Seeking Shelter

“At least think about it.” Hank stood and slowly backed away, taking his warmth and familiarity with him. “You’ve got time before we have to make this payment. But the market’s slow so the decision to sell can’t wait forever.” He turned and left, leaving the papers on the table. He stopped halfway to the back door. “You know where I’ll be.”

She heard the screen door open, and a moment later, the cool evening breeze slipped in and ruffled the pages, lifting the top one and tossing it at her feet.

She kicked at it, and it simply blanketed her shoe. She stomped her foot but it still clung. She heard the page rip and didn’t care. She really didn’t care.

She turned back around and stared after Hank. Her gaze wandered to the hallway to the left, the one that led down to the tiny apartment she and Katie shared.

Her throat ached. Katie. She wanted to go downstairs and snuggle up next to her daughter, hold her tight, silently promising that everything would be all right. But she’d be lying to her, just as she kept lying to herself.

She wasn’t any better at fixing things than her own mother had been.

* * *

THE MINUTE JACE HOLMES stepped through the glass doors of Bailey, Whitburg and Haase, he knew he was out of his element. He couldn’t sit in the fancy waiting room as the prim and proper receptionist spoke on the phone to announce his arrival. Instead, Jace paced to the glass doors and stared at the fish tank embedded in the wall.

Three golden fish moved back and forth between the pretend castle and trees, trapped behind a thick glass barrier. The cramped conditions made him think of his brother, Linc, who’d recently been trapped in a coal mine cave-in. Jace shuddered, wondering for the millionth time how Linc had survived. But he had, for which Jace was grateful.

Still, Jace shivered and moved to where he could get air and see the sky through the doors. A deep breath released some of the tension in his chest.

“Mr. Haase will see you now,” the young woman finally said, and led him to another glass door, this one nearly double Jace’s height. It barely made a noise as she pushed it open.

The silver-haired man behind the cherrywood desk didn’t cringe when Jace walked in, but Jace knew he wanted to. Jace was used to life on the streets. The man probably knew nothing of that world. His hands were too soft, his gut too thick and his suit too polished.

“Mr. Holmes. I’m Stephen Haase.” The attorney stood and extended a well-manicured hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“The letter you sent seemed pretty specific. You have some things Mac wanted me to have?” Jace dropped into the leather chair, its stiffness a sharp contrast to the worn leather of his jacket and pants.

“My client, Mackenzie Grey, had several requests, not all of which I approved of. But it was his desire that you receive this.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a fat envelope that he pushed across the desk.

Jace’s hand shook as he realized this was all he had left of Mac. He turned his mind to his friend, closing his eyes and picturing the old man’s face. Mac had been forty years older than Jace. Forty chronological years...and at least a hundred years wiser in experience. Living on the streets of L.A. had taken its toll.

Now Mac was gone. He wouldn’t have to deal with the cold. With the summer’s heat. With missing his family.

He didn’t have to deal with anything anymore.

Jace took several deep breaths to try to ease the ache. It did little good. He reached for the official-looking envelope. The stationery was that of the legal firm whose office he now sat in, but the handwriting was pure Mac. “What is it?” he asked.

“Please, open it. We can discuss any questions you may have after you’ve read the letter.”

Jace paused. The envelope was thick but pristine, probably from sitting in some file since Mac’s death almost two months ago—or longer.

Before he could give in to the fears that told him to get the hell out of here, he ripped open the seal.

A stack of crisp, new hundred-dollar bills was wrapped in a brown paper sleeve. A handwritten letter that looked like Mac’s familiar chicken scratch was neatly folded behind the money.

Jace stared at the cash. He could buy a lot of oblivion with that amount of dough. He pushed the traitorous thoughts away. Those days were gone. Long gone. He slowly unfolded the letter.

“Hey, boy,” the letter began, and Jace heard Mac’s laughter. Their age difference had always been Mac’s greatest entertainment. He knew Jace hated being called boy. Jace hadn’t been a boy for too many years to count.

“Bet you’re wondering where all this came from. Don’t worry, I didn’t rob a bank or anything. It’s mine. Free and clear. Living on the streets, I didn’t need it much. So I started saving. You know, I really thought I’d be able to find my ex-wife and little girl.

I know I drove you crazy with stories of them. I appreciate your listening. I owe you for that, boy. Owe you more than you’ll ever know.

Since I couldn’t find them, I want you to have everything. It’s yours. No strings attached. You’ve got dreams, Jace. Follow them. Be the man I’ve always seen inside you. Be what I couldn’t be.

You’re as much a son to me as that little girl was my daughter...if not more. I never let you know how much you meant to me when I was alive, so I’m saying it now.

Love, Mac”

Jace could only stare. At the money. At the letter. At what was left of the man who’d saved his life more than once.

The streets of L.A. had been a hell of a place for a sixteen-year-old. But long before Jace had come along, Mac had lived on those streets alone. They’d become a team, and in time found a small apartment to share.

Still a creature of the road, Mac had left their apartment dozens of times. He’d wanted to just “be out there” and he had been until he was so worn-out that the state came and put him in a nursing home.

Three squares a day and a bed every night weren’t for Mac.

Two months later, he was dead and gone.

“Was he nuts?” Jace finally asked.

For the first time, Stephen Haase cracked a smile. “No. Not completely. I knew Mac for many years. He was actually quite brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, not really agreeing or disagreeing. Years on the streets had given him an understanding of people. He could find and scavenge just about anything. It’s what kept him—and sometimes Mac—alive. He knew how his friend thought better than anyone, but even to him, this didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t Mac used this money for himself in the end? Why had they gone without so many times?

“And there’s this.”

Jace looked up, having nearly forgotten he was in the lawyer’s office. Haase held out another, smaller envelope. Frowning, Jace took it and opened it.

The contents fell into the palm of his hand. A key. Not just any key, but the one Mac had always worn around his neck. It felt cold in Jace’s trembling hand.

He knew Mac had always kept a safe deposit box. Though he’d gone to the bank with him a few times, Mac had never told him what was in it.

Jace abruptly shot to his feet. “Thanks for your time.” He shoved the envelope of money into his jacket pocket. He needed to think, and the walls were already closing in.

“Uh—you’re welcome.” Haase stood as well, a frown of confusion on his brow. “Do you know what that’s for?”

“Yeah. A safe deposit box.”

“Do you know where?”

Mac had trusted no one, and it meant the world to Jace that he had shared this with him. Mac must have had a reason for not telling the lawyer. Jace respected that, and simply nodded.

He headed for the door. “Damn it, Mac,” he whispered as he stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t want this.”

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER Jace gave in and went to the bank. Armed with the legal papers Stephen Haase had given him, he accessed the box. He really didn’t want to see what was inside, but he’d come this far. With a deep breath, he shoved the key into the lock. No turning back now.