Hands On

by Christina Crooks

  A witches’ brew of emotion raked at him. Regret. Frustration. Anger. But mostly a quickly rising sadness. A raw and primitive grief held him in its grip, until he began to shiver with the night’s cold despite his Aston’s efficient heater. He forced his legs and arms to finish driving him home, then to propel him up the steps. He made his fingers manipulate the house key to get inside.

  He closed the door behind him and heard…nothing.

  Emptied of her presence, the house felt nearly as cold as it was outside. Harry checked the heater. No, the automatic heater was keeping the temperature a perfectly adequate sixty-eight degrees.

  There was no scent of good food in the kitchen.

  There were no boxes of Ginnie’s salvaged possessions or cabinets of puppet supplies in the living room or in the basement.

  The guestroom closet was empty. The bathroom was spotlessly bare.

  Silence beat on his ears.

  Ginnie was gone. Just like he’d wanted.

  And she was selling the house he’d given her. She was moving away from him.

  Harry tried to relax by putting on soft jazz music and getting some more work done.

  When he realized he was reading the same column of numbers over and over again, he gave up and went to his bed.

  He couldn’t sleep. For an hour, he stared at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes and having little success with censoring his thoughts.

  Finally he got up.

  He went down the stairs to the guestroom she’d used. He crawled under the covers and nestled his head into the pillow that still smelled like Ginnie. Ridiculous, he thought, even as he snuggled more deeply. Contemptible. Pathetic.

  He breathed the last little bit of her in and felt misery so acute that he wondered if it would ever go away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harry felt heavy with sorrow at work the next day.

  Seeing that damned For Sale sign first thing in the morning hadn’t helped.

  Neither had his obligatory look over the progress of the house. The electrical subcontractors were installing new fixtures and outlets, and the HVAC subcontractors were putting in new heating and a/c venting and ductwork. It was the finishing-touches stage of home construction. The workers went about their business with respectful nods to him, but Harry kept touring.

  After awhile he couldn’t help but notice it wasn’t the house progress he was really looking for.

  The roofers waved to him.

  Harry waved back, feeling surly. Ginnie would have her little house finished soon.

  Then she’d sell it and move away.

  Harry got in his car and drove to work. By the time he entered his penthouse corner office, his mood was black.

  Ginnie was probably already spending his twenty thousand dollars and laughing with Lara over how they’d fleeced him of that plus the expected house proceeds. At least she hadn’t gotten more, like Jaye Rae had. Things like access to his business and entire bank balance and what was left of his reputation.

  “Envelope on your desk, sir,” his secretary told him. He nearly snarled at her, which was completely unlike him, but then his gaze fell on the plain white envelope. His name was written on the front in neat, feminine handwriting, underneath a crossed-out name. “And Mr. Kenton is expected in ten minutes.”

  “Show him in when he arrives.”

  The secretary nodded and backed out, shutting the door gently in deference to his mood.

  Which would have irritated him more if he weren’t so interested in the envelope. It looked like the same one he’d given Ginnie.

  Without waiting another second, he raced over to it and ripped it open. He knew what he wanted, what he hoped for—a letter from Ginnie.

  It was her handwriting on the outside, but inside was a pre-printed receipt from Helping Hands. For the entire twenty thousand dollars.

  She’d given the money away.

  All of it.

  She hadn’t even kept the receipt for a tax deduction. That was financially imprudent of her.

  Harry sat heavily. He’d been so sure she’d keep the money. He looked in the envelope, but there wasn’t anything else. No note from her. Nothing to explain her surprising move to give his money to her nonprofit of choice. Nothing saying she missed him, wanted him back…?

  He looked in the envelope again, just in case.

  It wasn’t like he could blame Ginnie. After the way he’d thrown her out, why would she bother? And why did he suddenly feel as if he’d made a mistake? Ginnie might be playing some elaborate game, sacrificing the twenty thousand to lull him into complacency. She might be…

  Harry exhaled, and it was as if his breath blew away the clouds obscuring the truth. Ginnie wasn’t a gold-digger. She wasn’t greedy.

  She was passion. She embodied passion and instinct combined, with every choice she’d made.

  And he’d thrown it away.

  “Sir? Mr. Kenton is here.” His secretary made way for the older man.

  Most of all, Ginnie wasn’t Jaye Rae. He’d cared for Jaye Rae, so much so that her betrayal had decimated him. But what he’d felt for his ex-fiancée was nothing compared to what he felt for Ginnie. A penny next to a shiny silver dollar. A shack next to a mansion. She’d fallen right into his arms, and he’d let her go forever.

  She’d never take him back now that he’d hurt her so badly. He wouldn’t, were their positions reversed.

  The old man cleared his throat.

  Harry leapt to his feet, all apologies. “Mr. Kenton, forgive me. Please sit down.” Harry all but held the chair for him until the man waved him away.

  “After yesterday’s excitement, I decided it might be a good idea to pay a personal visit.” Norbert squinted at him, evaluating.

  Harry had expected it. Hardly thinking about it, he launched into an automatic explanation of the vagaries of the market, the unpredictability of the high-risk investments Norbert had insisted upon and the importance of keeping a balanced, conservative portfolio.

  A few minutes into his spiel, Norbert cut him off. “Yes, yes. That sounds fine.” It was then Harry realized the man had something else on his mind.

  “Sir?” Harry waited, at a loss.

  Norbert smoothed his pants for longer than necessary. Finally he leaned forward as if confessing a dirty secret. “I’d like to invest in a very risky venture. So risky that it might be a total loss.” His eyes sparkled and a smile played about his thin mouth. “My own vineyard. Not just a tiny hole-in-the-wall place either, but a respectable thirty thousand-case, prime-location establishment out near McMinnville, or maybe in Washington, with a tasting lodge, tours, bed & breakfast—the works. And I want the best equipment and full-coverage national distribution. It’s going to be grand. If there’s a way to swing fifteen million up front, that’s what I’ll need, mostly for building, land and packaging costs.” Norbert’s excitement escalated until it seemed to beat at Harry in waves.

  Harry was flabbergasted. “But, Mr. Kenton. That would leave you…let me see…” He did some rapid calculations. “That would tie up nearly three-quarters of your portfolio. This isn’t just another speculation to add to your already overly aggressive profile. It’s quite possibly throwing money away, at a time when your retirement has to be considered. I have to strongly advise you against this.”

  The light in Norbert’s eyes dimmed. “Strongly? Are you sure?” He wilted back into his chair. The old man suddenly looked irritated, and all his seventy years of age. “Absolutely sure? I have to confess, I’ve always wanted to own a winery. It just…it never did seem to be a secure investment. I suppose it still isn’t, technically speaking.”

  “No sir. It isn’t.”

  Harry felt uncomfortable with Norbert’s ire. And he really didn’t like the older man’s obvious disappointment.

  Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t believe it’s a good investment, but if you like, I’ll call in a second opinion.”

  “Yes, do that.”

  Harry buzzed Tod
d in. He gave Todd the overview of Norbert’s proposed investment. As he explained the scope and scale of it, Todd began shaking his head. “Bad idea. At roughly fifteen million for a prime thirty thousand case winery, with building and land costs accounting for the largest percentage of total investment costs and cooperage accounting for the second largest percentage of total investment cost, you might see a positive cash flow by year three. Or, depending on your harvests, it might never operate as a self-sustaining entity. In other words, you’d be tying up money that should be more conservatively invested. Bad idea,” Todd repeated.

  “I concur.” But Harry suddenly wasn’t sure that he did. “Except…”

  Norbert sat up.

  “It depends on what makes you happy,” Harry said slowly.

  Todd glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

  Harry continued. “One purpose of investment is financial return. If the winery has the ability to meet operating costs and debt obligations and be self-sustaining in three or four years, great. And if it doesn’t…if it takes longer than expected, but you’re happy, Norbert…then the loss is offset, in a manner of speaking.”

  Norbert looked at him quizzically.

  “It’s not optimal, or even marginal, but it’s an investment.”

  “Unless the grapes don’t grow, or they taste terrible,” Todd said.

  “There is that.” Harry nodded. “It’s not an investment I can recommend. But it’s not one I can recommend against, either.”

  Todd moved in his chair, as if about to say something.

  “You want to own a winery. Well, why shouldn’t you? Why should you be afraid? You have plenty of money, it’s not as if you’ll end up destitute even if you lose your shirt on this.”

  Todd cleared his throat, but it was Norbert who spoke. “You don’t recommend…against it?” The older man’s face creased into a thoughtful frown.

  “Every investment is personal choice. The question to ask is, what do you want from it? What do you want from life? There’s more to life than financial security.”

  His words hung in the air. Harry could feel the weight of Todd’s stare.

  But Norbert nodded. “You’re right. It’s a risk I’m comfortable with, so why shouldn’t I do what I want? I’d like to talk specifics now. Wine grape acres planted, and accessing the proper funds to purchase the wine grape acres, and the costs of construction and operation, and the rest.”

  Harry had never seen Norbert look so happy.

  Or Todd look so worried. “Uh, sir.” He looked directly at Harry. “Are you comfortable with this particular investment advice?”

  It was pointed criticism, but Harry just smiled. “Yes. I think I am. If Norbert is?” Norbert nodded. “Well, then, everybody’s happy.”

  Todd nodded too, but Harry was pretty sure it wasn’t agreement. “It’s okay, Todd. Thanks for the second opinion.” It was a dismissal.

  His assistant rose, clearly hiding his troubled expression. With his long familiarity with the young man, Harry could almost recite his list of worries. It made him second-guess his decision. What had happened to giving conservative advice? What on earth had gotten into him? Had he completely lost his business acumen? “It’s okay, Todd,” he said as much to reassure himself as Todd both. “Though we appreciate the conservative take on matters.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” Todd gave him another penetrating gaze. “I hope I helped.”

  After Todd left, Norbert detailed his dream purchase with rapture in his voice.

  For his part, Harry began to doubt. He wondered whether he’d completely lost the very thing he’d prided himself on most. Lost his killer instinct. Lost his reputation as a wise old owl. Why on earth was he advising his richest client to throw his money away?

  Norbert chattered on, clearly excited and happy, and Harry nodded and smiled and cursed himself for a fool.

  Ginnie had returned his money unexpectedly. That wasn’t a valid reason to become sentimental. Not when his clients’ savings were on the line.

  He opened his mouth to tell Norbert he’d made a mistake, that he couldn’t possibly allow such an irresponsible investment. But Norbert sat all the way forward on the edge of his seat, as excited as a schoolboy as he talked over the winery project.

  Harry closed his mouth. He wouldn’t crush Norbert’s dreams, even if they cost the man his entire life savings. He couldn’t.

  Ginnie had changed him.

  Harry sat back in his leather office chair and listened to his client.

  Though he heard himself responding professionally to Norbert’s questions, Harry was appalled. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

  That night, Harry went down to his basement, flipped on the light and tried not to look at the bare workbench where Ginnie had worked. He went straight to his workout equipment and threw himself at the machines with a vengeance. He did three sets of twelve reps just to get warmed up. Then he did another, more aggressive, circuit. He counted. Aloud.

  But this time, his numbers didn’t help him. His numbers weren’t helping him much at all lately, he realized. He counted more loudly, frustrated, flexing and pushing until his muscles felt hot and exhausted.

  Still Ginnie lingered in his mind.

  Despairing that he’d ever get rid of her image and her influence, he threw himself into another circuit, flinging his body against the resistance.

  He didn’t usually work out so hard, and he found himself gasping for breath before long. Maybe if he fatigued his body, his mind would tire of its fixation as well. Maybe he could forget about Ginnie.

  Something gave in his arm, with a sharp, rubber-band-snap of pain. He yelled, held his arm. He moved it with a grimace. It wasn’t too sprained.

  Harry sat, breathing hard, waiting for the pain to subside. At least the one in his arm would eventually go away.

  He wasn’t so sure about the one in his heart.

  Ginnie peeked through the curtains at the audience. For such a large auditorium, there wasn’t much noise.

  Then she saw the children in the semi-darkness and smiled. A feeling of pride welled up in her. Their expressions were wide-eyed, opened-mouthed and totally thrilled. The adults seemed riveted too. Sure, some of them fidgeted, and some of the kids did too. But the faces of the children in the auditorium proved the story felt utterly real and immediate. Her show was a success.

  Again.

  The puppet shows were a much-needed source of satisfaction in a post-Harry world. In the weeks since he’d tossed her out of his house and out of his life, she’d flung herself into puppet theater as if her sanity depended on it. As perhaps it did.

  Without Harry’s brand of magic coloring her life, puppetry felt like all she had. Theater was magic. There was something about the community experience, the dark, the mystery, the shared adventure with audience members. Together everyone agreed to take a voyage into another world.

  Ginnie concluded with her always-popular The Magic Show, where the puppets tried to out-do each other with the best magic trick ever. This time The Fat Lady puppet won with her trick of blowing bubbles out of her ears.

  Ginnie bowed the puppets in response to the applause and, when they were safely offstage, announced a question-and-answer period after a short break. It pleased everyone, adults and children alike, to have her as puppet master take questions from children about the art of puppetry. She put her puppets away, pleased with the night’s success.

  “Hello, Ginnie.”

  The deep, masculine voice made her jump, before she realized it wasn’t the voice she wanted. She turned to see who had snuck up behind stage to surprise her.

  Tailored suit, ash-brown eyebrows over liquid chocolate eyes, soft wavy blond hair, chest and shoulders to die for. If she hadn’t already been shot down dead by Harry, she might have been interested. But he looked younger than Harry, a baby in comparison, though his steady gaze reflected a strange soulfulness that intrigued her. Not as worldly or experienced as Harry, she thought. He did have the
same clean-cut, banker-guy clothes.

  “Todd,” he introduced himself when she only stared.

  “Sorry,” she said, then paused to take her hand out of The Fat Lady so she could shake his hand. “Ginnie. But, ah, you know that. Have we met?”

  “You’re exactly what I expected,” Todd said, examining her. “No wonder Harry took it so hard.”

  Her heart gave a leap that she felt up to the crown of her head and down to her toes. “Harry took it hard?” She had to restrain herself from shaking this perfect stranger for more information, now, immediately! Then she remembered. “He did mention you. Todd. You’re his right-hand man.”

  “Yeah. That’s kind of why I’m here. Can we go for a walk?”

  “I have to be back in five minutes.”

  Todd waved his hand. “Sure, sure.”

  She picked her way over the props she should be putting away, not sure she liked Todd. He seemed distracted. But he knew things about Harry. That made him more alluring company than he knew.

  Todd led slightly, taking her through the double doors to the side parking lot. Ginnie stopped walking, needing to focus everything on the answer to her question. Why was Todd here? What did he mean, Harry took it hard? Hadn’t Harry forgotten her completely? It seemed probable.

  She still felt a killing ache in her heart just from hearing his name. And yet there was no indication that she’d been anything but a brief, unfortunate mistake to him. None, unless…

  “Todd, what are you doing here?”

  “Harry’s distracted, emotionally. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

  Her heart contracted painfully and her body flooded with adrenaline. She wanted to run to Harry, heal him, make everything okay. But he’d made it crystal clear she wasn’t welcome in his life. “I’m not sure how I can help. He doesn’t want me.” She felt the old wound open and start to bleed. “Look, I have to get back.”

  “Wait a sec.” Todd frowned. “I’ve been his friend for years. And after Jaye Rae, I never thought he’d hook up with anyone, not ever again. Then you came along. And now he’s worse than ever. He’s acting strange.”