncertain and confused about her purpose. When she tried to look at the future, she froze.
At thirty-nine, this was not how her life was supposed to look: a widow, single parent, substitute teacher… She drained her scotch, set it on the table, and reached for the envelope. The last thing she needed right now was a reminder of the life she’d rejected from the man she’d never quite been able to forget.
* * *
Dear Grace:
By now, you know Max is the other part of this thirty-day equation. Please don’t judge my decision too harshly. I know it makes no sense right now, but in time, I believe it will. You and Max must settle things before you can move on—with or without each other. Your past choices always had the shadow of your relationship hanging over them. My hope is to give you both a chance to step out of that shadow and claim the life you were meant to live.
There’s a lot you don’t know about Max and a lot he doesn’t know about you. I could tell you he’s kind-hearted, compassionate, and loyal, just as I could tell him you’re honest, sincere, and genuine, but wouldn’t it be better to find that out on your own?
Life is short. Regrets cloud memory and judgment and fill us with fear.
But hope? Believing we deserve goodness?
That opens our souls, lets us breathe full out.
Gives us purpose.
You’ll receive a list of simple tasks from the lawyer that require you and Max to work together. Please don’t think of this as a punishment, but as an opportunity to learn more about each other and yourselves.
And yes, I sold the house to Max. He’s cared for it and for me these past many years. I was glad to provide him with a home and a safe haven when he needed it most.
Sleep well, my sweet Grace. May God smile upon you as you venture into a land of new possibilities.
Love,
Aunt Frances
* * *
“Wow,” Jenny said when Grace finished reading the letter. “She makes you seem like star-crossed lovers destined to reunite.”
“Jenny. Really?” But the way their aunt wrote the letter did make it seem like destiny was out to reunite them.
“I know, I know. I’ve been reading too many romance novels, but what’s the point of a book if it doesn’t have a happy ending? I mean, who wants to read about a couple who spends the whole book trying to get together and then one of them dies at the end? No, thank you. I’ll take my happily-ever-after.”
“You’ve gotten your own happily-ever-after,” Grace said, unable to keep the wistfulness from her voice.
“Yeah.” Pause. “Who would have thought, huh, Grace?”
Right, who would have thought Jenny would settle down with a man who liked order and routine, who had a child, and who didn’t mind his wife’s bohemian style or endless chatter? And who would have thought Grace would end up married to a womanizer who would still be cheating if he hadn’t died? Lisette, Heather… how many others had there been? Still, she had the girls, and they made whatever pain, humiliation, and betrayal she’d known worth it. �
��How are the girls?”
“Good. We’ve been practicing soccer in the backyard. Natalie’s really good.”
“We?”
“Okay, Elliot doesn’t want me dribbling the ball or getting near it.” She let out a long sigh. “I’m the designated scorekeeper, cheerleader, and photographer.”
“I miss them.”
“I know. They really are fine.” Pause. “It’s going to be okay, Grace. Don’t be afraid of whatever happens. Just try to relax and listen to your heart.”
3
Grace lay in bed, unable to sleep.
She’d had sleep issues since the accident that killed Grant and left her in a coma. Maybe it was fear that kept her awake, or the knowledge that she’d almost died, or that her husband had died…
Or maybe it was something else altogether, a deep sadness that filled her when the house was quiet and she had too much time to think.
She’d reread the letter from her aunt several times, even memorized a few lines. Had Max received the same letter? Did Aunt Frances mention shadows and settling things before they could move on in his?
Of course, Aunt Frances meant well, but this felt like an arranged marriage of sorts where the only person touting the merits of the relationship was the one who’d set them up. Tomorrow they’d meet with the lawyer, and he’d lay out more terms and conditions, Of course, Max probably knew the man, which gave him an advantage in the situation. Not that they were in competition, but she liked knowing what was expected, and she didn’t want to look like a fool.
Lord knew she’d spent enough time looking like a fool, thanks to her husband…
She was contemplating the many ways Grant had disrespected her when the garage door opened, followed by the low hum of Max’s car. Was that the Chevelle? She remembered the sound: deep, unique, bold. He’d vowed he’d never part with it, and maybe he hadn’t.
Grace waited for his footsteps on the stairs, but minutes later, the low chatter from the downstairs television reached her, told her he couldn’t sleep either. Maybe he had his own demons that kept him awake… That was the last thought she had as she drifted off to sleep.
The alarm on her phone woke her the next morning, and she blinked her eyes open, stared at the cream-colored room filled with floral pictures, eyelet curtains, and dark furniture. She tossed back the covers, sat up. Today, they’d listen to what the lawyer had to say, and then she and Max could talk about what this next month looked like. Grace showered, dressed, and figured out the coffee machine and the fancy toaster. No sign of Max other than the faint scent of his cologne and a note scrawled with the lawyer’s name, address, and time of the meeting.
Where was he? Not that she cared, but weren’t they supposed to be living in the house together? Aunt Frances’s letter sure made it sound like that, but maybe Max’s interpretation was different from hers. Or maybe he had other places to be…like with someone else? A girlfriend? Aunt Frances wouldn’t have been so obvious about wanting them to sort things out—possibly with each other—if he had someone else in his life.
Would she?
A queasiness filled her gut, shot bits of toast up her throat. She’d always hated the thought of couples cheating on one another, but when it happened to her, had she stood strong and booted Grant out? No, instead she’d believed her husband when he promised it was the worst mistake of his life, one that would never happen again. Until it did. If Max had a girlfriend, he’d better damn well not cheat on her. Grace sat at the kitchen table, sucked in deep breaths as a calm settled over her.
In a month, this would be over and she’d be back to her old life…
The offices of Ingram, Weller, and Scott were located on the edge of town in a storefront building with framed black-and-white photos of Magdalena that were older than Grace. Joseph Culliver Ingram, Esquire, sat behind a cherry desk and matching chair that dwarfed his small frame. Grace guessed he was in his mid-forties, but the shock of red hair and boyish face made it difficult to tell. “Welcome to Magdalena, Mrs. Clarke.”
“Thank you, and please, call me Grace.”
He nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Max. “Nice to see you again, Max.” His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “You are one talented man. The Challenger runs like a—”
“You’re welcome.” Max nodded, shifted in his chair. “Grace isn’t interested in shop talk, and I promised we’d get straight to Frances’s will.” He worked up a smile. “Seems she doesn’t like lawyers.”
She’d never said that. Why would he say such a thing? Grace opened her mouth to refute Max’s statement, when Joseph Ingram chuckled.
“Can’t say I blame you on that one, Grace. There are enough disreputable ones out there to make a person suspicious of us all.”
“But I—”
“She appreciates your concern.” Max slid her a look. “Her husband was a lawyer.”
“I see.” Long pause, followed by a cautious remark. “I hear you’re a widow. My condolences.”
“He died three years ago,” Max said.
“Max.” She didn’t try to hide her annoyance. “I’m not a mute. I can answer Mr. Ingram’s questions myself.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. I figured it was difficult to talk about and thought I’d give Joe the background story.”
Max was concerned for her feelings? Doubtful. “Thank you, but I can speak for myself.”
“Sure.” The brackets around his mouth deepened. “Have at it.”
Joseph Ingram cleared his throat and slid two envelopes from a folder with her aunt’s name on it toward them. “Frances was more than a client. She was a friend, and we’ll miss her.”
“She was one of a kind.” This from Max, whose voice turned soft, coated with sadness.
He really had cared about Aunt Frances and seemed to know her, obviously much better than Grace had. People said family was about more than blood, and they were right. Max Ruhland had been more of a family to her aunt than her blood relations.
How sad was that?
“Frances had very specific requests,” Mr. Ingram said. “Once you read the contents of the envelope, you’ll understand what’s required of you. Should you choose not to comply with the requests outlined in the letter, you’ll forfeit your portion of the inheritance. Once the thirty days pass and you’ve completed the requests, we’ll proceed with the disbursement of the inheritance according to state rules and regulations.” He sat back in his tufted leather chair and pointed to the envelopes in their hands. “Please, open them and read the contents. I’ll await questions.”
Grace and Max glanced at each other, then opened their envelopes. There were thirteen tasks listed on a single piece of paper. Typed, double-spaced, bold print. She scanned the list twice, frowned. Grocery shop weekly? Make each other breakfast? Go to the movies? Watch the sunset at Boone’s Peak? Why? She looked up from the paper, met Joseph Ingram’s curious stare. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Max tossed the letter on the desk, scowled. “‘Clean out the garage?’ Are you kidding? Nobody touches my garage but me.”
Grace blew out a disgusted sigh. “The only issue you have with that entire list is cleaning out the garage?” She glared at him. “What about grocery shopping and fixing meals together? Or seeing a movie? And don’t even think for a second I’m going to watch a sunset with you, anywhere, especially not Boone’s Peak!” Boone’s Peak was a well-known make-out place. They’d spent a lot of time up there, but it had been pitch-black and they hadn’t been looking at sunsets.
Of course, the blasted man would play innocent. “What’s wrong with Boone’s Peak? There’s a lot of great fishing up there and the trees are turning. I think that’s one of the ideas I actually like.”
She didn’t miss the way his lips twitched, like he wanted to break out into a full-blown smile, and probably a full-bellied laugh, too. He knew exactly what happened at Boone’s Peak and she’d bet fifty dollars he remembered exactly what they used to do there…at night…in the back seat
of his Chevelle. “I’m not interested in that one.”
“Well, I’m not thrilled with going to the movies, unless I can pick out the movie.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. Anything with emotion is off-limits, but fighting, guns, and car chases are your pick.”
He grinned, crossed his arms over his chest. “And women in shrink-wrapped outfits, don’t forget them.”
“Of course not. Every man’s dream.” She shook her head, pointed to number seven on the list. “Make pizzelles? How are we supposed to do that without a pizzelle machine?”
Max eyed her. “Kitchen cabinet above the microwave. Frances made them every Christmas and Easter.”
“Oh.”
Joseph Ingram cleared his throat. “I want to make sure you both understand the terms pertaining to your letters.” A faint pink splashed his cheeks. “The list is nonnegotiable and you must complete it together. Frances spent quite a bit of time choosing the items, so I only ask that you don’t rush to finish them. Take your time, consider why she made a particular choice and how it might benefit you.” His thin lips pulled into a hesitant smile. “This really is a wonderful exercise employed to help a person get to know himself and his partner.” The pink on his cheeks turned red. “I meant working partner, not…”
“Got it.” Max folded his paper, stuffed it in the back pocket of his pants. “Any other surprises or requests?”
Was he annoyed? The tone of his voice, coupled with the frown, said he was. Maybe he hadn’t expected Aunt Frances’s request to be so specific or to include working with Grace. Or maybe he didn’t like the mistaken reference that he and Grace were a couple.
