Bad Heiress Day

by Allie Pleiter

  Darcy nodded. This part, she could understand.

  “But your philanthropic goals, not to mention the current world situation, presents us with some unique opportunities. Stocks are incredibly low. We can buy assets that we know will return to their former value, but buy them at an incredible bargain because of the current market. Plus, we can shift assets around to new kinds of financial products, tweak formulas, stuff like that, to get an even greater yield. If we think creatively, we can increase that original income to—” Craig held up a new chart with the same sort of pride a new father would hold up baby pictures “—this. Or, if things really go our way—” he produced a third chart, looking as though he fully expected a drum roll “—this.”

  Jack had the look on his face he usually reserved for sports cars or two-inch steaks.

  “Now,” continued Craig, who was actually rubbing his hands together, “watch what those kinds of assets can do.” A new chart appeared. “Even assuming a fair to middling market with a very slow comeback, these assets can fund thirty-six Restoration Project recipients per year on an ongoing basis.”

  Darcy smiled. That was three women a month. Forever. Boy, if that wasn’t enough to make your head spin.

  “Plus,” continued Craig, “a nice part-time salary for its current and permanent president.”

  Darcy sucked in her breath. Just as a preparation for today, she and Jack had gone over the family budget, identifying how much new income they’d need to get back onto what Jack felt was solid footing.

  The salary in Craig’s chart was almost twice that.

  Exceeding my expectations again, Lord?

  Craig wasn’t done yet. “If you can divert half of this salary to education, Darcy, it means Mike can attend Simmons Math Academy beginning next year. And, assuming he garners a couple of math scholarships—which, I understand is a pretty safe bet—he can attend any number of colleges without you refinancing your home or selling the dog.”

  “We don’t have a dog,” Jack said, laughing.

  “Sorry.” Craig smirked. “It’s just an expression we use. Bad financial humor, I suppose.”

  Financial humor, mused Darcy. There’s two words I don’t put together often.

  “This section over here shows how we’d save for Paula’s education, which is slightly easier because we’ve got more of a head start. This is all doable, Jack and Darcy. You’ve got a solid future ahead of you.” The guy was beaming. “But I’ve got another little surprise for you.”

  Darcy could hardly imagine anything more surprising.

  Craig pulled another chart from a folder on his desk. “This section,” he said with a mile-wide smile, “outlines a small pool of funds I want you to consider.” Craig looked straight at Jack. “With the proper management, a subset of Paul’s money can provide sixteen dozen professional-grade basketballs annually to the community centers of your choice.”

  Jack looked as if he stopped breathing. Darcy felt as if her heart was going to explode right there on the spot.

  “Ed Bidwell made a few calls after he told me the extraordinary story of your most recent birthday party, Jack. Seems you have a few people ready to give you top-notch balls at a huge discount—that is, of course, if you’d like to make this more than a one-shot deal.”

  Darcy looked at Jack. His mouth was hanging open. His eyes were huge. He looked, quite truthfully, just like she felt. Stunned. Astounded. Thrilled.

  Of course. Who said this had to be all about her giving? Hadn’t she already seen—in the basketballs and even in the gold coins—how much they could do together? How each of them fit into the puzzle that made this crazy scheme possible? Suddenly the Jack Gives Away Basketballs Project seemed like the most natural, wonderful idea on earth. That glow—the same warm glow that filled her with the first thought of The Restoration Project—now filled the room.

  Craig Palmer was, without a shadow of a doubt, their guy.

  And God, well, it was becoming obvious that He was too.

  Sunday’s visit to Ohio Valley Community Church was delightful. At least for Darcy. She kept waiting for an assessment from Jack, who said nothing telling during the visit or the car ride home. “Well,” he said finally as he pulled the kitchen door shut behind him, “that wasn’t half bad.” The kids had already plunged past him, in a hurry to get upstairs and out of church clothes. “Your Pastor Doug seems like a normal guy.”

  Darcy set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “Could this have something to do with the fact that he likes basketball? Or that the Men’s Ministries has a pickup league?”

  Jack pulled a Coke from the fridge. “Well, that’s part of the ‘normal’ part. I always think of pastors as playing golf or fly-fishing or something. A pastor with a mean jump shot, well, that I can handle.”

  “Who told you Doug has a mean jump shot?”

  “Ed. Hey, you should have seen Doug’s eyes light up when Ed told him about my birthday. I think The Restoration Project’s gonna lose a committee member once we get my basketball thing up and running. He looked more excited than Craig did when he suggested it.”

  Darcy laughed. Evidently the tour Ed gave the guys had different stops than the tour Glynnis gave the women. She was glad. She couldn’t explain it, but the church seemed different than the one her dad had taken them to so often. Today, it didn’t even really feel like the same building her father’s funeral had been in. She loved her father, loved his faith even when it frustrated her, but could never get to a place of comfort inside Ohio Valley Community Church. Now, suddenly, it felt like the church had been waiting for her to come back. “It feels so different,” she said half to herself.

  “I know. I can’t figure it out—Paul took us there a dozen times, but it never felt as easy as it did today.” He took a long swallow of soda and leaned up against the fridge. “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Beats me. The church is the same, so the only thing I can figure is that we’ve changed. You know, our viewpoint and all.”

  Jack’s hand found hers and pulled her toward him. “I know I sure like the new and improved Darcy.” His voice grew soft as he stared at her. “I like what’s happened to you. On the outside for sure, but on the inside, too. You’re different than…than you were. I don’t know that I can really explain it. It’s just…there.”

  Darcy sighed. “We’re coming up for air, aren’t we?”

  “Hmm?”

  “When Dad was really sick, on some of those long nights when it felt like he’d go at any moment, I used to wonder what it would be like when life went back to normal. ‘Coming up for air,’ Meredith called it. Surfacing after all the crisis stuff. Coming up on the other side of all of it. I used to wonder what that would feel like.”

  “Is it what you expected?”

  “Sort of. Parts are completely different from how I thought they’d be. Other parts are—”

  “Quit it Paula! Get out of my room and stay out! Daaad, make her stay out of my room!” Mike boomed from above them. A door slammed.

  “Well, fine, Mr. Smarty-Pants, see if I care!” Paula returned fire, her own door slamming.

  “—are pretty much the same as always.” Darcy laughed. Jack hugged her to him.

  “I think we’re gonna come out of this okay, Dar.”

  She nestled her head under his chin. The warm afternoon sunshine poured on them from the kitchen window. Even the sound of Mike’s high-volume stereo couldn’t put a damper on the moment. “Me, too.”

  Jack blew out a breath. “Life is still far from perfect.”

  “I’m okay with it.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I think we can ride out whatever comes. I mean, look at all that’s happened. We were able to handle the awful parts, and so many good things ended up coming out of it. I’m beginning to understand, I think, how it was that Dad’s faith enabled him to take so much in stride.” Darcy waited. Normally, a remark like that would have brought a snide remark from Jack about Paul�
�s “never-ending God stuff.”

  Today, Jack ran his hand across Darcy’s shoulder. “Your dad was an amazing man.” Darcy looked up at him, grateful for the words. “Kooky,” Jack added, poking Darcy’s nose the same way he always teased Paula, “but amazing. Kind of like this wife of mine.”

  Darcy put on her best Zsa Zsa Gabor voice. “When you’re wealthy, dah-lings, it’s not kooky, it’s eccentric.”

  “Nope,” retorted Jack shaking his head. “I stand on kooky.”

  “I’m insulted.”

  “I staked my ‘kooky’ and I’m not backing down.”

  “Traitor!”

  “Tyrant!”

  “You…ugh!” Darcy yelped and picked up her foot as cold water seeped into her sock. She caught Jack’s eye. On cue, the fridge let out a death rattle and a very final-sounding thud. In perfect unison, they looked down together to see a large puddle of rusty water expanding out over the floor. No doubt about it this time, the refrigerator was a goner.

  “Handle anything that comes our way, huh?” Jack called over his shoulder as he spun several feet of paper toweling out of the holder.

  “Well…”

  “You better watch what you say next, Little Orphan Heiress.” Jack lay the towels down on the floor and pulled open the fridge door. He began handing food and containers to Darcy.

  “Why do you say that?” Darcy was accepting items with one hand, while the other hand was already picking up the phone to call the Owens to borrow all their picnic coolers.

  “Because evidently, hon,” said Jack’s voice from inside the dearly departed fridge, “God is listening.”

  Chapter 29

  The Snazziest New Customer

  Darcy leaned back in the pedicure chair, letting out a long sigh as she did. “What color did you pick?”

  Kate handed her a bottle of the reddest red Darcy could imagine. “It’s called Vivacious—I like the color, but it’s the name that sold me. Pass the cookies, Madam President.”

  “Ooo,” called Glynnis, reaching over Darcy’s lap to the bottle Kate held out, “let me see that one.” She held the polish bottle up, examining the shade. “Nope, too daring for me.”

  “What do you mean?” Darcy laughed. Darcy “You can’t get much brighter than the pink you chose.”

  “That’s different,” Kate and Glynnis replied at the same time. It made all three women laugh.

  “Well, this is quite a party!” Ernestine stood looking at the trio, her hands on her hips. “If you bring anyone else in here to hold court, I’m going to need to buy another pedicure chair. You ladies do know you’re going to have to take off those tiaras if we’re going to do your hair?”

  “It’s regrettable,” said Kate in her best royalty voice, “but we understand. Cookie?”

  Ernestine accepted a cookie from Glynnis’s outstretched hand. “Thank you. Now you all have ten minutes to get this silliness out of your systems before I start on Lady Kate. Then Darcy, and then finally our newest customer, Glynnis.” Ernestine let out a rich, deep chuckle and shook her braids. “It is going to look like a beauty pageant by the time I get through with each of you.” She snatched another cookie out of the bag and headed off into the other room.

  “This is such heaven,” sighed Kate, pulling one foot from the bubbles to examine its newly exfoliated beauty. “No wonder Frances Neyburg won’t stop talking to Meredith about getting her first pedicure at fifty-eight. I’m hooked, that’s for sure.”

  “Did I tell you, Glynnis,” started Darcy, “that Anne Morton had glowing reviews for her day? And you’ll especially like this—the woman doing her hair color has a father in about the same stage of Alzheimer’s as Anne’s father-in-law. They became friends instantly. They’re having lunch next week, Anne told Doug.”

  Glynnis adjusted her crown. “Don’t you just love it when—”

  “God exceeds your expectations,” chimed Kate and Darcy in perfect unison, which only brought forth more giggles.

  The trio was celebrating Darcy’s announcement that The Restoration Project was up and running full-blown. Somehow, there didn’t seem to be any other way to celebrate than booking a day of cookies, tiaras and the works at Ernestine’s. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Glynnis to come along.

  Glynnis reached out and squeezed Darcy’s hand. “I think your dad would be so very pleased at what you’ve done. You could light a whole room from the glow in your eyes.”

  “What I can hardly believe,” Kate added, her eyes wide, “is that what’s been set aside will fund thirty-six recipients a year forever. Three lives a month! It’s astounding. When I think of all that’s going to come from this—” Kate fell back in her chair “—I feel like Queen of the World.”

  “Me, too,” said Darcy.

  “There was no stopping this idea from the start,” Glynnis confirmed.

  Suddenly Darcy shot upright in her chair. “Oh! Glynnis—I completely forgot to tell you!”

  “Tell me what, hon?”

  “Michelle Porter has scheduled her day. And it was at her husband’s insistence. Could you imagine? Meredith called me last night to let me know.”

  Glynnis smiled as if she knew it all along. “I’m so glad you didn’t give up on Michelle, Darcy.”

  “Me, too. I think this is going to be such an important step for her. Meredith’s been trying to hook her up with this support group run out of the hospital—one for parents of terminally ill children. Meredith said she thinks Michelle may finally join.”

  “That’s fantastic news,” said Kate, passing the cookies around again.

  “It is, isn’t it?” said Glynnis. “It’s all wonderful news today.”

  “It’s a good day to be an heiress, don’t you think, Madam President?”

  “I guess so,” said Darcy, hoisting a cookie in a chocolate-mint toast. “I’m starting to think there aren’t really any bad heiress days.”

  With that, Darcy’s cell phone rang, and the number of Mike’s middle school came up on the screen.

  Darcy winced. Just goes to show how wrong a girl can be….

  STEEPLE HILL BOOKS

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5954-0

  BAD HEIRESS DAY

  Copyright © 2005 by Alyse Stanko Pleiter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books.

  ® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.SteepleHill.com