The Heir

by Paul Robertson

  Instead, I jumped up and smiled and gave her a hug. Then I sat her down at her desk and I pulled up a chair and we talked for an hour. It was partly business, and a lot about old times.

  It was a strange feeling, remembering my youth with someone who’d watched me go through it, and enjoying the conversation.

  But then she had papers I’d asked for from George Elias and my corporate accountants, which easily filled my remaining afternoon hours. I was trying to get some handle on what would happen without Melvin’s framework.

  I called home at four, and Rosita told me Katie was out at the new house.

  I surprised her there. The place was being transformed. Furniture was arriving, the grounds were trimmed—it was all feeling snug and homey and palatial.

  Katie was in jeans and a sweatshirt and I was still in my suit.

  “Do I have any other clothes here?” I asked.

  “No. Everything’s still at the old house.”

  “Are there any stores around here?”

  I thought my wife might swoon. I called Rosita and told her to put dinner in the freezer, and Katie and I went shopping. Dressing Eric might have been fun, but he was no substitute for her own husband. The first place we found was a farm supply store, and I soon had a new identity in good, honest work clothes. My pants even had an actual hammer loop.

  Autumn was running rampant through the trees. We took a slow back road and explored our new district. There were still farms and open spaces and countryside.

  “I hope it stays this way,” Katie said.

  “I’ll just buy it all. Then we can keep it the way we want.”

  The roads were lined with stone fences and paved with yellow leaves, and stands sold apple cider and Indian corn and fall flowers. Everything was gold except the sky, and Katie had her head on my shoulder.

  We got back to the house and I ordered pizza, just plain peasant food, and when it came thirty minutes later, I tipped the kid a hundred dollars. Katie was giggling like a high-school girl at the fun and adventure of it. We ate our first meal there sitting on the flagstones in the dining room, imagining our lives in that new place, the rulers of the world. That was my third opinion.

  I went back out Wednesday to see the progress again. She was spending a huge amount, but no one could do it with better style.

  On Thursday I was talking to some division president or other on the phone when Pamela tapped on my door.

  “Mrs. Boyer’s on the other line.”

  That was not what she called Katie, so it took me a second to realize who she meant. I threw the man overboard and switched lines.

  “Hello? Angela?”

  “Jason?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Jason,” the forlorn voice whimpered. “I won’t be on that board.”

  “The foundation? Oh, Angela. Are you sure?”

  “I won’t.”

  “All right, Angela. Is something wrong?”

  Something was wrong. Even Angela was not this erratic.

  “I just won’t.”

  “That’s fine. Has something happened?”

  “Good-bye, Jason.”

  It was fine. Completely fine. I slammed the phone down, but only after she’d already hung up. It would spare Nathan a lot of headaches to not have this person to deal with. I called him.

  “Yes, Jason? This is Nathan Kern.”

  “Nathan, have you talked with Angela?”

  “Well . . . yes . . . just last night. Did she call you?”

  “This moment. She said she would not be on the board.”

  Long pause. “What else did she say?”

  “That was all.”

  Long pause again. “She didn’t say why?”

  “No. Did she tell you last night?”

  “Well, I talked with her quite a while about the foundation. But she actually seemed quite excited about it. She was very interested.”

  “In being on the board?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “That’s what she said?”

  There was a long pause. “She still hadn’t committed, but after the conversation I was certain she would.”

  “So she changed her mind,” I said.

  “She gave no reason at all?”

  “No. I asked.”

  He sighed. “Very well. I will be out of town a few days, over the weekend, at a conference in Washington. I’ll call her when I get back. How strange.”

  Exactly.

  Not for the first time, Angela had ensured that Katie and I had something to talk about at dinner.

  “She didn’t say anything about why?” Katie asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “It’s okay, really. I don’t want a lunatic on the board.”

  “I think she just panicked. She felt she was being pushed too hard. She’s really very fragile.”

  I shrugged. “I give up. From now on, I won’t go near her. I obviously cause her great pain.”

  “Give her some time.”

  “No problem. She can have years if she wants.”

  I was tired. At that moment, I’d run out of energy for dealing with people. It had been a long three weeks.

  Katie found me in my office later.

  “I’m having lunch with her tomorrow.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “I think I’m sailing for the weekend.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah. A little recreation.” No Fred, no Nathan, no Angela. Even no Katie, just for a weekend.

  “You’ve been working very hard. Isn’t it going to rain?”

  “That’s okay. I need gloom. It’s good thinking weather.”

  “Don’t think too hard.”

  “Not too hard.”

  “What will you be thinking about?”

  “Meaning of life, purpose of existence, what color carpet for the hall upstairs.”

  She smiled, a little tightly. “I don’t trust you with any of those.”

  “Then you can take care of the carpet.”

  “I don’t think you should worry about the others, either.”

  “I probably will.”

  “Jason.” That was what she didn’t want to happen. “Everything is going very well. Don’t try to make it seem wrong.”

  I nodded. “I’m trying to make it seem right.”

  16

  Friday afternoon, the boat rocking on the waves, and I was alone.

  What am I doing here? I ask that question a lot. So was I really serious about answering it?

  There was a little haze, and the land twenty miles away was lost in it and the horizon edge of the water was dulled instead of sharp. The sky stretched above it all, blue and endless.

  For the first time, at least since college, I had work to do and responsibility. Maybe that would be enough? Do the right thing, get up every morning, go to the office, bring home the paycheck. Works for a lot of people, even if their paycheck doesn’t have so many digits.

  Doesn’t work for me. I put up some sail. I wanted to feel motion.

  What was the wind in Fred’s sails? Power, pure power; he was addicted. I could try addiction. I had the opportunity, and it wouldn’t take long to get completely devoured. A quick and painless way to go. If I was really considering it, I must already be halfway gone. But I wasn’t ready to give in yet.

  Okay, put it on the shelf, but keep it handy. The wind was slowing, and my forward motion with it.

  Self preservation. That one was good for dealing with the governor, but it was pretty limited. Ultimately it was just a method of living, not a reason. It felt good, though, and it was a good name for a lot of what I was doing, a better name than anger or revenge or whatever, even if those were more accurate.

  My brother, the noted philosopher, suggested just maximizing pleasure. That only works if your pleasures are simple. Basically, it was the same as addiction.

  I enjoyed Katie. Coming home to the wife, and someday children, was the big thing fo
r most of those stiffs clogging the freeways at rush hour. It wasn’t a good reason to sell my soul to Melvin’s framework.

  What was Katie’s purpose in life? Recently, it had been to spend money, which was very addicting. Somehow, all the reasons were sounding the same.

  Was there even a right reason? Did there have to be? Maybe it was my own personal problem that I was never satisfied. But I never was, and that was the only conclusion I could come to in the whole long afternoon.

  The wind was gone, but I left the sail up. Something was missing from it all and I was stuck trying to figure it out. So . . . just forget it all. That would be the answer.

  It was dark and I was lost at sea. There were no lights. I shook my head to wake up; I’d never before fallen asleep out from land alone like this. I flipped on the cabin lights, and they didn’t. Nothing. The batteries were dead?

  The GPS, the radio, nothing. No power.

  At least the flashlight worked. I checked the electrical panel. Both batteries were dead. How long had I been sleeping? Six hours. Long enough for the refrigerator and the lights to drain every little electron.

  In the dark, I pulled down the sail so I wouldn’t get blown any farther out. If I’d been going in a straight line, home was behind me. I checked the compass to guess where I was. Lost at sea, basically. The Atlantic is big. I was probably out in it, out of the Sound.

  The outboard was too big to start by hand. I tried anyway. The correct procedure was to use the batteries to start the motor, and use the motor to charge the batteries every few hours. Or just don’t run them down.

  Oh well. As long as I didn’t get hit by a freighter or a hurricane, I’d make it through the night, and the forecast hadn’t included any hurricanes. Just rain. I still had the sail and the wind, and in the morning light I could find my way home.

  So much for having a billion dollars.

  What a long night.

  The earth turned very slowly—the stars stood still and I was dragged beneath them. I didn’t feel like trying to sleep, so I listened to the sea and felt the wind. I saw some lights as ships passed, but all very far off. I didn’t want to go down into the cabin, so I sat in the chill air. My new windbreaker helped some.

  Maybe the cold was penance. What am I doing here, in the night? I couldn’t forget the question, and the answer that satisfied in the daylight didn’t work in the dark. The blue sky hadn’t seemed bothered by my amateur musings; this black infinity mocked them.

  But I was stronger. I could overcome dark and cold. I just couldn’t make the clock move any faster.

  It was a long night. Finally I slept.

  Rain woke me, light drops on my face at four in the morning. I retreated below. There was plenty of food in the cooler Rosita had packed, and I ate ham sandwiches and cashews, waiting for the sun.

  The rain tapped on the deck above, then drummed. When at last I’d finished the trip across the black side of the planet and came out under the sun again, the day was no less dismal. But it was good enough. With light, I was in charge again of my own fate.

  I trimmed the sail and brought the boat around and headed back in something like the way I’d come. I didn’t have a good wind, but I was moving.

  I knew I must be, at least, but there was no sign of it. If I kept the heading northwest, I’d have to reach something.

  The breeze failed, and I had to make do with gusts, from every direction, turning the sail to catch them. I was at the limit of my sailing skills.

  The morning passed, I ate lunch, and even the endless afternoon sailed by faster than my boat. I really had no idea how far I was from anything. It was a hard day, and I finally admitted I’d be at sea for another night.

  Katie would expect a call, but she knew sometimes it didn’t work out. No one would look for me before Sunday evening, twenty-four hours away. Then it would be Monday before they could search, and only if the clouds broke.

  Hurricanes and freighters—just avoid those two.

  The lead sky faded to black, but at least I was tired. Sail down, secure the boat, eat. What was left in the cooler? Enough, but I ate sparingly. Ten o’clock with the rain still falling.

  I was lost in the dark. There was a haven somewhere, a place for the boat to get to and be safe. What about for me? I had no such certainty. I didn’t even know where I was to wonder why I was there.

  I needed a wind behind me. It was midnight and my drifting was finally to sleep.

  I woke disoriented, my bed alive. I fought to stay in it, but then I knew where I was, and I rushed up on deck. Stars swung wildly above. Waves coming over the side soaked me as I pulled up enough sail to bring the bow into them.

  The rocking calmed, and it was back-to-front instead of side-to-side. Four o’clock again, black sky but a million stars, and a bunch of them in a long straight line along the horizon due north.

  No more sleep. With the seas as high as they were, I needed to keep watch.

  Two hours later I saw the end of the night. The water held the dark as long as it could, but the sky rushed into day. Then the sun breached the horizon, the water had its own cataclysm, and the sky was left behind with its cautious brightening. There were no clouds except in the farthest west, and they were the last to feel the day.

  The stars and shore lights had disappeared. I couldn’t see the shore but I knew where it was, and the wind was steady from the southwest.

  The adventure was over.

  I’d discovered Long Island. I put in to charge the batteries and call Katie.

  “Montauk?” she said. “What are you doing there?”

  “Just following the wind. I’ll be home by six.”

  “Was everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it was fine,” I said. “Anything happening at home?”

  “Fred wants you to call.”

  “I’m sure. I’m on vacation until I walk through the front door.”

  I was fully in the twenty-first century as I put into the wind, with GPS, radio, and food. Before noon I’d cleared Long Island, and the southwest wind was pushing me fast into the Sound and toward home. The last sixty miles took four hours.

  I had the marina in sight at four thirty, back in my safe haven and right at the edge of cell phone range, and my cell phone rang. It was Katie.

  “Jason?”

  She sounded terrible.

  “What’s wrong, Katie?” She was sobbing, and I said again, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Angela. She’s dead.”

  17

  I was holding Katie, telling her it was okay, we were okay, I was right here with her. It was like the last time, but only a little. Last time it was Melvin going over a cliff, but that was his own fault, in one way or another. He wasn’t innocent.

  Here I was holding Katie again, but it was much worse. It was too terrible to think of cottony Angela writing her little note, holding the gun to her head. How did she even know how to use a gun?

  The rain had begun again. Katie had finished crying, and we had been sitting, just silent. Melvin’s death had meant change, but Angela’s meant only loss. Katie was grieving for Angela’s despair that we couldn’t help with, her loneliness that we couldn’t fill, even the friendship, of some type at least, that was lost.

  Eric arrived dripping, wide-eyed and somber. But this time he had experience, he could deal with it. I couldn’t hold both of them, so I left them with each other.

  Who was supposed to make the arrangements? Had anyone called her sister or brother? They were all estranged, of course. Only a funeral might bring them together. But Melvin’s hadn’t.

  I called Fred. Good old Fred. Yes, all the arrangements had been made long ago by Melvin. Fred was executor—everything would be taken care of.

  And by the way, just for my information, this would not cause any complications concerning any Boyer interests. All of Angela’s connections with Melvin’s estate were strictly for her lifetime only.

  Which was now over.

  “It also means y
ou now have full rights over the main house and grounds,” he said.

  “I’ll find a demolition company,” I said back to him.

  “Wait until after the funeral,” he said. “You needn’t be annoyed. I’m just advising you.” He sounded annoyed.

  “Then you wait until after the funeral, too.”

  “Very well. Have the police called you yet?”

  “It was suicide.”

  “Supposedly, but if it isn’t . . .”

  I pushed the little button that made him go away. He didn’t call back.

  Nathan Kern called later to express his deepest regret and sympathy. I accepted just as deeply.

  It was just four weeks since the last time. That had been on a Sunday, too, that we’d sat together mourning. But they really didn’t know when it had happened, this time, Sunday morning or Saturday night. They just found her in her puffy pink parlor after she didn’t show up for breakfast, and her bed hadn’t been slept in. Three maids and a cook lived in the place. It sure took them a long time to notice she was missing.

  They were all unemployed now, as well as the gardeners and other staff. Katie would fix that soon enough. We’d need a real staff for our new mansion. It was actually convenient. Although . . . Melvin and Angela, their two employers, both dead, one month apart. Before we hired these people, we might want to get references.

  We had our own quiet dinner, the three of us, long after dark. It helped some, and Eric slept in the guest room. I didn’t sleep in my own bed. I just laid there in it, even after Katie finally went to sleep. I’d been looking forward to a real night’s rest, but it would have to wait.

  18

  We were all better in the morning. Katie wondered if we should go out to the big house, but she couldn’t think of any reason why. She just wanted to do something.

  “No one else will,” she said.

  “We’ll wait until afterward,” I said.

  “What will happen to the house?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Somebody has to live there.”

  “I’ll call Nathan Kern. He probably knows lots of homeless people.”