At Legend's End (The Teacup Novellas - Book Four)

by Diane Moody

  “Don’t be silly. You can do whatever you set your mind to.”

  “No, Ellen, I can’t. I could never just up and leave my job. Not after all these years. Besides, I’ve got my 401K to think about, and‌—‍”

  “Forget about all that for a minute. Listen to me. If you’re really serious about this, let’s sit down, talk through it, and see what kind of possibilities we might come up with. You’re only forty-five, not a hundred and five. Stop thinking like you’re old as dirt.”

  Taking her exit off the interstate, Olivia dashed away her tears. “Oh, don’t mind me. It’s probably just hormones.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I think we should get together and brainstorm. Who knows what amazing adventures we might come up with?”

  She pictured her friend’s face, lit up with her signature optimism and wild imaginings.

  Olivia sighed again. “Maybe another time. Tonight, I just need some peace and quiet, okay? Preferably, without any buzzing florescent lights.”

  “Or burnt coffee. I get it. But are you sure? Brent’s got his photography class tonight. I could meet you at Chili’s. Turn your car around. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

  “Not tonight, girlfriend. Besides, I’m almost home.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Remember when I told you how tired I was?”

  “All right, all right. I won’t nag.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But can I pray for you?”

  “I have a feeling you’ll pray no matter what I say.”

  “Got that right. Just promise not to close your eyes unless you’re in your driveway.”

  And as she had so many times through the thirty-something years of their friendship, Ellen prayed for Olivia. She prayed for peace and rest and guidance. She claimed the scripture in Jeremiah 29:11, reminding Olivia of God’s promise to give her a future and a hope. She thanked God for their friendship and how much a part of her family Olivia had been all through the years.

  “Finally, Lord, whatever’s eating at Olivia’s heart right now, please let her feel Your arms around her. Suffocate her with Your love, Lord. Astound her with Your presence. And hey, as long as I’m at it, I might as well go ahead and just ask‌—‌feel free to knock her socks off tonight, Lord.”

  Olivia couldn’t help the snicker that erupted in a loud snort.

  Ellen didn’t miss a beat. “And thank you for that amen from the sistah! Thank you, my sistah. And Father God, I don’t know how You’ll knock her socks off‌—‌or what that even means? But I believe You can do it. And for that, we’ll give You all the glory and the honor in Your precious name. And all God’s children said?”

  Another snort broke loose as Olivia pulled into her driveway and pressed her garage door opener.

  “And yet another amen from my beloved sistahhhh!”

  “I was wondering when Sister Aretha would show up.” Olivia tried to wrestle the odd mix of laughter and tears. “You’re certifiable. You know that?”

  “Oh, sure. It’s why you love me so much.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I suppose.”

  “Hey, are you gonna be okay?”

  “I’m good. But thanks for asking, Sister Aretha.”

  Chapter 2

  Olivia tossed her mail on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. She set the kettle on the stove to heat, then grabbed her shoes and padded down the hall to her bedroom. Changing into more comfortable clothes, she couldn’t help wondering why she’d let so many random annoyances nag her over the course of the day. She’d never struggled with depression. She’d always felt blessed and grateful for good friends, a good job, and a cozy home she loved. Others might see her middle-age singleness as a source of sadness, but she never had. She always tried to live her life with no regrets, and for the most part, that’s exactly how she’d lived. She especially cherished her quiet evenings at home.

  So why, even now as she relaxed on the sofa with a cup of tea and a pile of mail in her lap, did she feel so anxious? Where had these feelings come from today?

  Knock it off.

  Hoping to block out the doom and gloom, she rifled through her mail. A few bills, an acknowledgment letter from a ministry she contributed to, and a handful of junk mail. She started to toss them all aside when she noticed a letter tucked between a flyer from Dollar General and a page of coupons from Arby’s. The return address indicated it was from a law firm in town. Out of curiosity, she opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

  Dear Miss Thomas,

  I’m contacting you on behalf of my client, John Emerson Winthrop. He seems to think you won’t remember him, but he’s never forgotten you. Fifteen years ago, he came to your bank asking for a loan to pursue a business endeavor. Twelve other institutions had already turned him down before he met with you that day. He had already resolved to give up his dream if you refused his loan as well.

  As he tells it, you took a pass at first, explaining, “On paper, it just isn’t feasible.” On a whim, he asked if you’d ever taken a chance on someone, even when it didn’t make sense on paper. He said you didn’t respond for several moments, so he began gathering his portfolio to leave. That’s when you told him to sit back down. And five minutes later, you signed off on a loan to him “in good faith.”

  You probably don’t know this, but Mr. Winthrop used that seed money to produce the first of what’s known today as “apps” for the iPhone. I’d try to explain it, but the technology is way over my head, and isn’t really significant‌—‌beyond the fact of how deeply he appreciates the chance you gave him so many years ago.

  Now he wants to thank you for the risk you took on him all those years ago. He has designated a gift for you, and asked that I give it to you in person in his absence. Please contact my office for an appointment as soon as possible so that I can follow through with his wishes.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Charles S. Granston

  Granston, Meyers & Breedlove,

  Attorneys at Law

  Olivia stared at Granston’s signature as she lowered the letter to her lap. She closed her eyes, vaguely remembering the young man. She could picture his face framed by a shaggy head of hair, but mostly she remembered the hundred-watt smile on his face when she handed him the check. That, and the heartfelt hug he’d given her on his way out the door.

  How odd. How did he even remember me after all these years?

  As she drifted off to sleep later that night, she dreamed of a lawyer’s strange presentation to her in, of all places, the basement stairwell of an office building. He gave her a Timex watch, a Bic pen, and a plaque with some rambling comments of appreciation scribbled illegibly in blue ink from a Bic pen. Later, as she hung the plaque in her office, she wondered how the kid with the shaggy hair could have remembered the “Band-Aid” shade of her walls and found a frame in that hideous color.

  On her break the next morning, she closed her office door and dialed Granston’s number. A receptionist answered.

  “Yes, Miss Thomas, we’ve been expecting your call. What time would you like to stop by this morning?”

  “This morning? No, I’m at work and‌—‍”

  “No problem. How about later today? Would you have a few minutes to spare on your lunch break? We’re just a couple streets over from your bank.”

  “My lunch break? Yes, well, I suppose I could do that.”

  “Excellent. When shall I tell Mr. Granston to expect you?”

  Why all the urgency? “Oh, um, well, I could probably be there by 11:45.”

  “Good. We’ll see you then.”

  Olivia stared at her phone, befuddled. She was about to Google John Emerson Winthrop’s name when someone knocked on her door. She looked up as her boss opened the door.

  “Got a minute?” He closed the door behind him then slowly took a seat in the gray faux-leather chair across from her desk.

  She tried to refocus her thoughts. “Sure, Cliff. What’s up?”

  “Seems we�
��re about to be bought out. Again. Big surprise, huh?”

  For the next thirty minutes, they discussed the details of what would be the sixth buy-out since Olivia started working at the bank a week after her twentieth birthday. It always felt as if someone were shaking the rafters when these things occurred, but after a while they’d settle back into the routine of business as usual. Except for a new name on the signage outside and the checks, little changed.

  Olivia leaned back. “Suppose we could talk them into some new paint on the walls this time?”

  He gave a quick glimpse around her office. “Still looks nice to me.” He gave her an indifferent smile and left.

  Why do I even ask?

  She tried to get back to work, but couldn’t stand the curiosity. She called the receptionist at Granston’s office, telling her she’d by right over.

  Granston was shorter than she expected, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in congeniality.

  “How nice to meet you, Miss Thomas.” He grasped her hand in a firm handshake. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a pair of leather wingback chairs in front of his expansive desk.

  She sank into the one nearest the door and set her purse on the plush Oriental rug below. “I must say, I was a bit surprised to receive your letter. I hadn’t thought of Mr. Winthrop in years.”

  Granston tented his fingers, resting his elbows on his desk. “That’s not unusual for John, I assure you. He’s always been exceptionally thoughtful toward others and extremely generous. In fact, as we speak, he’s on an extended mission trip in the Dominican Republic. He recently established a non-profit agency to provide clean water to some of the bleakest areas in that country.”

  “My church helped build a school down there a few years ago. They said the living conditions are heartbreaking.”

  “It’s unimaginable. I joined John on one of his trips down there last year. It was a life-changing experience.” He nodded, his kind eyes acknowledging the sincerity of his words. “And speaking of life changing . . .” He moved a thin leather folder to the center of his desk and opened it. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Not long after you helped John secure that first loan more than fifteen years ago, he launched a tech start-up company he named INRS‌—‌an acronym for It’s Not Rocket Science. Five years later, he and his small staff released the prototype for something called the Share Cube. The cubes are about the size of dice. As I said in my letter, the technology is way over my head. But from what I understand, it enables you to share music and video files from one device to another by merely touching the two devices together‌—‌a smart phone to an iPod or another phone or whatever.”

  “I’ve seen something like that advertised on television.”

  Granston smiled. “Yes, that would be the Samsung version of the device. Of course, there have been other similar technologies in the past, but John’s was the first, and he holds the patent on the device. It’s taken all these years to perfect the product, adapting it to the various and rapid influx of gadgets and gizmos on the market. But two years ago, he sold his entire company to Samsung for $900 million in stock and cash.”

  Olivia felt her mouth fall open.

  His smiled broadened. “The Samsung stock has now doubled in value making John Winthrop a very wealthy man.”

  She tried to conjure up the image of that kid with the messy hair sitting in her office, so thrilled to get a check from her bank for a mere $10,000.

  Granston chuckled. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m in banking, but those numbers boggle my mind.”

  “I know what you mean. Now to the reason you’re here. Believe it or not, my client remains a very humble man. He recognizes everything he’s ever been given as ‘a gift from God’ and as such, he sees his responsibility to pay it forward as often as he can. Or, in your case, I guess that would be paying it backward.” He smiled, lifting an envelope from the folder. “Miss Thomas, it is with great pleasure that I present to you this check from John Winthrop as a token of his appreciation for taking a chance on him all those years ago.”

  He stood to hand her the envelope.

  Olivia kept her eyes on his, unsure of the protocol for such a situation. Should she tear open the envelope to see how much the check was for? Should she just thank him and be on her way? She glanced down at the envelope as she took hold of it, her hand trembling.

  Granston waved his hand as he took his seat again. “Please‌—‌feel free to have a look. In fact, I insist.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, this is all very‌—‍”

  “Go ahead. Take a peek.”

  She leaned back, willing her hands to stop shaking. She swallowed against her parched throat then slid a finger beneath the seal. As she removed the check, she found a handwritten note paper clipped to it.

  Dear Olivia,

  You helped me make my dreams come true. My prayer is that I can now do the same for you.

  —John

  A sting prickled her eyes as she slowly pulled the note from the paperclip. The first thing she noticed was the numeral five followed by zeros. Lots and lots of zeros. She had to blink several times to see them all. That’s when she saw the amount written out on the line below.

  Five million dollars and no cents.

  Olivia wheezed with laughter, her head falling back against the tall chair as she finally realized what was happening. It took a moment to catch her breath before the air whooshed from her lungs again, triggering another round of hysteria. She pounded her fist against her chest.

  “I’m so sorry . . . I don’t know what I was expecting, but obviously this is some kind of joke, right? Oh! Wait‌—‌is this for one of those reality shows on TV?” She looked around for hidden cameras, the last of her giggles still dancing through her voice. “C’mon, tell me. Where are the cameras?”

  “I assure you this is no joke,” Granston said, still smiling. “Though I wish John was here to witness your reaction just now. The man loves a good laugh.”

  Olivia’s laughter disappeared along with the smile on her face. She looked at the check, then allowed her eyes to track back to the attorney. “Do you mean to tell me‌—‍?”

  “Yes, I do. That’s a check for five million dollars. And it’s made out to you.”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  Now it was Granston who laughed. “There’s just one caveat, and it’s important. Mr. Winthrop insists that his gift to you remain private. Of course, you’re free to tell one or two of your closest friends or family, but only people you trust. He has no interest in publicity of any sort, so he’s quite adamant that this be kept out of the press. I trust that won’t be a problem?”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  He put his glasses back on, folded his hands on his desk, and smiled one last time. “By the way, just so you know‌—‌I also handle tax law.”

  Chapter 3

  One week later

  Olivia checked the GPS screen in her rental car, following its directions up I-95. With her cell phone on speaker, she laughed again. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this, Ellen.”

  “I can’t either. Especially since I’m not with you.”

  “Don’t you dare start. I begged you to come with me.”

  “I know, I know. But, unlike those with unlimited funds, I need my job. Besides, like I told you before, you need some time to yourself to sort all this out. And as much as I’d like to visit Caden Cove again, I still think you’re better off on your own for a while. At least until you can get your bearings.”

  “You keep saying that, but what are best friends for if not for helping their friends find their bearings?”

  Ellen faked a huff. “Enough! I promised you I’d come in a couple of weeks if you can’t manage without me, and I will. But, my guess is you’ll settle into that cozy bed and breakfast, enjoy the beauty of the area, and all that sea air will help clear out the cobwebs. I guarante
e it.”

  “Remind me again how I let you talk me into this? Who visits Maine in the dead of winter? I’m surprised the roads aren’t covered with ice or buried under eight feet of snow.”

  “Y’know, for someone who was just given five million dollars, you sure whine a lot.”

  Olivia caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, the same slap-happy grin spreading across her face again. The slow chuckle sprouted until she laughed out loud.

  “That’s more like it, goofball. It’s about time you cut loose and enjoyed all this.”

  Olivia’s laughter waned. “It’s still so surreal. I still keep expecting to wake up and find out it was all just a dream.”

  “Hey, it not only happened; you’ve already taken your first leap of faith by getting on that plane this morning. I kept cheering long after you’d left the main ticket area. Could you hear me?”

  “Well, yes‌—‌me and everyone else at Hartsfield. But I’m still a little bummed you forgot your pom-poms.”

  “I know! What was I thinking, leaving the house without them? But hey, if I want to wish my best friend a happy getaway, then let me. I cried all the way home‌—‌tears of joy, of course. I want to tell the whole world how happy I am for you!”

  Olivia adjusted her sunglasses. “You better not. Except for Brent, you’ve been sworn to secrecy, remember?”

  “You know me. Holder of all secrets and teller of none. I’m just so happy for you . . .”

  “Oh, not with the tears again? Ellen, I’m thinking my first purchase should be stock in Kleenex and have it delivered to you by the truck load.”

  Ellen’s sniffling filled the miles between them. “Go ahead, have your fun.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  “Just remember, I’m the one who prayed for God to blow your socks off.”

  “As if you’d let me forget? You’re my Danny Kaye in White Christmas.”