Deal of a Lifetime

by T. R. McClure

  “Why don’t you stay for supper, Alex?” Hope patted his arm. “Jean doesn’t always cook on Fridays.”

  Sera caught Alex’s uncertain look. “Sure, why not?” At least with Alex, she was assured of a friendly face at the supper table. And what harm did having him around do? As much as Aunt Hope might regret signing over the deed, Sera would make the final decision. Chance certainly didn’t care. And the guy was getting good at providing her with chocolate just when she needed it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HE FOLLOWED HER down the dark hall and into the front room. “You play piano?” Dinner had been homemade vegetable soup and bologna sandwiches.

  “No.” Sera ran a hand over the top of the instrument and stopped at a photograph, which she handed to him. The picture showed a smiling man with a thick head of dark hair at a piano surrounded by musicians. “My dad was in an Irish band that toured the country. County fairs, convention centers, you name it. California to Maine. Anyplace to make a buck. He could play anything. My brother takes after him.”

  He replaced the photograph on the lace doily. The frame next to it contained a wedding picture. “Your parents?”

  She nodded.

  He picked it up and studied the woman’s features. “You have your mom’s smile.”

  She leaned over his shoulder. “You think so?”

  Her hair tickled his cheek. Clearing his throat, he set the frame back in the right spot. “Definitely.”

  Resting her gaze on the two photographs, her smile was wistful. “They were an interesting couple. Dad was on the road a lot, and Mom was content to keep the home fires burning.” She tilted her head and she gave him a serious look. “At least I think she was. But they seemed to complement each other.”

  She led the way to the rolltop desk in the corner. Following her, Alex stopped at a framed photograph on the wall next to the fireplace. “This is interesting.”

  She looked up. “Apple orchard in bloom.” She joined him and studied the picture. “I took that picture around this time of year. I like how the light shines through the petals. There’s a pinkness about the shot. You see what I mean?” She pointed to a corner of the picture.

  “I do. You’re talented.”

  “I used to be.” She returned to the desk, where the stacks of paper had been since his last visit. She picked a manual off the floor and returned it to the bookcase, itself a disorganized mess of notebooks, novels and reference books.

  “How did your parents die, Sera?” If he hadn’t been studying her so intently, he would’ve missed the slight stiffening of her shoulders. With a final shove, the manual disappeared and she turned. “Plane crash.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t want to talk about her parents either, although for different reasons than his. He had a feeling she didn’t want to turn around until she was in control of her emotions. “That’s why you were in the bar. You were waiting for Al to tell you the plane to Detroit made it out.”

  She shrugged. “You never know.” Propping her hands on her knees, she bent over the pile of papers on the floor. “I should’ve cleaned this up long ago, but I just never seem to be able to catch up. Maintenance records, invoices for repairs, renewal notices. If you can make some sense of it, well, that would be appreciated. So, I guess we have a truce.”

  He leaned in close. “You’ve taken on quite a lot of responsibility.”

  Her chest rose as she took a deep breath and seemed to shrink back against the bookcase. “Somebody had to. My brother was only eleven at the time.” She pushed past him and headed for the hallway. “I have things to do. Don’t forget to call your cousin.”

  He stood in the den and watched her flee into the hallway and up the stairs, and wondered what would happen to Hope and Sera when Cy bought the farm.

  Wanting to call Carrie as well as his cousin, he walked up to the orchard to get a signal. When he reached the top, he stopped in amazement. In the two weeks he had been gone, the apple trees had blossomed into a riot of pink and white. It looked just like the photograph in the study. Though early evening, a few bees still buzzed around the petals. He found a rock at the edge of the orchard overlooking the stream far below.

  “My favorite cousin, where are you?” His cousin’s booming voice prompted him to put the phone on speaker and hold it away from his ear.

  “I’m in the orchard and can see your silos. You have an American flag flying from the big one. Very patriotic.”

  “Sera’s orchard? When did you get in? And I’m a patriot, by the way.”

  “Noon.” Alex swatted at a curious bee buzzing near his shirtsleeve.

  “You flew in? Did you rent a car? I would’ve come to get you.”

  “My luck at renting cars has run out.” He told his cousin about Scooby’s car. His cousin’s deep laugh prevented him from finishing his story.

  “Oh, man. Leave it to you. Why don’t you just buy a darn car? You’re making enough money working for that fancy law firm.”

  “I don’t need a car in the city. Flying saves time.”

  “Obviously not.”

  Through a ceiling of pink petals, Alex saw a hint of blue sky. Sera was right. The air did look pink.

  “So how did you run into Sera?”

  “I saw her truck at the coffee shop. I wanted to make sure she was okay with me going forward.”

  “You didn’t think I handled it?” His voice grew deeper.

  “You’ve been a bit remiss so far.”

  “We talked. She’s agreed to let you look through the deeds she has at the house. That will give you a head start on the title search. Make sure everything’s good to go.”

  “She’s wavering. She’s not sure she should sell.”

  “Don’t forget whose side you’re on, cousin.”

  “Who said anything about sides? Shouldn’t she do what’s best for her family?”

  When there was no response, Alex checked his phone to see if the call was dropped. The line was still open. “Cy?”

  “What about what’s best for your family, Alex?”

  Maybe he didn’t realize he was taking sides. He should remain impartial. “You’re right. Listen, why don’t you come pick me up?”

  “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  “See you soon.” Alex ended the call and stared across the creek. In the distance the long line of ridges stretching on either side of the wide valley were just beginning to turn green.

  He called Carrie, who was still in California. “How’d the interview go? Do we have a new colleague?”

  “Maybe. I’m going to stick around for the weekend and play tourist. Fly back Monday. Do you mind?”

  “Why should I mind?”

  “We should be more involved in each other’s cases.”

  “Why? In case I get hit by a truck?” Alex shook his head, puzzled at his colleague’s comment.

  “Either of us could get hit by a truck...or something.”

  “I’ll be sure to look both ways when I cross the street.”

  “We’ll talk about this when I get back. Take care, Alex.”

  He leaned back against the tree and wondered if Carrie thought he wanted to leave the firm, to return home. And even if he did, the formerly open door to his father’s office was firmly shut. Surely she wasn’t thinking of leaving? The sun warmed his skin and he shut his eyes, grateful for once to be out of the city, to have no one making demands on his time. The bees droned as they flitted among the pink petals. At least it wasn’t as quiet as the day he and Sera had sat here in the fog. His chin dropped to his chest. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but failed as sleep overcame him.

  “You want to buy our home?” The top of the old woman’s head barely comes up to his chin, but her grip is firm. She peers up with bright blue-green eyes. “Whe
re will we go?” She settles into a rocking chair and begins to knit, her needles going faster and faster, the clicking like angry bees.

  Alex looks up, recognizes the glass door. Why is the old woman sitting in front of his office building in the financial district? Suit-clad men and women hustle by, briefcases in hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “We have nowhere to go.” Bending over, she pulls an old-fashioned percolator from alongside the building and then a brown cup from a cloth bag. Yellow script spells out The Wildflower. “Cup of coffee?”

  “This is your last chance, son.”

  Alex whirls around. His parents sit in matching recliners on the other side of the big glass doors. “Dad? Mom? What are you doing here?”

  His father leans forward, a glint in his eye. “Remember, son. This is your last chance.”

  “Cup of coffee?” A hand gripped his shoulder and was giving it a shake. Alex woke.

  “Looks like you could use a cup of coffee, son.” He wasn’t a big man, but the smile in the round face was wide. His green cap matched his eyes.

  He sat up. The sun was just touching the tops of the ridgeline in the distance, turning the sky above into a ribbon of orange and pink. How long had he slept? And what did his father mean? This is your last chance, son. Last chance for what? And who was this guy with the green cap?

  “So how about that cup of coffee? I live just down over the hill.” The man lifted a walking stick and pointed toward the log cabin with the stone chimney.

  “No. No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” With a finger to his green cap and heading in the direction he had pointed, the man soon disappeared among the trees in the lower orchard, leaving Alex to wonder if he were still dreaming.

  Alex walked down the dirt road thinking about pink petals, the familiar green eyes and the man with the green cap who had offered him a cup of coffee. He spotted Cy kneeling in the gravel next to a faded red truck with a dent in the front fender. “Where’s your new truck?”

  Cy scratched Rocky behind the ear. The dog moaned in appreciation. “I don’t use the new truck when I’m working.”

  Alex glanced toward the kitchen door. “Have you seen Sera?”

  Cy shook his head. “Nobody around.”

  Alex was reluctant to leave without saying goodbye, but considering how she had run off, he suspected she wanted to be alone. “Let’s go, then.”

  Driving back to Clover Hill Farms with his cousin, Alex looked Cy up and down. “Don’t you think you should clean up a little before you come over to Sera’s? And you’re missing a button on your shirt.”

  “Why?” Cy brushed a hand over the ground-in dirt on the knees of his jeans. “I’m not asking her to marry me.”

  Alex grabbed a handgrip over the window as Cy bounced across a rut in the road. “Maybe you should. It would be a heck of a lot easier than going through that pile of papers in the den. I’m guessing her parents didn’t leave a will.”

  “Jack never got around to it. His band sent up their own attorneys from Nashville. I don’t know the whole story, but I heard Jack had borrowed on his share of the tour for some project he was doing.”

  “What was it?”

  “No clue. But, yeah, I’m not surprised the papers are a mess.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You really think I should marry her?”

  Wishing he hadn’t mentioned the thought, Alex clenched his jaw. “How should I know? But the girl sure has a mess on her hands.”

  Cy parked next to the back porch and led the way into the kitchen. Even before he mounted the porch steps Alex could smell the enticing scent of freshly baked pie.

  His aunt was just taking the pie out of the oven when they entered. “Did you have supper, Alex?”

  “Hi, Aunt Jean, I did.”

  Cy disappeared down the hall.

  Alex walked over and inspected the pie. Slits in the crisp brown sugary crust oozed purple. “What kind?”

  “Raspberry. We usually just have dessert Friday nights.”

  He caught her eye. “Have any ice cream?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” She pushed him toward the kitchen table. “Have a seat.”

  “Where’s Uncle Bob?” Alex sat at the gray Formica table he remembered from breakfasts shared with his cousin the few times he had stayed overnight. Some things never changed.

  “In the basement. I thought the smell of this pie would bring him upstairs, but I must have been wrong. I’m glad you’re here. Otherwise I’d never have any company. Cy is always working, and Bob is down in the basement fixing up that boat.” She withdrew three bowls from the cupboard and set them next to the pie, cooling on top of the stove.

  “Aunt Jean, I was up in Sera’s orchard and I ran into some little guy with a green cap.”

  She laughed as she bustled around the kitchen. “You met Shawn.”

  Just watching his aunt dart back and forth made Alex tired. “Who’s Shawn?”

  She finally stopped and leaned against the counter, a red dish towel in her hands. “Their hired man. I don’t think he does much of anything now. He’s getting up there in years.” She turned and glanced at the pie, as if debating whether she wanted to cut it or not.

  “So Sera does have help.”

  Her eyes still on the pie, she answered without looking at him. “I heard he was down with pneumonia this spring.”

  “He roused himself to plant her sweet corn. I was hoping to rent those fields.” Cy entered the room wiping his face and hands with a towel. “Where’s my pie?”

  Jean swatted him with the dish towel. “Just be patient. I’m letting it cool.” She waved her hand over the pie. “Shawn was a Vietnam vet wandering the country back in the sixties. He was from down South somewhere but apparently had no family left. Sera’s grandfather, the original Chance Callahan, took a liking to him and offered him a job. He’s been here ever since.” She touched her fingers to the pie. Apparently satisfied, she pulled a butter knife from the drawer and sliced the pie in two.

  Cy searched the freezer and pulled out a container of ice cream. “He’s not much help to Sera anymore. He should be retired, like Dad. The sooner Sera accepts that the better.”

  Jean handed Alex a bowl with a still-steaming piece of pie and a large helping of ice cream. He waited while Jean and Cy got their own and Cy returned the ice cream to the freezer. “You always did make the best pies, Aunt Jean.”

  “Thank you, Alex.” She settled into her chair with a satisfied smile. “At least you appreciate my efforts.”

  Behind his mother’s back, Cy mimed punching him. He sat and patted his mother’s hand. “I tell everyone you’re the best cook in the world, Mom.” He dug into his dessert with a happy grin.

  “Do you think Sera will sell?” Alex directed his question to his aunt. She knew the family better than anyone.

  “The Callahans can be a stubborn bunch. But she always liked Cy.”

  “Not that much.” Cy made a face.

  “You went to the prom together.”

  Cy sat back in his chair and shot Jean a look. “Thanks to you and her mother. We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Still, I thought maybe someday you and she would get together.” She slanted a glance at her son. “Give me some grandchildren to spoil.”

  Despite the mouthful of ice cream and pie, Cy managed to frown. “Don’t get your hopes up, Mom.”

  “She works so hard. You should do something nice for her.”

  “I gave her a truckload of firewood. Wasn’t that nice?”

  “Nice maybe, but not romantic. Sometimes I think she needs to be reminded of what she’s been missing stuck on that farm.”

  After listening to the discussion, Alex thought of the Statue of Liberty paperweight he had seen on her desk. “Y
ou should take her to New York.”

  “City?” Cyrus threw him a look of irritation. “She went to school right across the river. What makes you think she’d want to go back?”

  “Because it’s been ten years. That’s a wonderful idea, Alex. New York in springtime. Maybe there’s still hope for grandchildren.” Jean’s eyes lit with glee.

  “Take her to the city. Show her a good time. If you’re really thinking about—” he had a hard time saying the word “—marrying her, you need to change your approach.” He glanced at Cy’s faded jeans and plaid shirt with the missing button. “Big-time.”

  They were just finishing their pie and ice cream when the door to the basement opened with a bang. His flannel shirt covered with sawdust, Uncle Bob stood at the top of the cellar steps. He stared at their empty bowls with sad hound-dog eyes. “Where’s mine?” He looked puzzled at the laughter following his words.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CY’S INVITATION TOOK her by surprise. The closest they had ever come to a date was the senior prom. Since neither of them was dating anyone at the time, their mothers came up with the idea to send them together. So they did. Though they stayed out the entire evening, they were surrounded with friends. She hadn’t even kissed him good-night at the door.

  So when he offered her a June weekend in New York she was speechless. When she had protested, saying she couldn’t leave Aunt Hope alone, Jean Carter intervened and invited Hope over for the weekend.

  Cy suggested they both fly to the city in his little Cessna. She knew he was busy with spring planting and cows having calves so he was trying to save travel time. But the thought of being thousands of feet in the air with nothing between her and the ground but a sheet of aluminum paralyzed her with fear. She considered refusing the offer, but the temptation to see the city again was too great. She offered to take the bus, insisting Cy fly up and meet her.