Deal of a Lifetime

by T. R. McClure

  Cy tilted his head and wrinkled his brow. “How do you know?”

  “I pay attention to detail.”

  “So this is a catch-more-flies-with-honey-than-vinegar kind of approach.” Cy chuckled.

  “Assuming you want flies.” Alex glimpsed an airport sign pointing to the right. “Hey, you missed the airport exit.”

  With his gaze locked on the road ahead, Cyrus didn’t answer.

  Alex waited, at first thinking Cyrus had a shortcut. But when he saw the sign announcing the outskirts of Shadow Falls, he knew. “No. Cyrus, you’re not.” He leaned forward and peered out the window at familiar streets. “I don’t have time to stop at the house.”

  Cyrus threw him a glance. “You do and we are. Your mom had dinner planned for last night and, well, you know what happened there, so I promised her we’d come by for lunch.”

  “I’ll miss my flight.” Alex gripped the door handle, as if by so doing he could stop the truck from driving up to his parents’ home.

  “I called Al and asked him to switch you to a later flight. And since today’s flight isn’t direct, I thought you might even want to wait until morning to go back.” Cyrus slowed as he pulled in between two brick pillars. “Gives you more time to spend with your parents.”

  Nestled among a stand of pines, the ranch house sat back on a long expanse of manicured lawn. Moving to Shadow Falls and building the new house after Alex had left for college, Alex’s father had purchased two lots, allowing plenty of green space around the brown brick home. Cyrus parked in front of the two-car garage and turned off the engine.

  Neither man made a move to get out of the truck. “This isn’t a good idea.” Alex stared up at the basketball hoop over the garage door, marveling how the object of many hours of play was still in place.

  “It’s been years since you turned down your dad’s offer for the job with him and took the one in New York. He’s over it by now. Isn’t he?”

  Alex snorted and shook his head. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. There’s no pleasing the man.”

  “I can’t speak for your dad, but I know your mom misses you. My mom told me. They talk a lot.”

  Alex nodded. His mother and Cy’s had always been close. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He walked around the truck. Dark green rhododendron bushes crowded the long front porch. The buds were about to burst with what Alex knew would be pink blossoms. The shrubs were bigger than he remembered, as were the pine trees. But then, he hadn’t been back for a while. He marched up the front steps and knocked on the door. When he heard no movement from inside the house, he knocked again. By this time, Cyrus stood behind him. “Why don’t you go in? This is your home.”

  Alex reached for the door handle just as the large oak door swung open. His father stood in the opening, his thick hair whiter than Alex recalled. But the tall man stood as straight as ever, his shoulders thrown back as if he were at attention.

  Max Kimmel looked his son up and down. “So, the prodigal’s returned. Hope you’re not here to throw me and your mother out of our home.” Leaving the door open, he turned and walked away, throwing his final retort over his shoulder. “Because I’d wish you luck with that.”

  * * *

  “SOMETHING SMELLS GOOD.” Entering the kitchen, Aunt Hope turned back at the door and waved. “Bernie and Babs Valentine brought me home today.” She set her black purse on the bench by the door and untied the scarf around her hair. “They live just up the road, you know.”

  Sera pulled a pan of corn bread out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. Stirring the chili on the stove, she smiled at her great-aunt. “So I heard. Their daughter Wendy gave us a ride home the other night. She’s beautiful. And so accomplished. She’s traveling the country doing interviews for an Atlanta station. How cool is that?”

  “She’s no more beautiful than you, dear.” Aunt Hope squeezed her arm as she passed by on her way to the refrigerator. “And you could’ve done that, too, if things had been different.”

  Though ten years had passed, her stomach still dropped whenever she thought of her missed opportunities. “Are you ready for lunch?”

  “I’m starving.” Hope set the butter dish in the middle of the table, then pulled silverware from the drawer. She paused. “Is Alex still here?”

  Sera shook her head. “Cyrus picked him up this morning.” Heat rose to her cheeks as she thought of the deception by the cousins, but she saw no need to worry Aunt Hope. “Cyrus got a new truck. It’s bright green.”

  Hope clucked and shook her head. “That boy always did like the finer things. Being a farmer, you’d think he’d remember to put away for the lean times. You just never know.”

  Lean times, indeed. After setting their chili on the table, Sera cut two squares of corn bread and brought them over, as well. Glancing at her great-aunt, she decided the time had come. She took her seat and waited until her great-aunt had spread butter over the corn bread. “You know, Cyrus is doing pretty well since he took over his dad’s farm.”

  “I’m sure he is. After all, he went to college for that. But sometimes the best way to learn is through the school of hard knocks. Cyrus has always had things easy. His father handed the farm to him free and clear. Lucky for him, his sister wanted nothing to do with farming.”

  “He wants to be the biggest dairy farm on the East Coast.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Spooning chili into her mouth, Hope threw her a look. “Did you use our tomatoes in this recipe?”

  “Of course.” If they had produce to can, they had less to buy at the store.

  Hope dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “I thought so. Wouldn’t be as good otherwise.”

  “Anyway, about Cyrus...he said he needs more land.” New Year’s Day, Cyrus had cornered her in the hallway and brought the subject up. She had yet to give him an answer. But with summer just around the corner, she knew he was anxious for a decision. That’s why she had waited this long to tell Aunt Hope what she was planning.

  “He’s already renting our fields. Can’t he rent from someone else?”

  “He wants to buy our farm.”

  At her words, Hope straightened. Sera couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, she finished the chili and carried the bowl to the sink.

  “And you said no.” Hope’s tone was sharp, same as when she had cared for her and Chance as young children and they needed discipline. Sera had often thought Hope could have been a teacher, the tone carried such weight.

  Sera turned on the hot water and reached under the sink for the dish soap. “I told him I’d get back to him.”

  The chair scraped as Aunt Hope pushed back her chair. “Last Chance Farm isn’t for sale, Serafina. Why, in a few more years, we’re eligible for Century Farm designation. I was born and raised in this house. You know our story, our history.”

  Sera didn’t answer. She rinsed the bowl and the spoon and then dried her hands on the towel. Finally she had no other alternative than to face her great-aunt. Turning, she leaned back against the sink. She shook the wrinkles from the towel and folded it in a neat square. “We’re out of money, Aunt Hope. I don’t have much choice.” She didn’t have to mention that Aunt Hope had no say in the decision. When her parents had died, her father’s share of the farm had been willed to his children as the surviving relatives. Although her brother’s name was on the deed, Chance had left home as soon as he graduated high school. She suspected he rarely thought of Last Chance Farm.

  “I signed off the deed because I figured it would save fuss when I finally passed. I didn’t sign off so you could sell my home out from under me. Does Chance know about this?”

  “He does.”

  If it were possible, the elderly woman actually seemed to shrink before her eyes. Her great-aunt’s gaze dropped to the floor, and one wrinkled hand covered
her mouth. The hand with the tiny emerald ring. Without a word, she left the room.

  Sera walked over to pick up her bowl, still half full. The corn bread, her great-aunt’s favorite, had one bite taken out of it. Hope had apparently lost her appetite after Sera’s announcement. She covered the bowl with a lid and put it into the refrigerator. Hopefully her great-aunt would finish her lunch later, once she had time to get used to the idea of her home being sold out from under her.

  * * *

  “LET’S GO FIND your mom.” Cyrus pushed past Alex and entered the hallway of the spacious home. Alex waited a minute and then shut the door. Lunchtime. Mrs. Kimmel would most likely be found in the kitchen.

  Wishing he were already in the city, Alex hung up his coat and picked up Cyrus’s from where he had left it on the chair. His father was a stickler for order. The entry had been repainted. Instead of the original off-white, his mother had chosen a pale green, which offset the antiques. The old, mirrored hall tree sat to one side. An entry table held a lamp and a mirror.

  He wandered down the hall. His kindergarten picture and high school graduation pictures still hung next to his parents’ wedding photo. His memory flashed back to the hallway in the brick house where he had spent the last two nights.

  “Alex.” Beverly Kimmel threw her arms around her son. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve grown. You’re bigger than I remember.”

  “Jeez, thanks, Mom. Are you saying I’m fat?” Alex smiled down into his mother’s face.

  She held his face in her hands. “Hardly. You’re skinny as a rail. I just can’t believe my son is a grown man. When I think of you—” her eyes glistened for just a minute “—I think of my little boy running around pretending he’s a superhero.”

  “Yeah, well, my superhero days are over.”

  She laughed and patted his face. “Cyrus, would you go find your uncle? Tell him lunch is ready.” She turned to Alex. “I planned a roast beef dinner for last night, but Cyrus tells me the bridge was flooded.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. The rain kind of messed up my plans.” He didn’t say how his weekend plans had gone awry. “Cyrus needed some advice on real estate.”

  She set the table and filled the stemmed water glasses with iced tea. The glasses had images of flower bouquets on them, which made Alex think of Sera. She would like his mother’s glasses.

  He sat at the oak table. Last night’s roast had been sliced and served cold. She set a small bowl of mayonnaise next to his plate. Leave it to his mother to remember his preferences.

  “I’m planning on buying some property nearby so I can increase my herd.” Cyrus followed Max Kimmel into the kitchen. Max sat at the end of the oak table, and Cyrus sat across from Alex. “Alex is going to give me an idea of the property’s value.” Giving his cousin a wink, Cyrus smiled.

  Alex caught Max’s unsmiling gaze. “Hello, Dad.”

  Max drank, then set the glass at the point of his butter knife. Only then did he give his son an unsmiling look. “Hello, Alexander. Cyrus didn’t give you any choice, did he?”

  Alex flushed at his father’s astute comment. But then, the man had always been able to see behind people’s words. That’s what made him such a good attorney and why the townspeople loved him. “Nice to see you, too, Dad.”

  His mother handed him a knife and a plate with a homemade loaf of bread. He cut two slices and passed it on. “I bought this bread from Sue Hunter. She goes by Sue Campbell now, since she and Brad divorced. She closed The Cookie Jar and just takes orders now. I think a candy store took over her spot. And I hear they put their house up for sale. Too bad. But I have to admit, Suzanna’s a lot happier than she used to be. She used to be such a grouch.”

  “Slow down, Mom.” He patted his mother’s hand. She was rambling. She did that when she got nervous. Alex searched his brain for a memory of The Cookie Jar and Sue Hunter, but the shop must have opened and closed since the last time he had been home. Although the name Hunter did ring a bell. “The homemade bread smells good.”

  “She makes cookies, too. I’ll send some with you. You and your dad always liked whoopie pies. I’ll bet you don’t get good homemade cookies in New York.” She handed him a plate of cheese slices and then a jar of pickles.

  Alex didn’t bother to tell his mother some of the best bakers worked in the city, although he had to admit, there were differences. Whoopie pies in Manhattan were rare.

  Alex spread mayonnaise on the bread, added a few slices of cold roast beef and some provolone cheese. The last time he ate a roast beef sandwich was at this very table the weekend after law school graduation. And just before he told his father he had accepted a job in the city. He and his father had barely spoken since. Looking at the distinguished white-haired gentleman to his left, he decided to make an effort. “So how’s work, Dad?”

  Adding provolone to his own sandwich, his father shrugged. “Just the usual small-town things. Nothing exciting.” He took a big bite.

  Then Alex remembered where he had heard the name Hunter. The young couple who had picked him and Sera up. “I ran into a Josh Hunter Friday night. He said you helped him out.”

  His father shrugged again. “You know I can’t discuss my cases—” his gaze slid to meet Alex’s and just as quickly skittered away “—with strangers outside the office.”

  “Of course.” Alex leaned back in his chair with a sigh. So now he was a stranger. Great. He looked around the kitchen. The refrigerator and stove had been replaced with stainless steel models since he had last been home. His perusal stopped at the entrance to the hall, and he thought of the old house, where penciled lines had marked his growth to manhood. The little house down east had pencil lines in the doorway, too.

  His mom smiled brightly. “I’ve been meaning to ask your mother to meet me for tea, Cy. Have you been to Tea for You?”

  In the process of making his sandwich, Cy shook his head. “I’m more of a coffee drinker. I usually stop at The Wildflower when I’m in town.”

  “What’s The Wildflower?” Alex pictured the cup he had used for coffee while staying at the Callahans’.

  “Holly McAndrews’s coffee shop. She sells used books, too.” Though he had drunk only half his tea, his mother refilled his glass.

  “Sera goes to The Wildflower.”

  His mother set down the pitcher and looked at him. “Sera who?”

  Alex wished he had kept quiet. The words had just blurted out. “Callahan.”

  “Callahan? How do you know her?” His mother’s face had the same look she had when he was a kid and she thought he was keeping something from her.

  “He spent the night with her.” Eyes dancing, Cy took a big bite of his sandwich and grinned at Alex with bulging cheeks.

  His mother’s eyebrows disappeared underneath her bangs.

  “It’s not like that, Mom.” He gave Cy a look but before he could explain, his father finally spoke.

  “That poor girl. Such a tragedy.” Max brushed some crumbs from the tablecloth into his hand and then onto his plate.

  Cy reached for another slice of bread and proceeded to make another sandwich. “She’s a hard worker, that’s for sure. Not that she’ll be able to keep it up for long. There’s just too much work for one person.”

  “You’re making another sandwich?” Alex gave a pointed look to the roast beef hanging from Cy’s fingers.

  Cy paused, then dropped the meat onto the plate. “Your mother’s roast beef is the best. I’m just showing my appreciation.”

  “We should—”

  “You still doing eminent domain cases?”

  For a minute Alex didn’t realize his father had directed the question to him. He drew his gaze from Cy’s plate and met his father’s piercing eyes. He had always thought he would not want to come up against his father in court. The man could be relen
tless. “Eminent domain doesn’t happen that much in my line of work.” Except for the house down east. The one with the pencil lines.

  He felt his mother’s hand on his arm. His gaze pivoted to his mother’s soft eyes with the laugh wrinkles at the corners. “Can you stay overnight, Alex? Who knows when you’ll be back?”

  He squirmed, uncertain how to explain he had no desire to remain in the tense atmosphere. “I—”

  “Two weeks, I hope.” Cy threw the last bite of the second sandwich in his mouth.

  This time his gaze rested on the man sitting across from him. “Two weeks? I’m not coming back in two weeks. I did what you asked.”

  “Not entirely.”

  “I wouldn’t count on Alex if I were you, Cyrus.” Elbows on the table, Max studied the contents of the sandwich inches from his face.

  About to take his last bite, Alex threw the crusts onto his plate. “Dad—”

  “Pie, anyone?” Beverly stood, smoothing her jeans. “I have coconut cream. Your favorite, Alex. I’ll make coffee.” She rushed to the counter and threw open the cupboard doors. Quickly finding the coffee, she shut the doors with a bang.

  “Thanks, Mom, but we should go.” Alex glanced at his cousin, who was busy running a finger over the painted flowers on his iced tea goblet.

  “We can’t pass up pie, Alex.” Cyrus glanced at his watch. “We have lots of time.”

  Max cleared his throat. “You ever see that old couple you threw out of their home?”

  Alex’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t throw them out of their home. They accepted the company’s offer.” His father’s interpretation of the event that had ultimately and surprisingly appeared on national news made his sandwich taste like cardboard.

  “After you threatened them with eminent domain.” He cleared his throat, always a precursor to his final argument. “Do you know what happened to them?”