For the first time, across the waiting area, he noticed a photograph. He wandered over to take a look. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Hamilton smile, but there he was grinning it up with Red.
Behind him, he heard Miss Hastings’s heels clicking across the floor. Standing next to him, she observed the photos with him.
“They go back a long way, don’t they?”
Miss Hastings, quiet for a moment, nodded slightly. Then in a soft voice she said, “There was a time when Mr. Hamilton was quite ill and needed a kidney transplant. Your grandfather went out of his way to help him find a donor. You could even say, I think, that Mr. Hamilton’s alive today because of Red Stevens.”
Jason noticed Miss Hastings leaning in toward him. She cleared her throat, and Jason could only hope she wasn’t about to spill some family secret or dish out dirt on Red. Well, he supposed he could stand to hear that, but that probably wasn’t likely to happen. “In the, um, basement of this building, there is a small apartment for a custodian.” She glanced behind her and lowered her voice even more. “It isn’t being used right now. Perhaps you’d, um, like to take a look at it?”
chapter 8
hamilton resisted the urge to stare at the kid instead of staring at the video of Red. Somehow he’d managed to get a shower. Yesterday, Miss Hastings had done her best to neutralize the place with air freshener, but even this morning a strange odor still lurked. At the moment it was replaced by some cheap drugstore cologne Jason just might’ve bathed in, but Hamilton kept his mouth shut.
He wanted Jason concentrating on the video. And he was. He seemed drawn in with every word that Red spoke.
“Jason,” Red said, “you have no concept whatsoever of the value of money. Money has always been available to you like the air you breathe. Let’s stop and review some highlights of your recent past.”
Jason glanced nervously at Hamilton, guilt washing over his face.
“A twenty-five-thousand-dollar-per-night suite in Paris with a personal chef, whom you tipped heavily.”
Jason shrugged.
“A tour of the Bordeaux region in chauffeured hot-air balloons?” Red looked truly baffled.
Jason smiled at the memory. “That was amazing.”
“A week of heli-skiing in San Moritz. A small fleet of exotic cars,” Red continued.
A twinge of pain passed across Jason’s face as he apparently recalled the repossession.
“The latest in everything. Including women.” Red paused with a wry smile. “But the past is the past, and I figure you’ve probably had a pretty tough month.”
Jason’s eyes widened at the apparent sympathy Red was showing through the video. Hamilton handed Jason an envelope. His expression brightened immediately.
“Well, it’s about time!” He glanced between Hamilton and Miss Hastings as he stood up, waving the envelope in the air with a smile. “Thank you very much. And if I ever see you two again, it will be too soon.” With a bounce in his step, he ushered himself out of the room. Hamilton actually thought he could hear him humming.
Miss Hastings looked sympathetic. “I feel sorry for him.”
“Please,” Hamilton growled. “Don’t feel sorry for him. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“But he’s coming along.”
“He has a long way to go.”
Hamilton got comfortable in his seat. There was no use going back to his office.
And not a minute later, Jason came stomping back into the conference room. The envelope had been torn, along with the optimism he’d carried out of the room. Without a word, he threw the envelope down and plunged himself back into his chair. A heavy silence engulfed the room. Hamilton resumed the video. “Well, seeing how you’ve never held one of those before, let me explain what it is. That’s a paycheck. For what you earned at Gus’s ranch.” Rage built in his tone. “’Course, the IRS ravaged it first. I hate those guys. In your pocket every step of the way. You start out in business and then you have to make a payroll, and just when you think you’re going to make—”
A voice, somewhere behind the camera, cut Red off. “Mr. Stevens . . . this is the gift of money, please?”
“Yeah, right. Sorry. Look at me,” he said with a laugh. “I’m carrying on about death and taxes even after I’m dead! You have to take that money, and as much as you need it yourself, spend it on someone experiencing a real problem.”
A sigh like a howling wind came from Jason.
“What can they teach you? Put yourself in their shoes.”
Hamilton paused the video and swiveled around to look at Jason, the poster boy for dejection. “Jason, would you like us to cash it for you?”
“Please.” Jason slid it across the table, looking unamused.
“I think we know you well enough that we won’t need any ID,” Hamilton said.
“How will you know how I spent it?” Jason asked.
Hamilton smiled. The kid was a little slow. “We’ll know.”
Jason loathed this place. Truthfully, he’d never liked parks at all. Even as a kid. Of course, every time he’d gone it was with a nanny and a handful of other rich kids’ nannies. It was hard making friends when the nanny was always breathing down his neck about what kinds of kids he could talk to. Finally, he’d just given up on the park, mostly because his mother had an entire full-sized playground, along with a sandpit and three swing sets, put in behind the house.
Jason scanned the park. The bench, the one he’d share with the bum, was now filled with a couple who didn’t have a clue what happened there at night. They were stroking each other’s faces and carrying on like it wasn’t public property.
Sighing, Jason looked toward the jogging path. Surely that stupid bum was around here somewhere. He was always around.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, touching the crisp bills with his fingers. His mother always said she loved the way money smelled, but Jason could only imagine how many other people’s sweaty hands had touched it before him, which is why he always used a credit card. Well, one of the reasons.
There! The bum! Over by the fountain. His back was to Jason and he was hunched over something, looking pretty busy for a homeless person.
Reaching into his pocket, Jason pulled out his wad of cash and plucked a hundred-dollar bill from it. For someone who lived by quarters, this could quite possibly be more than the guy could take. Jason smiled, wondering what the bum would do when he saw it . . . when he saw it being offered to him.
Jason strolled toward him, hardly able to hide his grin. Yeah, okay, so this felt good. It would feel better if he had his life back, but he would take what he could get. He stood only a few feet away from the bum now, who didn’t seem to notice anybody nearby.
“Hey.”
The bum whipped around, his back stiffening and his eyes going wide. Jason was just about to tell him to chill when he noticed what the bum was clutching. A purse.
“Hey!”
“I didn’t take anything! Nothing.”
Throwing the purse down, he fled the scene. He reached down and gathered up several folded pieces of paper that had slid out. He could tell immediately they were hospital bills, and that several of them were stamped with red ink. Past Due.
There was another piece of paper, a rent-due letter. As gently as possible, as if that mattered, he reached in and pulled out the wallet. The driver’s license was stuck into a see-through pocket. Alexia. “Oh, no. Great.”
He opened the rent due notice: sixteen hundred dollars.
The check he’d received from Gus’s farm was for fifteen hundred.
He turned toward the large medical complex that loomed over the park. He hated parks. But he hated hospitals even more.
“THE RED STEVENS WING.” Large red letters stared him down from outside the elevator.
“Naturally,” Jason said aloud to no one in particular.
He stepped out of the elevator, cupping the purse in his hand, trying to look like he wasn’t attached to the thing. He turne
d the corner, and in front of him stretched a massive hallway filled with doors. Sick people. Sick kids. A young girl wearing an outrageous hat passed him by, smiling. The mother only nodded.
Jason took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why Alexia was here. He walked slowly, looking at each door, wondering how he would find her.
A nurse glanced up from the file she was scanning. “Can I help you?”
“Looking for a young blonde woman and her little girl.” Jason held out his hand at about the height Emily would be.
“Two doors down,” the nurse said.
Jason could see it from where he stood. Hanging on the door was a cheerfully decorated sign reading “Emily’s Room.” Beneath it was a skull-and-crossbones emblem, accompanied by the words “Keep Out.” There was no doubt who’d put that up.
He peeked around the doorframe. Emily was in bed, her eyes lowered and concentrating on something she was reading. Beside her was a mannequin head . . . and the dark hair resting on top of it. Monitors squawked and beeped like they were talking to each other. Chemo.
Emily hadn’t looked up, so Jason slowly put the purse on the sink next to the door and slid his arm quietly out of the room. Taking a deep breath, he tried to gain his composure. He walked briskly down the hallway, avoiding eye contact. Not that anyone would necessarily recognize him as Red Stevens’s grandson, but he didn’t want to take any chance—
“What are you doing here?”
Jason tried not to look shocked or shaken or surprised, but he had a feeling all of it was rolling across his face in waves. And by the look on Alexia’s face, she was reading it loud and clear.
“You saw her.”
Come clean. “Yeah.”
“Did you talk to her?”
A litany of excuses offered a hand, but Jason could tell none of them would fly with this woman. So he shook his head. “So what’s wrong with her?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who you really are.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
Alexia’s stare bore into him. Her eyes held unquestionable strength. “Emily has leukemia. We thought she was in remission after a bone-marrow transplant, but a couple of weeks ago her body started to reject the transplant.” She said it matter-of-factly, like a doctor would, but her eyes betrayed her.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said. He wondered how a woman could look so strong and so vulnerable all at the same time. Part of him wanted to reach out and hug her, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be received, and he wasn’t sure he would be good at it anyway.
Her face filled with disappointment, and she walked swiftly past him and around a corner. Jason squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing was going like it was supposed to, and now he’d managed to upset her. She could see right through him.
“Hey . . .”
Alexia stopped, looked up at the ceiling like she was hoping patience might fall upon her, then turned around to look at him.
“You’re going to need money, right?”
“Oh, so that’s it.” Her hand went to her hip. “You won your bet with your rich grandfather and you’re back off the streets. Congratulations. What is it now?”
“I do have to give away some money.”
She didn’t look impressed. “You’re getting less mysterious by the minute. I bet you’re going to get to the end of your game, collect your cash, and just ride off into the sunset.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But, Alexia, if I can help you, why won’t you just let me?”
“Because no rich kid is gonna use me or my daughter to play a game.”
He could see the hurt in her eyes, but he turned and walked away, heading for the elevator, this time with his back to Red’s name. Inside his pocket, he felt for the cash. The elevator doors opened and down he went.
In the lobby, though, he couldn’t get himself to leave. Alexia was at the very least suspicious of his motives, so how was he supposed to get her to take this money? He knew it would help her, but she didn’t want his help.
Nearby, Jason noticed a man looking at him. And now he’d slid a newspaper in front of his face. Jason sighed. This guy was a terrible spy, but maybe he could serve a purpose. Walking over to him, he snatched the paper out of his hands. The man’s eyes went wide with surprise, especially when Jason slapped all the money into his hand.
“She owes sixteen hundred dollars in back rent,” Jason said. “Pay it.”
“You’re a hundred dollars short. Your check was for fifteen hundred.”
“Tell Hamilton I’m good for it. Just pay that bill.”
Hamilton rocked back and forth in his office chair. After all these years it still had that squeak. His thumbs traced the leather armrests. He remembered the day he had bought this chair. It was Christmastime.
“Go out and get yourself a chair, Theophilus!” Red had said at their annual Christmas party. Red usually called him Hamilton. But every once in a while, when he was in a good mood and had some wine down him, he’d call him Theophilus.
“A chair, sir?”
“For your desk.”
“I already have a chair.”
Red had chuckled. “You have an old wooden chair that looks like it could fall apart at any second.”
“It’s holding together well enough.”
“It squeaks when you move a muscle.”
Hamilton had gotten a good laugh out of that. Indeed, it did squeak. When he was taking a phone call he often had to stand up just so the thing wouldn’t interrupt.
“Go out and get yourself a nice chair. Leather. Genuine leather, Theophilus. That’s the only kind to get. Make it a nice one.”
So he did. He’d found the nicest chair he could and had it shipped to the office. They wheeled it in like it was royalty. Miss Hastings had left him to try it out on his own, and he’d backed into it with care. Red was right. It was divine, and maybe it would help his back too.
But as soon as he swiveled, it squeaked. They tried everything to get that chair to stop squeaking, but they never could, and Red had laughed so hard about it, it became an ongoing joke.
The chair was going on fifteen years now.
“Sir,” Miss Hastings said over the intercom. “He’s coming up.” Hamilton clutched both armrests and pushed himself into a standing position. Shuffling across the floor with his cane, he wondered why Jason had insisted on seeing him this morning. It was early, for one thing, and from what he’d observed so far, the kid didn’t rise before lunch. Maybe he was coming to give up. That would sure be a load off his back. Hamilton could get on with business, and he had a lot of it with Red’s passing.
Hamilton joined Miss Hastings in the conference room when Jason came strolling through the doors holding a paper sack. Before anyone could say anything, he was dumping the contents onto the middle of the conference room table. Dollar bills and every kind of coin spilled out with a clatter.
“Your other hundred,” Jason said. His eyes were intense, his smile satisfied.
Hamilton had to admit, he was impressed. He hadn’t thought the kid was that resourceful.
Jason gestured toward the television. “Push Play.”
Red popped onto the screen and Jason took a seat, leaning forward with an eagerness that Hamilton hadn’t witnessed until now.
“Our lives should be lived not avoiding problems, but welcoming them as challenges that will strengthen us so that we can be victorious in the future. So now that I’ve given you the gift of work, friends, and the value of money, let’s discover the gift of family.”
Jason’s mouth dropped open. Hamilton couldn’t blame him. To say his family was problematic was an understatement.
“Now, this is a tough one, but see if it’s even remotely possible to get something positive out of our family. See if they truly know how to count their blessings.” Red smiled. “If my doctors are remotely accurate, this assignment might even fall on Thanksgiving. How appropriate.”
Hamilton
paused the video. It was Thanksgiving week. The room was quiet for a moment until Jason looked up at him, desperation in his eyes.
“He’s joking, right?”
Hamilton gently shook his head. This was just plain cruel. Going over to the family house, which Hamilton had made the mistake of doing more than once, was like walking into a viper’s nest. Red had once invited him for Thanksgiving, insisted that he come, saying it would be a good time. When Hamilton had walked through the ten-foot-high front door, Red was there to greet him. Shaking his hand heartily, Red chuckled. “I lied right through my teeth. This is going to be the worst experience of your life, but I had to get you here to save my sanity. And the turkey is going to be delicious.”
It was all true. The meal was extravagant and the best he’d ever had, but the company left a lot to be desired. It all started with who should say the prayer and ended with four people stomping off and a distant aunt pouring gravy into Jack’s lap.
Afterward, Red walked Hamilton to his car. “Well, sir, thank you for dinner,” Hamilton said.
“Stop it. It was a terrible time.” He gazed toward the mansion. Warm light glowed through every one of its windows, but it felt like the coldest place on earth. “Something went wrong. Somewhere I went wrong. How did they all turn out hating each other so much? They have everything they need. Everything.”
Red patted Hamilton on the arm but didn’t look him in the eye. “Well, good night.”
Red stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowly walked back toward the house, like every step killed a little bit more time away from what was inside. It was one of the saddest things he’d ever seen.
“I’ve got to go,” Jason said suddenly and stood up. Without another word he left the room, and Hamilton went back to his squeaky chair.
chapter 9
part of him wanted to snatch a letter or two off the wall. “ED TEVENS.” Yeah. That would be funny.
He sighed. Not even a little bit of mischief would make things better. Which was saying a lot, since it usually provided for some light entertainment when things got dull.