Tessa sliced a tiny corner off her chunk of ham. “So, which of you—“
Jack cut her right off. “We’ve never made any distinction between the children of our loins and the children of our heart.”
“Dad, do not say loins at the dinner table,” Josh begged.
Tessa went on, “But you adopted—“
Jack cut her off again. “The A word is a dirty word around here.”
Tessa might be insensitive but she was one of the smartest people he knew, and never one to back down from controversy. The combination made her a great lawyer, though sometimes not the easiest social companion. She turned to Jack. “Let me guess, you’re—“ She dropped her voice to a stage whisper—“The A word.”
“New York here’s pretty smart,” Jack said to Evan. “You’re close. Only in my case it was the F word.” He gave her back the impertinent stare.
It didn’t take her more than a moment to follow. “You were a foster kid,” she said.
Jack nodded. Even after all these years darkness shadowed his face when he talked about his early years. “People took kids like me in to make money and treated us like outsiders. Sometimes a lot worse. A lot of folks still do.”
His dad’s words might have shut some people up. Not Tessa. “You seem to have turned out okay.”
“Love of a good woman.” He gazed down the length of the table to Daphne and they exchanged a glance that belonged on one of those long distance telephone commercials.
Tessa wasn’t one to let a subject go that interested her. She glanced around at the sibs. “Don’t you want to know if you’re ad—“ At a loud clearing of Jack’s throat, she amended her sentence to, “If you’re the natural children of Mr. and Mrs. Chance or not?”
It was Iris who answered. “We have a deal. If we want to know, Mom and Dad will tell us anything. But it’s completely an individual choice.”
She turned to Evan as though she’d never really seen him before. Tessa was the only child of parents who went all the way back to the Mayflower, or pretty close. Family, to her, meant pedigree. If her family was the Westminster Dog Show, his was the pound.
“Are you…?”
He reached for her hand underneath the table. Squeezed it. “Let’s talk about this later.”
She nodded, her breeding overtaking her nosiness. “Of course.”
After the chocolate slab cake was served and the dishes done, Daphne shooed everyone into the living room. Josh lit the big wood stove, even though it wasn’t that cold. He liked making fires.
Everybody sprawled on the old couches and put their feet up on furniture that had always been heavily used. The big picture window looked out onto the meadows and the pond. Raspberry canes were still heavy with the last fruit of the summer. Tessa perched on an overstuffed sofa with a cup of tea. Daphne settled beside her and engaged her in easy conversation.
He imagined the place looked shabby and cluttered to Tessa. To him it looked like home.
Lucky, the family dog, a big yellow lab, wandered in with her much-loved, much-slobbered-on tennis ball in her mouth. She headed straight over to Tessa and, before Evan could stop her, she’d dumped the ball into Tessa’s lap. Thing was, Tessa’s lap was covered in one of her designer skirts that probably cost more than most of his family members would spend on clothing in a year.
She was frigidly polite as Daphne apologized, took the ball and told Cooper to go outside and throw it for the dog. As Cooper dragged Lucky from the room, the dog cast a look back at Tessa that suggested she was deeply disappointed in their guest.
Evan remembered writing that bucket list now. He’d sat at the kitchen table, an earlier family dog at his feet, and scribbled some of it. Added things as he thought of them.
He felt the hurtle of time in that moment. He’d made that list at twelve. And most everything on it was a good thing to do. How the hell had he not accomplished more in almost a quarter of a century?
How had his life become concentrated into billable hours? He was so competitive that he tried to shave five minutes off every hour, so, at the end of a ten hour day he had an extra 50 minutes. He never wasted time gossiping or surfing the net. He was ruthlessly efficient. So how the hell had he accomplished so little?
“What’s up, big bro?”
His sister Marguerite was the least like him and, weirdly, the one who most understood him. She’d always read his moods. She settled herself beside him, a slim but strong woman in faded jeans and a flowing top that looked designed for meditation. Probably was. Her long, dark hair was a river of curls and her big, dark eyes gazed at him.
If anyone else in his family had asked him what was bothering him, he’d have laughed at them, but with Marguerite he was honest. Mainly because if he wasn’t she’d see through his lies and wait, patiently, until she wore him down. More time-efficient to come clean at the beginning.
“Mom sent this to me with my birthday card.” He pulled out the list and showed her. Watched her smile as she read the dreams of his twelve-year old self. “I’m thirty-five. How come I haven’t done any of those things?”
She glanced at the paper, which was becoming creased from how hard he was clenching it.
“Well, you are rich,” she reminded him.
“Kid stuff,” he dismissed his first goal, to be a millionaire by the time he was thirty. In fact, he’d hit seven figures of net worth in his late twenties. Working eighty hour weeks, living on a fraction of his income and investing the rest had paid off. That first million had babies. He’d invested wisely, thanks to Clayton Willoughby’s counsel and then branched out into real estate. He could retire today if he wanted to. Crazy thought.
“Number two: ride a motorcycle across the country,” she read. Then she looked at him. “Don’t you own a motorcycle?”
“Yes. Doesn’t mean I can take off and ride it across the country because my inner child says I should.”
“Sometimes our inner child is the voice of wisdom.”
He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He folded his hands together the way he’d seen her do and said, “Namaste.”
“Back at you,” she said with a grin, and leaned over and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“Where do we sleep?” Tessa asked an hour later. “In the hayloft?” He’d said it was time for bed and then led her outside. She looked as though she were ready to steal his car and drive to the closest five star resort. Which would be a long drive.
“There’s a guesthouse on the property.”
She didn’t move. “Does it have indoor plumbing?”
Even though he shared a lot of her opinions about his family, the thing was, they were his family. He could criticize them. Turned out he didn’t think Tessa had the right. “As soon as I clean out the squirrels and check the mouse traps, we can move right in,” he said, hauling his overnight bag out of the trunk.
But they never did make it to the guesthouse. His cell phone rang. Clayton Willoughby’s home number. That was odd. Clay didn’t own a cell phone. Didn’t believe in working weekends unless something extraordinary was going down. For some reason, he grabbed Tessa’s hand when he answered the call. “Evan Chance.”
“Evan, it’s Tina.” Tina was Clayton’s wife. Her voice was thick with tears.
At the sound of her choking voice, his heart began to pound. “What is it?”
“It’s Clay. He-he’s—”
“He’s what?”
“He was on his way to his study and I heard a noise, like a grunt, and then a crash.” She made a sound like a mewling kitten. “When I got there, he was on the floor, he wasn’t breathing. I called 9-1-1 and the paramedics spent ages and ages, but they couldn’t revive him.” Again that painful sound. “They think it was a massive heart attack.”
“You mean he’s—”
“Dead. I – I don’t know what to do. He always trusted you.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m on my way. But I’m a couple of hours away.”
She sniffed. “All
my friends are in New York. He worked all the time. We only socialized with business colleagues. I realized tonight, I don’t have any friends here.”
“I’m his friend.” He hesitated briefly, “And yours too. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Evan said his goodbyes to his family and he threw the overnight bags back into his silver Lexus and headed north for Seattle.
He drove way too fast, as though if he got there quickly enough he’d find Tina had made a mistake and Clay would be in a hospital bed already joking with the nurses.
Tessa didn’t say a word for half an hour and he was grateful to her for understanding that he needed quiet. He’d flipped off the sound system the second it came on, knowing he couldn’t listen to music or news or anything. Not now. The road was as black as a funeral hearse pulling them inexorably ahead.
When Tessa finally spoke her first words stunned him. “Evan, we have to move fast.”
“If I drive any faster we’ll end up in the hospital too.”
She shot him an impatient glance. “You need to pull your wits together and think. I know Clay was your friend, but he’s gone. It’s time to think about us.”
“Us?” His brain was foggy. He couldn’t focus.
“As far as I’m aware there was never an agreed upon succession plan at the firm.”
“For God’s sake, the man hasn’t been dead an hour.”
“That’s why we need to put emotion aside and think logically. We need to move fast on this.”
“Raymond Metcalf is the most senior partner. It’s logical—”
“I don’t care about sentiment. I care about what’s best for the firm. And for us. Ray’s as caught up in the glory days of the past as Clayton was. What that firm needs is new blood, new direction. Higher billings.”
He shot a glance at her and saw her face was calm, determined. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know exactly what I’m getting at. We’ve talked about it. You and me. An unbeatable team. We’re young, smart, aggressive.” She squeezed her left hand into a fist and he saw it outlined against the windscreen as though she were about to punch something. “We could make that firm twice as efficient and twenty percent more profitable in the first twelve months.”
He suspected she was right. But Clay wasn’t even cold yet. And the excitement he’d felt when he and Tessa had discussed how they’d run the firm ‘someday’ wasn’t happening.
His brain kept repeating, “Clay can’t be dead.”
As the miles rolled on, he knew he had to accept the inevitable. His mentor, a man who had been a kind of father to him, was gone.
Clayton Willoughby’s funeral was held at the Presbyterian church he’d attended faithfully, every Easter and Christmas. Afterward there was a reception at The Port Club.
Evan had heard all the lawyer jokes, of course. The ones about lawyers and sharks seemed particularly popular. But he couldn’t help thinking of sharks circling as he watched his colleagues at the post-funeral reception. They drank carefully, nobody was going to get drunk and lose control. They might mouth how much they were going to miss Clayton Willoughby but their sharp eyes and snapping jaws suggested that every lawyer present was figuring out how the death would affect them and whether they could profit from it in some way.
Tessa wore a designer black sheath dress and a flawless diamond necklace he’d bought her at Tiffany when she made partner. She’d pretty clearly indicated which engagement ring she’d like but for some reason he hadn’t ever got around to asking her to marry him. He supposed it was assumed that the two of them would marry, by Tessa, by him and by everyone they knew.
He watched her talk to the right people, say all the right things, while he knew she was planning a coup. Part of him admired her toughness and lack of emotion. Part of him despised her.
He left early, with no stomach for competition, not today.
It was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. He went to the office where work always waited. But as hard as he tried to focus, today the concentration wouldn’t come. He found himself staring at an open file, not knowing what it was or why he’d opened it.
Around four, a clerk brought in a couriered package. Normally, everything was opened before it reached him, but this wasn’t a regular day. His secretary and most of the office was still at the wake. He felt sick when he recognized the return address as Clayton’s home. He stared at it for a moment then ripped open the flap. Inside was a worn leather jewelry case. He found his hands weren’t quite steady when he flipped open the case.
Glittering at him was the gold watch Clayton had worn every day that Evan had known him. It didn’t keep particularly good time, but he’d never seen Clayton without it. There was a note from Tina. “Clay left this to you. He loved you like a son.”
Evan stared at the gold watch for a long time. Then, he unhooked the Rolex from his wrist – even though that kept excellent time, and fastened on the old Patek Phillipe that he knew was from 1948, the year Clayton was born and his father had bought him that watch to celebrate his birth, but only presented it to him when he graduated college. The wristwatch was absurdly valuable considering it didn’t keep time.
He was having trouble with the catch since he couldn’t see properly.
A cold voice cut through his grief. “What are you doing sitting here crying?” Tessa snapped. “The others will be back soon. Man up for God’s sake.”
He looked at her, imagined pulling off a corporate coup, taking control of this law firm, making it efficient and even more profitable, marrying Tessa and continuing to build their base as a corporate power couple.
She was standing there, cool and controlled, as cold and hard as the diamonds at her throat. And as beautiful. “You’re really going for it, aren’t you?”
She glanced up and down the hallway, making sure no one was around. Then she stepped into his office. She glanced at the two watches but didn’t comment. “We’re going to do this together. This is our chance. Once we cement our power in this firm, we’ll be unbeatable. I’ve already got some ideas for changing the way we bill.”
“A corporate power couple.”
She smiled, approving of him, as though he’d finally caught on to the obvious. He felt suddenly that he was part of her plan, that she wanted to mate with him for the same cold-blooded reasons that he’d added people to his ‘want-to-meet’ list that he didn’t admire or respect.
He and Tessa had been together for almost two years and he felt that he didn’t really know her at all.
“Do you even love me?” he asked.
She stared at him for a long moment. “Don’t be a pussy.”
Chapter Three
Evan’s motorcycle leathers held a familiar scent. They smelled like dust, like miles on an empty road; they smelled like freedom. Years hanging in storage in his parents’ attic hadn’t done them any harm that he could see and to his satisfaction they still fit.
The bike was a Honda Shadow VT 750 American Classic Edition. He’d bought it new in 2002 back in college. He’d been 23 years old and already finished his first year of law school. His parents had fought his decision to buy a motorcycle, not because they thought motorcycles were dangerous. Because they felt he should ride a pedal bike and reduce his carbon footprint.
The bike looked pretty good for its age mostly because it didn’t have many miles on it. He’d stopped adding miles when he got sidetracked by business and success. He’d stored it in the back of a barn where farm equipment was kept so he knew the roof would be sound. Like the leathers, the bike seemed in pretty good shape but he took it to a mechanic anyway and had it all tuned up. He could have bought something newer and fancier but this bike reminded him of being young and he liked that.
He bought himself a new helmet, though. Technology had changed enough that the safety ratings of the new helmets were much higher than the dusty old red one hanging in the barn. He suited up, packed the few belongings he thought he’d need i
nto a trunk in the back behind the passenger seat and in the two saddle bags. He packed a tent, a minimal amount of supplies, a few clothes, and, after a struggle, his laptop.
“You’re really going to do this?” Marguerite asked as he checked that he had all the essentials before setting out to accomplish item two on his pre-teen bucket list.
“I am. I’m going to tackle every item on Evan’s Amazing Life List starting with Ride a Motorcycle Across the Country.”
“I am so proud of you.” She’d been digging up organic potatoes, the blue Russian ones that sold so well at the market. She wiped the rich, black dirt from her hands before giving him a hug.
The goodbyes didn’t take too long. He didn’t miss the irony that his parents were proud of him in a way they never had been when he succeeded in Big Law. He wondered idly if that had been his rebellion. Other kids smoked pot and got tattoos and went to India. All of which his family would have been fine with.
But whole-heartedly supporting capitalism? Bringing in seven figures a year as a corporate lawyer? He’d never overcome the feeling that somehow, by becoming a successful corporate lawyer, he’d disappointed them.
Now that he’d pretty much chucked a lucrative career, ended a two-year relationship with a woman beautiful, intelligent and successful in order to try and complete a twelve-year old boy’s bucket list, they beamed all over their faces.
He hugged first his mother, then his father.
“Promise you’ll stay in touch,” Daphne said, handing him a reusable lunch sack. “I packed you lunch for the road.”
He was oddly touched. “I’ll email you regularly,” he promised.
His dad handed him a road atlas. A road atlas.
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Jack,” Daphne said, “he’ll have GPS on his cell phone. What are you thinking?”
“He could lose his cell, could be in an area with no reception. A map is always useful.”
“Old fashioned, but true,” Iris agreed. She handed him a paper sack. “Your favorite muffins. I made them myself, this morning.”
A gratifying number of his sibs had come for the big farewell. “Where’s your first stop?” Cooper asked.
“No idea,” he said. This was the part he loved best. After years of always knowing where he’d be, where he was headed, how long it would take to get there, he suddenly had no destination, no time frame, no agenda.