“That was just bullshit talk, Kristine. When and if it’s my time, I’ll get one. You’ve done a wonderful thing for all those families. The scholarships will go a long way on a lot of families’ budgets. You know what else? I’m not writing this story, either. This is a private, family matter. When you do good things you don’t have to tell the world. All those families you’re helping know it, your family knows it, I know it, and that’s all that’s important.”
“You’re an okay guy, Jack. What are you going to work on next?”
“The Swiss banking industry. I got a few hot tips. And, the paper is sending me to Switzerland. How lucky can a guy get!”
Kristine laughed until her sides hurt. “Go for it, Jack, and if you get stuck, call me. I just might be able to help you or at least put you in touch with the right people.”
“Yeah, that’s right, Woodie’s a banker. I almost forgot about that. What’s next for you?”
“Well, Mike is coming home this weekend. I’m leaving for a while. I have a lot of things to discuss with my kids. That’s pretty much it.”
“Woodie?”
“Woodie is the stuff dreams are made of. Right now he’s helping his ex-wife. Her husband died yesterday. Woodie is ... you can always count on Woodie.”
“You sound sad, Kristine.”
“A little. I thought . . . never mind. See you around, Jackson. Don’t forget to send me a postcard.”
“I want to say good-bye to Pete and Cala.”
“Go to it. I’m going to pack. Don’t let those Swiss bankers intimidate you.”
“Never happen, Kristine. I won you over, didn’t I?”
“So you did, Jack, so you did.”
“Mom, you really need to tell us where you’re going. What if we need to get in touch with you? The house could burn down; the kids could get sick; Tyler might come home. You can’t just up and go away like this,” Cala said.
“Why not? I’m leaving things in good hands. You’re the best of the best. Emily, Ellie, make sure you take care of Gracie and Slick until I get back. I want your promise. I’ll call when I land somewhere. I really will.”
“Look after my family, Pete.” Kristine choked up as her son-in-law gave her a crushing bear hug.
“I’ll do my best, Kristine. Call, okay.”
“I will but probably not for a while.”
“What about Woodie, Mom?” Mike asked her as he gave her one last hug.
“I’ll stop and say good-bye.”
Tears rolled down Kristine’s cheeks as she drove away. She was doing the right thing. Probably the first right thing she’d done in a long time. It was going to be so hard to say good-bye to Woodie. She crossed her fingers that he wouldn’t be home. Then she uncrossed them because she wanted to see him one last time.
She heard the music the moment she stopped the car in front of Woodie’s house. It seemed to be coming from the back deck. Maybe Woodie was sunning himself. She picked her way carefully through the fallen pinecones and then she burst into laughter. Woodie was standing on the deck with a flute in his hands, the garden hose looped over the railing. Water cascaded down the sides. “I’m not really playing this thing. That music you hear is from one of those massage tapes. This is may version of a waterfall. We can run through it together. I’m packed and ready to go, or we can stay here and do other things.”
Kristine stepped up to the waterfall. “It’s no fun doing it by yourself. Get down here, Woodie, and tell me what you mean by other things. Be explicit.”
Woodie leaped over the railing.
“That wasn’t bad for an old duffer.” Kristine laughed.
“Wait till you see what this old duffer can do under a waterfall.”
“Show me.”
“Are you going to marry me or not, Kristine? I’m not showing you anything until you agree.”
“Let’s go get the license right now.”
“We’re soaking went.”
“I don’t care. Do you care?”
“Not me. I’ll drive. You’re too damn slow.”
“I love you, Aaron Dunwoodie.”
“And I love you, Kristine Summers.”
“Are we going to live happily ever after?”
“Damn right. Now get in the car.”
“Bring the flute. We’re going to need some music.”
“Just shut up, Kristine, and get in the damn car.”
Logan listened to the evening news, his thoughts on Maureen Clovis and the few minutes he’d spent with her earlier in the afternoon. Her husband had died three days ago. She’d looked so drawn and haggard he wasn’t sure he knew the woman wailing and carrying on like a truly bereaved widow. His skin crawled when he thought about the rich old man she was grieving for and his emaciated body. What the hell was there to grieve over? He was dead, and that was the end of that. She’d have him cremated, lug his ashes around for a few years, then dump them somewhere and get on with the business of spending her husband’s money. She’d travel around the world, have her little affairs, and think about him once in a while. Was Maureen trying to convince him she had really loved her husband? Like he cared. At least she hadn’t asked him to help with the final details. She hadn’t said a word about the two hundred million dollars, and neither had he. Maybe this would be a good time to split. Maureen would play the bereaved widow for at least another week. He could be on another continent in one day, setting up shop.
Logan looked down at his Rolex watch. He didn’t have to go back to the farm. He’d outstayed his welcome there. He already had Maureen’s money, so what was the point in hanging around? Where to go was the big question. Hong Kong with its millions of people, Singapore, Bora Bora?
Logan turned off the television, opened the small safe, and took out a stack of passports. Who should he be today? A wealthy industrialist, a Wall Street tycoon, head of a global law office? Maybe he should just be Joe Schmuck with a winning lottery ticket. He flipped open the different passports, looking for the one with the most flattering picture of himself. The wealthy industrialist won out. He could get lost in Hong Kong the minute he arrived. He called the airport to make his reservation, charging it to an American Express card in the name of Caleb Quasar. “Of course I want first-class,” he barked. He copied down the confirmation number and agreed to pick up his ticket in an hour.
Because he was a greedy man, Logan unzipped his laptop for one last look at his accounts. I might as well transfer Kristine’s monies now. There was such security in high numbers. He tapped in Summers Farm and waited. He typed in the old password, DOGS, and waited. ACCESS DENIED. What the hell? He typed in the password a second time. Access was still being denied. Kristine wasn’t smart enough to transfer the code. He must have made a mistake. Maybe dogs wasn’t plural. He typed the word dog. He typed every word, every combination of words he could think of. Access to the account was still denied. Think like Kristine. What would she use? Something with the kids or the grandchildren. Something about the dogs. Again he had no luck.
Logan blinked in horror when he used the mouse to scroll down the page. He frowned when he saw the word, MESSAGE. Maybe Kristine wasn’t as dumb as he thought she was.
Dear Logan,
Sorry, you bastard, but these funds are committed, to something more important than your luxurious lifestyle. Remember that book you made us all live by? This message will serve as my final chapter. At this moment in time, you are just someone we used to know.
The message was signed, Kristine Summers soon-to-be Dunwoodie.
Logan cursed, using words he hadn’t used since leaving West Point. When he ran out of those words, he made up more as he went along. He’d never felt such fury. He looked down at his watch. He needed to get to the airport or he’d miss his flight to New York. His hands trembled as he snapped the lid of the laptop before he returned it to the canvas bag.
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
Two hours later, Logan settled himself in the first-class section of the plane on the fir
st leg of his journey to Hong Kong. He waited until they were airborne and the elderly gentleman sitting next to him was asleep before he pulled out his laptop. He waited a moment to accept the scotch on the rocks the stewardess handed him before he turned on the laptop and plugged in to the phone jack on the seat back. So he lost Kristine’s fortune. He was resilient. Two hundred million dollars would take him anywhere and allow him to do whatever he wanted with the rest of his life.
He typed in his password, NatGeo, and waited for the numbers to race across the small screen. Two numbers sat alone on the screen with a $ sign in front of them: $69. This was impossible. He turned off the laptop, waited ten minutes, and turned it on again. He typed in his password. The same two numbers stared up at him.
Logan gulped at the scotch in the glass, draining it.
Danela.
“You miserable, stinking, lousy bitch!” he cursed under his breath.
Logan thought he could bear Danela’s tinkling laugh as the giant silver bird raced through the sky. Or was it Maureen’s laughter he thought he was hearing. Then maybe it was Kristine’s.
Logan held up his glass for a refill. He smiled at the stewardess. This was all just a bad dream, and he was going to wake up on the couch in the Hyatt any minute now. He’d had dreams like this before. Usually when he was under stress. In the meantime he would hit on the pretty stewardess in his dream and make plans for the layover in a few hours.
It was a hell of a scary dream, though.
Dillon in his arms, Mike could only stare at his sister, her words burning into his brain.
“Easy, big brother,” Tyler said, taking Dillon from his arms.
“It’s true. Mom told me. You guys were in town. She said she was going to say it once and never mention it again.”
“Let me make sure I understand this. Our father was scamming us. Again. He’s not really dying at all. He weaseled his way in here Christmas Eve with that story so he could . . . what?”
“My guess would be to get his hands on the rest of Mom’s money. The money she committed to her project with Jack. And maybe take back that eight million he returned to Mom, our money. Our father’s a dick. We’ve always known that. I don’t think any of us believed his story for a minute. I know I didn’t. Hell, I’m not sure Mom really believed it, either.”
“Every time I think of him touching Dillon I want to knock him through a wall,” Mike said vehemently.
“I wanted to believe him,” Cala whimpered. “Now we have to live with this!”
“Hey, he’s gone. We’re well rid of him. He’ll never show his face around here again. With Mom giving up all that money, there’s no reason for him ever to see any of us again. Christ, I hate his fucking guts,” Mike snarled.
“No more than I do,” Tyler snarled in return. “If any of you ever tell me again that I look like him, I’ll lay you out cold.”
Cala reached for Dillon. “I always had this dream of being Daddy’s little girl. That’s never going to happen.”
“Look at the plus side, Cala,,” Mike said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Your little girls will be their daddy’s little girls. You’ll get to see and experience that. That’s really a plus in my book.”
“There’s always winners and losers in everything, and we’re the winners. You can take that to the bank. Dad is the loser, and he doesn’t even know it or care. I say we drink a Virgin Mary toast to the prick and lay him to rest once and for all. Where’s that bottle of Tabasco? Ah, here it is. Think about your toast very carefully now,” Tyler said.
Mike clapped his brother on his back as he poured the “spiked” tomato juice liquid into exquisite goblets. “To Dad, may he grow bald and get as fat as Fatty Arbuckle.”
“To Dad, may his life be plagued with impotence and watered-down booze,” Tyler said.
“To Dad, may all his dreams come true,” Cala said.
Epilogue
“What do you think, Mrs. Dunwoodie?” Woodie asked.
“I think, Mr. Dunwoodie, that in our lifetime, we will never see anything as wonderful as this celebration. We finally did it, all our little celebrations rolled into one. God, I’m tired. Celebrating is hard work, Woodie. There are hundreds of people in my backyard. All my kids are here, my grandchildren are here, and Jack is playing host. The animals are here. More important, you and I are here. We’re married, we’re happy, and life is wonderful.”
“I can see Mima Posy from here, sporting her new shades, with her dog in a knapsack,” Woodie said. “All those people around her are the nieces and nephews of her three uncles and aunt. I’ve never seen happier smiles. Lela Mae arrived in her son’s eighteen-wheeler with her dog in tow. Everyone is getting along. It’s almost as if all these people you helped have known each other all their lives.”
“The best part is that Jack delayed his trip to Switzerland to host this celebration. The second-best part is Logan isn’t here to foul things up and the third-best thing is this isn’t a public show. We’re the only ones who know about it.” Kristine waved her hand toward the tents, where people were milling about. “They wanted it this way.”
“Your kids are doing a great job circulating among our guests. I saw Emily take off her shoe a while ago. She wanted everyone to see the X on her bare foot that Pete made for her with a magic marker. She said she wanted to belong. Look, she’s on Jonah’s shoulders, and he’s showing off his new rig. Leave it to the kids. I think we should partake of some of that food, Mrs. Dunwoodie. I still can’t believe you, Cala, and Carol cooked it all.”
“I can believe it. It took us three days. We cheated on the biscuits and the coleslaw. We got it from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Do you think anyone will know?”
“Nah. My blisters have blisters from shucking all that corn. We need to circulate a little.”
“If I fall asleep on my feet, Woodie, pinch me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired and this happy at the same time. We did good, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did. I’m so proud of you, Kristine, I could just bust. Your kids feel the same way.”
Embarrassed, Kristine slathered butter on an ear of corn. She was biting into it when she heard her name called from one of the band members.
“Speech!”
“Oh, Woodie, I can’t do that! I can’t get up in front of all those people. What in the world will I say?”
“Say whatever is in your heart. I’ll hold your corn.”
“C’mon, Grandma, shake it!” Emily called.
Kristine laughed as she made her way to the makeshift bandstand. She had to clear her throat twice before she could speak.
“I want to thank you all for coming. I ... I’m not much of a speech person. I just want to say that this is the proudest day of my life. I know that there are some people missing who should be here. We tried our best to find them. We’re not going to give up. We have a wonderful network now. With your help, I’m sure we can find those that are missing today. Any lead, any possibility, just call us. We’ll do the rest. Uh ... Thank you. Now, let’s celebrate!”
“That was good, Grandma,” Emily said. “They listened to you. When you talk soft, people listen so they don’t miss any of the words.”
“Is that right?” Kristine laughed.
“That’s right, Grandma. That’s my new friend Billie over there. He knows how to fish. Petey has four rabbits. Is it okay if I take them down to the barn and show them my seventy-seven dogs?”
“You bet it is.”
“Mrs. Summers, I’d like to thank you for so many things,” Mima Posy said, coming up to stand next to Kristine. “That’s a fine-looking man standing next to you.”
“The very finest. How’s your eyesight, Mrs. Posy?”
“Couldn’t be better. I’m going to teach your daughter to knit before I leave.”
Kristine laughed. “I hope you have better luck than I did. Where’s Honey?”
Mima reached behind her and yanked at her shoulder bag. “Right here. She’s snoozing. Betw
een my husband and me, this dog’s feet hardly ever touch the ground. I need to be thanking you for that, too, Mrs. Summers.”
Kristine wanted to tell her her name was now Dunwoodie, but she didn’t. In the scheme of things, it hardly mattered. “I’ll be saying my good-byes now. All these people want to shake your hand, and I’m taking up their space. I’d be real honored if you’d come to visit sometime.”
“I’ll do that, Mrs. Posy. Good luck with the knitting lesson.”
He was as big as a tree and had the gentlest smile Kristine had ever seen. Standing next to him was Lela Mae, with Missy in her arms. The little dog woofed happily. Kristine tweaked his ears and laughed. “I bet you feed her table food, don’t you?”
Lela Mae pursed her lips. “Only Sunday dinner,” she said, unlocking her lips. “Jonah wants to thank you. He’s bashful.”
“Mama, I’m not bashful. Most times I don’t have anything to say. Right now, though, I do. Men name ships when they go out to sea. I go all over the country and truck drivers name their rigs, too. Mine’s called The Big Kristine. Eighteen wheels means the truck is big. I brought a bottle of wine so you could christen it. Will you do it?”
Kristine blinked. A truck named after her. It doesn’t get any better than this, she thought. “I’d be honored, Jonah. Lead the way.”
“Wait a minute, we need a drumroll,” Woodie said.
The guests grew quiet as the band leader ordered the drumroll. Kristine marched up to the sleek, silver eighteen-wheeler, the wine bottle clenched firmly in both hands. She stared at the words, The Big Kristine, and swung the bottle. She bowed low to the applause.
“Here’s your corn,” Woodie said, holding out a paper plate.
“I’m too tired to eat, Woodie.”
“Let’s sit down under that tree over there and watch the celebration,” Woodie said.
“That’s a great idea.”
Five minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Dunwoodie were sound asleep. They were still sleeping when the blues band packed up to leave. They continued to sleep as the guests trotted by, one by one on their way to their cars.
Celebration Page 40
