The Promise of Christmas. Tara Quinn Taylor

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      Jonathan stared at her as he climbed in to the front passenger seat. “You say ain’t.”

      “I’m old.”

      The skinny little black boy buckled his seat belt around the church slacks she’d laid out for him that morning and stared out the side window at his father’s grave.

      Ada ached for a good long cry.

      “THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING,” Attorney Jim Brackerfield stood at the door of the conference room in the downtown Columbus office that housed his firm. It was Friday morning. Leslie barely gave her brother’s partner a glance; she was more concerned with her mother’s comfort, with breathing calmly through the next few minutes. She could hardly believe only four days had passed since she’d been standing in her own office congratulating herself on a South Seas deal that now seemed far more distant than mere miles away—despite her daily calls to Nancy.

      Kip pulled out chairs at the conference table for her and her mother. Smiling her thanks, Leslie smoothed the gray wool skirt beneath her and sat facing the north wall, the window of which looked out toward Ohio State University. Her alma mater.

      “I would’ve been happy to come to the house,” Jim was saying to Clara.

      “I know, Jim, and that means a lot. Thanks,” Clara said, her lips trembling. “But I needed to come here, to see his…the office without him in it….”

      Leslie nodded, rubbed the crystals in her necklace, shades of blue and gray and black. She’d agreed with her mother’s decision to meet the attorney at his office.

      While her mother and Jim, who knew each other well, talked about mutual acquaintances who’d been at the funeral the day before, Kip took the seat next to her. She hadn’t been surprised to hear that Cal had left something in his will for his closest friend.

      His sports equipment, she’d bet.

      She smiled at him a second time, glad he was there. She was doing much better today, now that the whole process of saying goodbye to Cal was behind them. Still, Kip’s presence was…a blessing.

      Jim sat on the other side of the long table. He was older than her brother by at least ten years, his hair thinning and gray, but judging by his athletic frame, he’d shared her brother’s passion for sports.

      “I…” He coughed, looked down at the papers in his hands, put on a pair of reading glasses. Took them off.

      “Oh, hell.” He pushed the papers away. “Cal’s will is here. We can read it together or apart, whatever you prefer. But I know what it says, and there’s just no easy way to tell you—”

      “None of us needs my brother’s money, Jim,” Leslie said, relying on her years of professional experience to put the other man at ease. “Even if he’s left it to…to historic car research, we’ll all support his choice.”

      Clara patted Leslie’s thigh under the table, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “She’s right,” Clara added.

      Kip nodded.

      “He didn’t leave his assets—and they were considerable, by the way—to historic car research.”

      Leslie waited, honestly unconcerned with anything but enduring this for her mother’s sake and getting out of there, as soon as she could. She’d used an antique gold clip to pull her hair back, but wished she’d let it hang free to curtain her face.

      “He didn’t leave them to any of you, either.”

      “Calhoun felt the weight of responsibility for all he’d been given,” Clara said softly. “He knew that neither Leslie nor I needed his money. It truly is fine, Jim. I’d just like to know who he chose to help….”

      Let it be meaningful, Leslie thought. Please let his last grand gesture be full of heart and compassion.

      Jim tapped the tips of his fingers together, glancing down again. His gaze, when it met each of theirs in turn, was grave.

      “He left it to his children….”

      Leslie’s skin chilled. Her fingers, sliding from her mother’s, were clammy.

      “His…” Clara’s face was white, pasty-looking beneath makeup that no longer enhanced her skin, her lips thin and pinched.

      Calhoun had children. Leslie’s heart raced, filled with fear, and then settled into an uneasy pace. God, please let them be well-loved. Safe. Protected.

      She’d been all of those things.

      No! Let them be…oh, she didn’t know what. Please, God, let it be okay. If something happened to them, if I could’ve done something…

      “I should’ve known,” she muttered, “should never have stayed away so long.”

      “Your mother was right here in town and she didn’t know….” Jim’s voice seemed to come from far off.

      “It can’t be true,” Clara interrupted, sounding lost. “He would’ve told me. Cal was a loving son. Attentive. He was over for dinner every Sunday, took me to the theater, visited during the week. He would never have kept my grandchildren from me.”

      Jim cleared his throat. “He—”

      “He wasn’t even married!” Clara blurted, rubbing one hand up and down the skirt of her violet suit and pulling at the lapel of her jacket with the other. At seventy, Clara Sanderson was retired, but in her day, she'd been every bit as formidable in the business world as her daughter was now. Where Leslie’s forte was finance, Clara’s had been real estate.

      Leslie took her mother’s hand under the table, as much to still her own jitters as to calm her mother’s.

      “Be that as it may, your son had two children, Mrs. Sanderson,” Jim said, leaning forward as he spoke.

      “And he left them everything,” Kip said, as though trying to sum up what they’d been told and get them out of there. Or at least, that was what Leslie hoped he was doing.

      “Not quite,” Jim said, looking from Kip to Leslie. “He left the two of you something quite valuable, too.”

      Leslie didn’t want anything of Cal’s. She just wanted to get outside, breathe, figure out what to do next.

      “I can’t imagine what that would be,” Kip said, frowning.

      Cal had kids someplace and presumably Jim knew where. She had to find them. Hell, she didn’t even know how old they—

      “He left you the kids,” the attorney’s voice was like a loud crack in the silence. “To you, Kip, he left guardianship of his five-year-old son, Jonathan. And Leslie, he asked that you take two-year-old Kayla.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS ALL TOO incredible to believe. She was a mother. A mother! No, she wasn’t. She could be a guardian. If she chose to accept Calhoun’s final wishes.

      Chose СКАЧАТЬ