A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  “Heart attacks can be like that,” he said woodenly. What was he supposed to say? “I could look into the hospital if you think there was malpractice or—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, how can someone be there one minute, and then just die when you need them most?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Idiot. She doesn’t need a lawyer.

  She also didn’t need platitudes and she didn’t need philosophies about the meaning of life. She needed to be held. She needed to cry. She needed her dad, but he wasn’t here.

  “And all that tension between us lately—” She swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about his marriage...”

  “He knew you loved him,” James assured her. “He knew that without a doubt.”

  She looked back down the hall. “Britney is down there,” she said. “They have a room for us to sit in for a bit.”

  He knew the room well. It was a grieving room set aside by the hospital where families could come to grips with the hard news they often got in emergency rooms.

  “Do you want a coffee?” he asked softly.

  “Um.” She blinked. “Yes, I think I do.”

  “Good. Who else is here? I’ll get some coffee for all of you and I’ll meet you back at the room.”

  “Britney, her mom, that’s it...” She wiped the tears from her face.

  “Okay.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you, James. You’re a really good friend.”

  A good friend. He wasn’t sure why those words stung a bit. Andrew would probably have understood that sentiment all too well. Isabel had a way of making every guy in the friend zone feel like he was missing out. But that’s what she needed right now, and that’s what he’d be. She didn’t need to thank him. He simply couldn’t leave her to face this on her own.

  What were friends for?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ISABEL AWOKE THE next morning exhausted and weak. The only thing that pulled her out of bed was the meeting to read her father’s will at James’s office. Would he have left her the company, after all? Would his last gift to her be a chance to be a part of Baxter Land Holdings? Somehow she doubted that. He’d died unexpectedly. There was no lingering illness giving him the opportunity to change his mind about anything. When he’d died, he’d been convinced he’d live to ninety-five.

  Isabel had requested the meeting for first thing in the morning—not because she was so eager to hear the will, but because she hadn’t wanted to be alone and this seemed like an excellent excuse to be with someone. To be with James. So she pulled on a pair of jeans and a baggy blouse, tugged her hair back in a ponytail to hide that she hadn’t washed it, pushed an oversize pair of sunglasses onto her face and headed out the door.

  Ten minutes later, she climbed the staircase to the second floor of the downtown Haggerston office building and opened the door to the law firm. The receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled reassuringly.

  “Hello, Miss Baxter,” she said kindly. “Are you here for Mr. Hunter?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse from crying, and she didn’t trust herself to say more than that.

  “Just go on in. He’s there.”

  She found herself looking forward to being next to James again. He was so strong, so sure of everything, that he was a comfort at a time like this. Her father had chosen his lawyer well. And wasn’t it like a Baxter to rely on their legal representation during the hardest times of their lives? It was both ironic and sad.

  James’s door stood ajar, and she stopped in the doorway. James sat at his desk. He looked tired and grim. He looked up.

  “Hi,” he said, his voice low. He stood and met her on the other side of the desk. “How are you holding up?”

  She nodded. “I’m okay.”

  He took her hand in his broad, warm grasp, but before he could speak again, Britney’s voice traveled down the hall as the receptionist greeted her. James cleared his throat and gave her hand a squeeze. The younger woman appeared in the doorway. She looked as haggard as Isabel did, and Isabel felt sorry for her. She might not like Britney much, but there was no denying that her stepmother was grieving.

  “Come on in and have a seat,” James said, moving to the door and closing it. “You are the only two people in Mr. Baxter’s will, so we can start.”

  Only the two of them? There would be uncles and cousins who would be royally annoyed with that. But still, it didn’t add up.

  Britney was silent, and she sank into one of the waiting chairs, sitting down with a hand behind her to feel for the chair and her belly sticking out. She didn’t look at Isabel, and she dabbed at a red nose with a sodden tissue.

  “You’ve both had a big loss,” James said quietly. “George asked me to read the will first, and then to do a little explaining afterward. Is that okay with you?”

  Britney nodded, and Isabel sat rigidly upright, waiting. It didn’t matter what she preferred. James would do things the way her father had outlined. James started reading, and the will was full of legalese and florid language.

  I, George Baxter, being of sound mind and body, hereby make this Will and revoke all prior Wills and Codicils...

  Finally, they got to the part that sounded more like her father’s voice. James cleared his throat and glanced toward Isabel.

  “My daughter, Isabel Baxter, having already received an agreed-upon portion of my estate, will receive nothing upon my death.”

  Isabel stiffened. She’d been cut out of the will? The shock hummed around her, filling the room, filling her ears. How could he do this to her? How he could raise her to expect wealth and status, and then simply cut the string and let her fall? What kind of father—

  “She will have the house at 180 Knottington Lane, the money set aside in her trust fund, which has already been transferred to her, and whatever items in the family house that she might like for her own personal memories. That is all.”

  James looked sadly at Isabel, and when she made a move to rise, he added, “Izzy. Wait. Trust me, this is worth it, okay?”

  She hoped it would be, because sitting here next to the woman who had taken everything from her was pure agony. Britney must have done it—she’d convinced her aging husband that his daughter didn’t deserve any more financial support and had gotten the money for herself. Isabel wanted to get out of here, to process this alone—

  “To my wife, Britney, I leave the house and furniture, except for the items my daughter chooses for memory’s sake. My life insurance is to be used to raise my unborn child.

  “My company, Baxter Land Holdings, of which I am the sole owner, will be sold and liquidated in order to pay off any and all creditors.”

  James fell silent, and he placed the papers back on his desk and smoothed them with his palm. Isabel looked over at Britney and found a confused frown on the younger woman’s face. The house—he’d left Britney only the house. Wasn’t her father worth much, much more than a couple of houses? What about the rest of his fortune, the other real estate? If the business was sold, it would be worth...millions, wouldn’t it?

  “That’s it?” Isabel asked uncertainly.

  “That’s all that’s in his will, but he did ask me to explain,” James said. “Isabel, when your father cut you from the will, he was trying to protect you from the debt he’d acquired over the years through his company. The market wasn’t kind to him, and he hadn’t wanted you to know how rocky things were, so he kept up appearances. That was expensive. The rental homes he’d acquired will be sold to pay off his debts, as well. He knew he was sick. I didn’t realize it was this bad, but considering how he started putting his affairs in order, he must have had an inkling.”

  “He knew he was dying?” she
asked.

  “I’m assuming so.” James shook his head. “I can’t confirm that, though.”

  Silence descended onto the room, and Isabel’s mind spun.

  “Are you saying that my father was losing money instead of making it?” Isabel clarified.

  “Your father had already lost most of his fortune,” James replied. “I just went over the numbers with his accountant. I’m sure you could do the same, too. He owed a good many people a lot of money, and when his company is liquidated as he requested, there will be very little, if any, money left over.”

  “He was broke?” Britney spoke for the first time, her voice torn and weary. “Why didn’t he tell me this?”

  “He had his pride, I suppose,” James replied. “I’m very sorry, ladies. He managed to protect a little bit for each of you, and that was the best he could do.”

  Isabel looked over at Britney, and they exchanged a long look. Britney’s eyes were wide, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. Britney hadn’t gotten a windfall of money, after all. Had there really been no plotting?

  “So what was all that secretive warning about me not getting anything else?” Isabel demanded. “You knew something.”

  “I knew he wasn’t going to give you any more than he already had. I didn’t know there wasn’t anything else to give.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I had no idea.”

  “So you thought you had the money all to yourself,” Isabel retorted.

  Britney’s silence was answer enough. She’d married a man old enough to be her father, and ended up with nothing more than a house in the end. Isabel wondered if it had been worth it for her. If Britney had married for money as Isabel suspected, then she’d just put in a whole lot of work for very little payout. At least she was young enough to marry some other rich guy and maybe have better luck.

  “Isabel,” Britney said, her voice choked. “Come anytime to choose the things you’d like to have to remember your dad.”

  “Thank you.”

  Civility was the only thing that would get Isabel through this. She didn’t feel the least bit thankful or kindly disposed toward her father’s wife. As far as Isabel was concerned, Britney had gotten what was coming to her...and maybe a little more, since she’d gotten the family house and some life insurance for the baby.

  Britney nodded quickly and levered herself to her feet. “Thank you, Jimmy. If you don’t mind, I’m going to head home now...”

  “Of course.” James stood and went around to open the door for her. He shook her hand, and she left. Isabel slowly stood, her mind whirling.

  “James, I can’t keep you on retainer for the family any longer, obviously—I don’t think Britney will be able to afford it, either, considering.”

  “That’s okay. I understand.”

  Isabel bent to pick up her bag, and she could feel James’s dark gaze on her.

  “Izzy,” he said.

  She put her purse on her shoulder and looked toward the handsome lawyer. “Yes?”

  “Can I offer one last bit of advice?”

  “Please.”

  “Britney isn’t a bad person. She lost him, too. Maybe you two could help each other through this.”

  Isabel put her hand on the doorknob. That was asking too much. Britney had lost a sugar daddy—she’d lost a father. Big difference.

  “No.” She could hear her father in her own voice. “Thank you for everything, James.”

  Why did this goodbye feel so final? But everything was different now. Her father was gone. The money was gone. She would no longer have any reason to inconvenience James, either. She was no longer someone’s daughter, and she was no longer an heiress. Everything had changed in a day.

  “If you need anything...even just to talk. Call me, okay?”

  “Okay.” Tears welled in her eyes again, and she escaped before they fell.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE NEXT DAY, Isabel crouched over a cardboard box in her father’s attic. She’d come to gather those few items from the house her father had promised her. Britney wouldn’t have any use for these things—they were from the family before Britney, and while this house was legally Britney’s now, she’d always be the interloper here. Somehow, now that her father had passed, Isabel’s parents’ memory—the two of them together—seemed stronger, and Isabel wondered if Britney felt it. Probably not.

  The attic was dim, a dirty window letting in a little natural light, but Isabel was relying on a hanging bulb overhead to see. She glanced back. Britney’s head emerged through the opening in the attic floor.

  “Are you almost done up here?” Britney asked.

  The attic was filled with mementos from Isabel’s childhood—items she remembered from days gone by. Her mother’s box of yearbooks was still up here, her father’s clothes from the eighties that he refused to toss out, Isabel’s old high chair, her first bike...

  She didn’t have room in her home to bring it all back with her, and for the first time since arriving, her tiny, immaculate space wasn’t enough. She felt the need to gather all these memories in one place, cradle them, keep them together. There was no one left to share the memories with her. Both her parents were gone now, and it was up to her to keep those memories of their family life alive somewhere...proof that they’d been something, the three of them.

  Britney climbed all the way up and came to the streaky window. She looked outside, the natural light that reflected off her face revealing puffy eyes and colorless cheeks.

  “He used to love the garden,” Britney said after a moment.

  Isabel’s mother had created that garden, and it was only after she died that George started spending time in it. It was his way of remembering Stella, working the soil that his late wife had loved. Isabel used to watch him garden. There was a landscaping company that came by and took care of the bulk of the work, but he’d still putter and pull up a weed here and there. He’d stand there in the cool of a summer morning eating fresh peas out of their pods. Isabel remembered the sight of his steaming coffee mug sitting on top of an overturned bucket while he stood in his bathrobe and a pair of clogs, his back to the house so that she couldn’t see his face. Had he known that she’d watched those private moments? Maybe not. That he’d continued his silent vigil even after his marriage was comforting somehow.

  But Isabel wouldn’t share that—and it wasn’t out of sympathy, either.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Britney ran her hand over her belly. “This wasn’t exactly the plan.”

  Of course it wasn’t. But how long would it have taken for Britney to realize that lounging around a house and trying to be helpful to a man who didn’t want a woman’s help wasn’t going to fulfill her?

  “Did you want to work...ever?” Isabel asked.

  “No.” Britney shrugged weakly and shot Isabel a small smile. “I wanted babies, kids. I wanted to be a mom. He liked that idea, too.”

  So if her father had lived, there would have been a whole new generation of Baxter siblings to go bankrupt together. Her father always had liked the idea of a woman at home with the kids. Not that there was anything wrong with that life. Her mother had loved it, and it was the future he’d had in mind for Isabel, too.

  “Did you know that I’m having a girl?” Britney turned to face Isabel, and her expression was serious, sad—the most honest that Isabel had ever seen her. She’d dropped the “little girl” act and finally looked like a grown woman, an equal. Isabel wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or intimidated. Maybe a little of both.

  “No,” Isabel admitted.

  “We just found out.” Tears welled in Britney’s eyes. “Your dad was thrilled. He said girls were wonderful, because he’d always be Daddy. He said with a little girl, they never outgrew that.”
>
  Yet, for being thrilled, he hadn’t told Isabel. He’d been her “Daddy,” and he’d pushed her right out of the nest. Was this baby her father’s second chance? Or did he still have hopes of making them one big, happy family after all?

  “He liked his secrets.” Bitterness tinged Britney’s tone. “If he’d told me about the money problems...”

  “You’d have done what?” Isabel asked icily. “Gotten a job?”

  Britney’s eyes flashed. “Been able to comfort him. I wasn’t here for the money, Isabel. I loved your father, whether you believe that or not.” They were silent for a few beats, and then Britney added, her voice quavering, “You’re like him in the worst ways, you know.”

  So now her true feelings were coming out.

  “I thought you said you loved him,” Isabel retorted.

  “I did. I do. But everyone has flaws, and your father could be heartless. Don’t get me wrong—he could be generous to a fault when he wanted to. He’d do anything for me. Anything. He loved me like no one ever has, and he could accept me for my faults, too. When he loved, it was like the sun shining down. But his shade was a very cold place. I could accept him for his faults, because I was in his sunshine. But when he couldn’t personally identify with someone, they were like scenery to him. Empathy didn’t even occur to him. People were there to get him his way.”

  “And I treat people like scenery?” Isabel demanded. “What do you know about my relationships?”

  “You treat me like scenery!” Britney’s voice rose, and Isabel blinked, surprised at the directness of her outburst.

  A retort came to mind, something about Britney being not much better than youthful scenery around here, but she bit it back. This was the shark in her coming out. Her father’s death wasn’t Britney’s fault, and she was going to try to hurt his widow for no other reason than because she was feeling hurt herself. Isabel sighed. “What did you want from me?”

  “To be friends.” Britney swallowed hard. “I don’t have many left.”

  “With all the money—” Isabel stopped. There wasn’t any money. It was hard to remember that. She started again. “What about your friends around town?”