On Temporary Terms

In the moments when he wasn’t thinking about Abby, he pondered the escape clause in the will. He had come here to America, fully expecting his grandmother to live for another decade or more. It was possible. The women in her genealogy had all closed in on the centennial mark, several of them passing it. Granny Isobel could very well celebrate her hundredth birthday here in Candlewick. She was in good health and of sound mind.

To hear that his indenture had an escape clause troubled him. Without it, he had no choice but to dive headfirst into Stewart Properties and make a new life for himself. But knowing there was a carrot dangling out there—the chance to go home to Scotland in two years—meant that he would always be marking time. In many ways, the possibility of reprieve made things worse.

In a difficult situation, a man needed to hunker down and make the best of his fate. How effective would Duncan be if he were always looking wistfully over his shoulder from whence he had come?

Somehow, he made it through the day. Granny Isobel was beside herself at the prospect of company. She had ordered a trio of fancy appetizers from a local caterer, along with a selection of wines to have on hand for Abby’s visit.

One of the receptionists took Isobel home at three so she could nap in preparation for her visitor. Duncan stayed at the office until the very last minute, going over spreadsheets and trying his damnedest to wrap his head around the ambitious construction schedule planned for the upcoming two quarters.

The business’s forward motion had slowed in the year since his grandfather’s death. First Brody, and now Duncan, had helped Isobel get the company back on track. It relieved Duncan more than a little to know that auditors would be coming in soon. If there were any problems, he wanted to know about them.

At five, he called his grandmother to see if she needed anything else to go with the food. She professed to have it all under control. He grinned to himself. In his grandparents’ heyday, they had thrown wildly lavish parties up on top of the mountain. Invitations to the big house were highly coveted. He’d heard more than one story about dancing until dawn and draining multiple cases of champagne and good Scottish whisky.

At five twenty, he locked up the office and headed out to pick up Abby.

When he bounded up her steps and knocked, she answered the door wearing a smile, black dress pants and a soft berry-pink cashmere sweater that clung to her ample curves. He scooped her up and kissed her, careful not to smudge her rosy lip gloss.

Abby was stiff in his embrace at first, but then she sighed and kissed him back. “You’re an outrageous man. I don’t know why I don’t smack you.”

He pulled back and grinned at her. “I’m guessing you have to be on your best behavior until you accomplish your damned objective. But I warn you, it’s a fool’s errand. Granny won’t sell.”

“If you’re really so worried about me talking to her, I could take you to meet the prospective buyer one day next week. You wouldn’t have to tell Isobel right away.”

“Oh, no,” he said, grimacing. “I don’t do secrets. They never end well. If we’re doing this, we’ll be upfront about your agenda.”

“Mr. Chester asked me to present the offer. I’m not responsible for the outcome.”

“If you say so.” He kept an arm around her waist as they walked out to the car. “Granny is beside herself with excitement that you’re coming. I suppose I hadn’t realized how much she has missed Brody and Cate and the baby since they left. With just me around, the house has been too quiet.”

“Maybe I could have lunch with her one day.”

He gave her a sideways frown. “Are you suggesting that idea as a lawyer or as a decent human being?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Abby said, glaring at him.

He helped her into the car and closed her door. Even when she was mad at him, he felt a sexual pull. That reality didn’t bode well for his peace of mind.

When he was behind the wheel with the engine running, he apologized. “I’m sorry. No more cheap shots about your profession today, I promise.”

She grinned wryly. “Only today?”

He shrugged, feeling lighthearted and pumped about the evening to come. “I’ll take the rest of the calendar under consideration, I swear.”

The trip up the mountain was quick. When they arrived, Abby stepped out of the car and stared at his grandparents’ house in admiration. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here. I’ve never been inside, though.”

“Some of the exterior upkeep has been let go. Brody and I put a lot of sweat equity into cutting back bushes and fixing gutters...things like that. For a long time after Grandda died, Granny couldn’t bring herself to stay here with him gone. But now that she’s back, she’s happy again. This house was something they built together, just like the business.”

After unlocking the front door, he stood aside for Abby to enter. He tossed his keys into a carved wooden bowl on a table in the foyer and motioned for Abby to follow him. Raising his voice, he called out. “Granny. We’re here.”

He’d half expected his grandmother to be hovering by the front door, ready to greet her guest. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”

“I love all the artwork,” Abby said. “Everything is warm and welcoming, but so very unique.”

“Aye,” Duncan replied, half-distracted. “They collected paintings and sculptures from all over the world. Granny. Where are you?” He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and his heart stopped. A small figure lay crumpled in the center of the floor.

“Granny!” He fell to his knees, his heart pounding. “God, Granny. Call 9-1-1,” he yelled, though Abby was at his elbow, her eyes wide, her expression aghast.

While Abby fumbled with her cell phone and punched in the numbers, Duncan took his grandmother’s hands and chafed them. “Talk to me, Granny. Open your eyes.” Abby finished her brief conversation. “Get me a wet cloth,” he said. “The drawer by the sink.”

Moments later, she crouched at his side and handed him a damp square of cotton. Duncan placed it on his grandmother’s forehead. Her lips were blue. His heart slugged in his chest. CPR. He needed to do CPR. He’d had the training. Instinct kicked in. He began the sequence of compressions and breaths. Counting. Pushing. Praying.

Abby took one of Isobel’s frails wrists and held it.

Duncan shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Anything?”

“No.” Tears welled in Abby’s eyes but didn’t fall.

“Damn it.” He repeated the CPR sequence again. And again. Until his chest ached and his arms ached and his heart was broken. “I just talked to her half an hour ago.” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.

Abby put her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his. “I think she’s dead, Duncan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

Five (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)

Abby hadn’t realized she could hurt so badly for a man she had known for such a short time. The two hours that followed were nothing less than a nightmare. A parade passed through the house... EMTs and ambulance drivers and Isobel’s personal physician and eventually a representative from the local funeral home. At long last, the elderly woman’s tiny, cold body was zipped into a dreadful black bag and loaded into the back of a hearse.

If she’d had a choice, Abby wouldn’t have chosen to witness that last part, but Duncan wouldn’t leave his grandmother and Abby wouldn’t leave Duncan. Somewhere along the way, he had withdrawn inside himself. He spoke when necessary. He thanked everyone who helped. He made decisions. He signed papers. But the man who had picked her up at her home earlier that evening was gone.

At last, they were alone. The sprawling house echoed with silence and tragedy.

“You should eat something,” Abby said quietly. “Let me fix you a plate.”

He didn’t respond. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.

They had been standing at the front of the house watching as the vehicle bearing his grandmother’s body drove away. Quietly, Abby closed and locked the door and took Duncan’s arm. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

As soon as they entered the room, she winced. It was impossible not to remember seeing the small, sad body lying forlorn and alone in the middle of the floor. The doctor believed Isobel likely suffered a massive cardiac event and had died instantly without suffering.

Abby had searched Duncan’s face to see if this news brought him comfort. Nothing in his anguished expression told her that was the case.

Now, as Duncan stood irresolute, she eased him toward a chair. “Sit,” she said firmly, as she would with a child. She bustled about the unfamiliar kitchen, finding plates and cups and silverware. By the time the coffee brewed, she had scooped out small portions of the appetizers that were to have been Isobel’s contribution to the evening’s social hour. Baked Brie with raspberry jam. Fresh minced tomato and mozzarella on bruschetta. Mushrooms stuffed with sausage and ricotta.

She put a plate in front of Duncan and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Try to eat something,” she said. He stared at the food, but he didn’t see it. That was painfully obvious.

Her heart breaking for him, she poured two cups of steaming coffee, carried them to the table and sat down beside him. She took his hand in both of hers, worried that his long fingers were cold. “Talk to me, Duncan,” she said quietly. “Talk to me.”

He blinked as if waking from a dream. “She was with me at the office this afternoon. She was fine. I talked to her on the phone after five. She was fine. How could this happen?”

“Miss Izzy was an old woman. I guess her heart gave out.”