Adam's Daughter

by Kristy Daniels

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I can stay here tonight if you want.”

  Kellen shook her head. “You go on home. I know you want to get back. I think I’d rather be alone tonight anyway.”

  She rose and they walked to the foyer. Tyler put on his coat and opened the front door. He turned back to her. “I don’t feel right leaving you alone,” he said.

  “Go home,” she said, managing a smile. “I’m fine. Really. And Tyler, thanks for your help tonight.”

  He smiled and with a small wave, went down the drive to his car. Kellen stood at the door, watching his car until it disappeared down the hill then she went back inside, locking the door behind her.

  She went through the downstairs rooms, flicking off the lights, leaving only the towering Christmas tree in the living room lit. The quiet reverberated in her head. Her ears strained to pick up a sound, any sound, in the huge house but there was just the cold sweeping silence.

  As she stared at the tree, her thoughts went to Ben and Sara, asleep upstairs. Slowly, she stopped shivering, and after a few moments, the quiet grew less threatening. She smiled slightly, imagining the look on Ben’s face when he saw his new bike, and how Sara would react when she found out a pony waited in a stable for her.

  Kellen turned off the switch for the tree lights, and went across the foyer. At the bottom of the staircase, she paused, looking down at the frowning carved face in the balustrade, then at the next one, which was turned up in the beginning of a smile. She started up the stairs toward the light.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  It was late afternoon, and the lawn in front of the Palace of Fine Arts was still speckled with parents and children. Kellen brought up a hand to shade her eyes as she watched the tall man coming across the lawn toward her.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Stephen said, stopping before her.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve just been sitting here enjoying the day.”

  He sat down and they were both silent, watching Ben and Sara chasing ducks down by the pond. She had not seen Stephen since Josh’s retirement party three months ago. Kellen had been surprised when Stephen had called earlier and said he wanted to meet.

  She glanced over at him now as he sat there, hands clasped, his eyes on the children.

  “Kellen, I thought we should talk,” he said. “We probably should have sooner but it’s taken me this long to put aside my anger about Garrett. I still haven’t entirely. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us.”

  “Ben asked me yesterday when you were coming home.”

  Stephen let out a long breath. “I think it’s time to tell them that I’m not.”

  There it was. The words were spoken. It really was over.

  “I’m sorry, Stephen,” she said. “I wish it could have been different.”

  His eyes dropped to his hands. “Yeah, me, too,” he said.

  She wondered why she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She had been turning this over in her mind so much in the past few weeks, looking for the right words, for some way of explaining to Stephen, and to herself, why things went wrong. She had thought about saying that they were simply too different. Or that the newspaper had gotten in the way.

  But she came back most often to what Josh had said —- that they were like brother and sister. That spoke to the love she still felt for Stephen. But it also said much about what had always been missing.

  “It’s nothing you did, Stephen,” she said softly.

  He gave her a smile. “Maybe it’s something I didn’t do, then.”

  “You can’t think of it that way.”

  “That’s what Dad keeps telling me. We’ve been doing a lot of talking these past few days.” He paused. “I’m beginning to think I should listen to his advice. He’s pretty smart, for a lawyer.”

  “For a father,” Kellen said.

  Stephen was silent, looking around the park now. “I haven’t been down here in a long time,” he said. “We used to come down here together all the time, remember? Bring our books to study on the lawn.”

  She smiled. “Well, you studied.”

  His eyes traveled over her face. “You know, you haven’t changed. It’s strange, but I look at you right now and I see this girl -—”

  “She grew up,” Kellen said.

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her.”

  There was an awkward silence. The breeze blew Stephen’s hair across his forehead and he brushed it aside. He was watching Sara and Ben intently. “Would you mind if I had the kids for a couple of days? My mom and dad have invited me to go to Tahoe and they’d like Sara and Ben to come.”

  “No, of course not,” Kellen said.

  He looked over at her. “When we get back, I think we should tell them. Together, if that’s all right with you.”

  She nodded. She blinked rapidly and let out a breath. “How is everything at the office?” she asked, to change the subject.

  He shrugged. “No change, really. A couple more people quit. But it’s been quiet. Too quiet. Like everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  As intensely curious as she was about the newspaper, she knew Stephen probably couldn’t tell her much. Not even Clark had been able to tell her more than Stephen just had. Apparently, Garrett had been keeping a low profile.

  “I’ve quit the paper,” he said. “Today was my last day.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “I’ve got a couple of good offers,” he said. “One from the Washington Post that would put me in line for editor. Also got a call from a buddy at Knight-Ridder who wants me to be publisher of their paper in Charlotte.” He paused. “And believe it or not, Newsweek has approached me about running one of their European bureaus.”

  Kellen’s eyes dropped to the ground. It was one thing to accept the idea of divorce but she had thought that somehow Stephen would still always be there.

  “You’ll never guess who else called,” Stephen said. “Chandler at the Los Angeles Times is courting me for managing editor.” He smiled slightly. “A step down...bad for the old ego. To add insult to injury I’d have to move to L.A.”

  She still stared at the ground.

  “I’m going to take the L.A. job,” Stephen said, “so I can stay near the kids.”

  Kellen looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “You’ll be great in the job,” she said. “And I’m glad you’ll be near.”

  Ben spotted Stephen and came running over.

  “Daddy!” he cried. Kellen watched as Stephen hugged him tightly, closing his eyes.

  Sara came walking up, and as usual waited until Stephen beckoned. He clasped her to his chest.

  “How’d you two monsters like to go to the lake with Grandma and Grandpa and me?” he asked them.

  Ben whooped with delight but Sara glanced at Kellen. “What about Mommy?”

  Kellen gave her a quick smile. “I have a lot of things to do, baby. I can’t go.”

  Her eyes remained with Kellen. “Then I’ll stay home and keep you company.”

  Kellen pulled a few leaves out of Sara’s hair. “No, you go with Daddy. I’ll be fine.”

  Sara looked at her dubiously but she finally smiled. “I would like to see Grandma and Grandpa,” she said.

  Stephen nudged Ben off his knee and stood up. “I’ve got to go,” he said. He looked at Ben and Sara. “I’ll pick you two up bright and early Monday morning, okay?”

  He looked down at Kellen. “Take care,” he said softly.

  “You, too.”

  She watched Stephen walk across the lawn. When he was gone, she looked at Ben and Sara then hugged them tightly to her.

  “It’s getting late,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  Garrett was just leaving the office to catch a flight to New York when Adele buzzed to tell him he had a call. “It’s from London,” she said.
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  Garrett paused. He had not spoken with his father in months. “Tell my father I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “It’s not your father. It’s your mother.”

  Garrett glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten at night in London. And why would his mother even call him from the city? She never left Durdans. “Put it through,” he said.

  “Garrett? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Mother. What is it? Why are you calling so late?”

  “It’s your father. He’s had a stroke.”

  Garrett slowly shifted the phone to his other ear.

  “Garrett?

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “He was at the office.” Though the connection was good, Helen’s voice sounded thin and very far away. “I’m at the hospital with him now,” she said. “He asked for you. Can you come, Garrett?”

  “I’m on my way,” he said. She gave him the name of the hospital and he hung up.

  For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he grabbed his raincoat and left the office.

  He arrived at Kennedy Airport in the middle of a snowstorm. At the British Airways counter, the clerk told him the storm had delayed all flights. In the VIP lounge, Garrett ordered a scotch and stationed himself before the window. There was nothing to see, no planes moving, just a mad swirl of snow in the black sky.

  He picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal, but soon tossed it aside, unable to concentrate. He kept seeing Arthur just as he had left him three months ago, standing in the sun room, surrounded by a blur of red flowers. Garrett had been so enraged about the sale that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk to his father since that day.

  Arthur had sent Garrett a formal letter saying that he expected him to act on his behalf as owner of all the Bryant holdings. Since then, Arthur had conveyed everything to Garrett through intermediaries in the corporation. The arrangement had suited Garrett fine; he wanted no part of his father. He just wanted to live his life as best he could.

  The last three months had been hell. He had tried to contact Kellen many times, but she would have nothing to do with him. At the newspaper, he tried to persevere in the hostile atmosphere as resignations kept coming in. Recently, he had received a call from an editor of the London Sun inquiring about opportunities at the Times. The day after, Garrett received a letter from his father extolling the man’s virtues. Between the lines, Garrett could read the real message: Hire this man...Get things moving in San Francisco again.

  The letter infuriated Garrett. He almost felt as if he were defending the Times against an invader. I’m going to do this my way, he thought, whether he likes it or not. I’m not going to allow this paper to be systematically trashed.

  Garrett drained the scotch and set the glass aside. Why should he expect anything different from his father? It was just the way he was. I did it for you, son —- that’s what he said.

  But I’m not his son. And he’s not my father. I don’t have a father.

  A stroke...Helen hadn’t really said how bad it was. Garrett sat there, trying to picture Arthur in a hospital, but the image wouldn’t come. He could only see variations of the same Arthur he had always known —- barrel-chested, bellicose, larger-than-life, and somehow eternal.

  Arthur...Father. The only father he had ever known.

  Garrett stared at the white snow beating frantically against the black windows. A waiter came by and Garrett grabbed his arm. “The TWA flight to London,” he said. “Is there any word of when it’s leaving?”

  The man gave him the easy smile. “Not yet, sir,” he said. “But I’m sure it will be soon.”

  Garrett turned back to the window. “I must get there as soon as possible,” he said.

  When Garrett finally arrived in London, it was late afternoon, a dismally cold, rainy day. He went to the hospital and was directed to a private room in the intensive-care ward. The room was dim but his eyes went immediately to the motionless figure on the bed. He paused, staring at the tubes and machines. A small sound drew his eye to a darkened corner. It was Helen, sitting in a chair. Garrett’s eyes went quickly back to the bed and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Is he...?”

  Helen rose slowly and came over to the door. In the harsh light from the hallway, she looked ghastly, as if the last of her muted color had drained from her skin, her eyes and hair.

  Without thinking, he gathered her in an embrace, and for a moment she leaned heavily against him. When she pulled away, she wavered.

  “He had another stroke early this morning,” she said. “There’s been no response since. Nothing.” She looked up at Garrett. “He wanted to talk to you. He...”

  Garrett glanced at the bed then back at Helen. “Have you been here since yesterday?”

  She nodded wearily.

  “I’m here now,” he said softly. “Why don’t you at least go get a cup of tea?” When she started to protest, Garrett interrupted. “I’ll stay here with him,” he said.

  With a deep sigh, Helen nodded and left the room. Garrett stood motionless staring at Arthur then he made a slow half circle around the bed, keeping as far away as he could. Being in a hospital, with the smells, sounds and ugly machines had brought back all the bad memories of Susan’s and the twins’ deaths. He forced himself to approach the bed and look down at the man lying there.

  He was shocked by Arthur’s appearance. He had expected that he would be wasted looking, but he wasn’t. Arthur was pale and his eyes were closed but he looked as if he were simply asleep. Garrett stood over the bed, staring at Arthur.

  “Can you hear me?” he said.

  There was no response.

  “Can you hear me?” he repeated, more loudly.

  A nurse came in at that moment. “He can’t answer,” she said. “His brain is functionally dead.” She went to the monitor to check something then turned to Garrett with a frown.

  “No one’s supposed to be in here,” she said. “Who are you anyway?”

  “I’m his son,” Garrett said, staring at the figure in the bed.

  The nurse pursed her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, her tone softer. She left, closing the door behind her.

  The room was dark, except for one small bedside light, and quiet except for the gentle blip of the machines. Garrett drew a chair close to the bed and sat down. For several minutes, he just stared at the man in the bed.

  “I know you can hear me,” he said.

  Silence.

  “I hate you,” he said.

  Suddenly, Garrett’s eyes filled with tears. They poured down his face. He picked up Arthur’s hand.

  “I love you,” he said, gripping his father’s hand between his own.

  Garrett was standing at the mantel in the drawing room of Durdans. Helen sat in a chair nearby. Four days had passed since Arthur’s death and cremation. Helen had retreated immediately to Durdans but Garrett had stayed in London to assure that business went on as usual at the newspaper. He had returned only that morning and now they were waiting for Arthur’s lawyer, Charles Lassiter.

  Garrett looked at Helen. She was pale but composed. “I hope you don’t mind my asking Lassiter to come today,” he said. “But I have to get back to the States soon. And I thought you’d want me here to handle the will.”

  She smiled wanly. “I understand, Garrett. And I appreciate it.”

  The silence between them was strained. “It’s all happened so quickly,” Helen said quietly. She looked up at Garrett. “I’m most sorry that you didn’t have a chance to talk to him. He wanted to talk to you so badly.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Garrett said. He went to the window and pulled aside the drape to look out.

  “It mattered to —-” Helen began.

  “He’s here,” Garrett said, letting the drape fall. “Now we can get this over with.”

  He went out to the foyer to greet the lawyer and escort him in. Garrett introduced his mother and Lassiter took a seat, placing his briefcase on the floor beside him. Garrett r
eturned to his spot at the mantel.

  “I’m sorry we’ve never met before, Mrs. Richardson,” Lassiter said. “I was your husband’s solicitor for years but I guess I never had the chance to come out to the country.” He glanced around the room. “Lovely home you have here, by the way.”

  Helen nodded cordially. Garrett sensed her strength had been taxed and he wanted to hurry business along. “I don’t mean to be abrupt, Mr. Lassiter,” Garrett said. “But we’d really like to get on with the matter of my father’s will.”

  Lassiter gave a strange little shrug. “There is no will,” he said.

  Garrett looked at him in disbelief. “That can’t be,” he said. “My father would never have been so careless. He was very meticulous about his business affairs.”

  Lassiter nodded. “Yes, I know. I was constantly after Mr. Richardson about drawing up a will. He kept saying he’d get to it but he didn’t.” Lassiter shook his head. “To be honest, I think he didn’t do it because he sincerely believed he was going to live forever.”

  “So what does this mean legally?” Garrett asked. “That the estate will be tied up in courts for years?”

  Lassiter shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s quite simple, really. In these cases, the spouse inherits everything. I’ll have it worked out for you by week’s end.”

  Helen looked up first at Lassiter then at Garrett.

  The lawyer pulled a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase. “It’s all delineated here for you, Mrs. Richardson. All the property and corporation holdings in this country, France, Canada, and the United States.” He gave her a smile. “Your husband left you an exceedingly wealthy woman.”

  Tears formed in Helen’s eyes. Seeing her distress, Lassiter set the papers down on the table and closed his briefcase. “I’ll just leave this with you,” he said, rising. “I’ll be back in touch in a few days.”

  “I’ll show you out,” Garrett said.

  When he returned, Helen was still sitting in the chair, a vacant stare on her face. Garrett picked up the papers Lassiter had left and thumbed through them slowly. It was all there —- and more. The eight newspapers in Britain, the Toronto paper, the New York Tattler, the fifteen Bryant newspapers, and other holdings. An apartment in London, property in France, the bank accounts and insurance policies, the healthy portfolio of incredibly diverse investments —- and Durdans, of course. Arthur Richardson had left an estate worth more than £250,200,000. About $600 million, almost half of it the Bryant holdings, Garrett estimated.