One Wish
Page 51
“Are you hoping for a big inheritance?” she asked forthrightly.
“Until very recently, I didn’t know anything about Grace’s family. Until this very moment, inheritance never crossed my mind.” He laughed uncomfortably. “By the looks of you, such an event is a very long way off.”
She didn’t make eye contact. She lifted her drink and took a sip. Her hand trembled and she used her other hand to help stabilize it.
His drink arrived quickly. He took a sip. He made a face. “What is this?”
She actually smiled. “A Manhattan. With bitters.”
“Delicious,” he said, putting it down.
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Well, let’s have it, shall we? Why are you here? What do you expect me to say?”
“I’ve never seen two women more adept at button pushing, and I have a sister and mother. They’ve had their share of standoffs. But what I saw a couple of hours ago was brutal. So, here’s my question. What’s it going to take, Mrs. Banks? Is it possible for you to have some kind of decent relationship with Grace?”
She thought for a moment. “I should be having this conversation with my daughter.”
“Of course you should, but you haven’t. Grace is unhappy and if I’m not mistaken, you’re unhappy. There must be a way.”
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand.”
“That there’s baggage? That you have a history of conflict? That finding a compromise is difficult? Try me. I’ve mediated some legendary arguments in my time. Right now, I have at least fifty teenage girls in my classes. Go ahead, lay it on me.”
She took another sip. “I’ve made mistakes with my daughter, but this time I can’t afford to make another mistake.”
“Sending her that note...”
“It was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I want my daughter to come home, Mr. Headly. It’s imperative that she come home. But I don’t want her to come out of pity.”
“For a visit?” he asked.
“For a very long visit. In a rash moment I thought if she felt unsafe on her own she would let me help her. I made a mistake.”
“She’s safe. And I don’t think she needs help. She was pretty clear—she doesn’t like the career choices you suggested. She’s really good at what she does. And she’s happy.”
“Mr. Headly—”
“Mrs. Banks,” he said, leaning toward her. “My name is Troy. For just a minute, let’s pretend we’re friends and that we trust each other. At the least, let’s assume we both have Grace’s happiness and safety as our shared priority.”
She took another bolstering drink. Her hand continued to shake a little. “Troy. I have money. Family money. Taking care of it is complicated. With money comes predators. With old money there is responsibility. When that money is Izz—Grace’s, I frankly don’t care if she spends it, gives it away, puts it to work or does what I’ve been doing—preserve it and grow it. But I don’t want her to be robbed or to lose it because of her inexperience. It’s time for Grace to trust me. To let me show her how to manage. She has absolutely no experience in the management of wealth.”
“She managed to buy a business and operate it at a profit,” he said.
“Please. Don’t be naive. Her father left her a trust. She used it to buy that flower shop.”
Troy sat back in his chair. “What has that got to do with skating or broadcasting or coaching?”
“I thought it would be best if she chose a career path with some longevity in a field she loved. But she’s adamant...”
“You’re not going to win that one,” he said. “I don’t know why you can’t open a dialogue about what it will one day take to manage your old money. She doesn’t have to coach or work for the media for that to happen. And, for God’s sake, this is not urgent.”
Winnie Banks pierced him with her cold blue stare. “Mr. Headly. Troy. I wanted Grace to come to me out of loyalty and love. I had planned to tell her once we were talking again—there isn’t much time. I’m ill, Mr. Headly. I have ALS. The symptoms are getting stronger every day.”
He was speechless. She was a young woman, early fifties, he guessed. She appeared strong, except for the tremor. She was beautiful and willful, but with ALS, the mind would be strong until the body finally gave out.
“You have to tell her,” he finally said.
“Of course,” she said. “At once. I’ve written a letter. I wrote it before we had our altercation today. I was going to have my driver take it to her tomorrow but if you’re willing, you can give it to her.”
A bellman came to their table pushing a wheelchair. “If you’re not ready, I can come back anytime you like,” he said.
“It’s fine, Bruce. I’m ready.” She transferred herself into the chair. “Will you? Take my daughter a letter?”
He nodded, numb from the news. “Mrs. Banks, I’m sorry.”
“The letter is in my room. Can you pick it up?”
A few minutes later, Winnie was resettled in her cottage. Virginia, who was a maid or assistant or keeper of some kind, was there to assist her, some fresh fruit and cheese put out on her small breakfast table. The letter was on the coffee table, addressed but not stamped. She put it in his hand.
“Are you sure this is ready?” he asked her.
“It begins with an apology,” she said, reassuring him. “That’s something easier to do in a letter, I’ve found. Easier than while facing her anger.”
Fourteen
Troy hadn’t liked the Manhattan that he’d had with Winnie but he could really use a drink. In fact, a drink in a dark bar sounded like just the thing. He didn’t feel like running into friends so that eliminated Cliff’s and Cooper’s. He parked in front of Waylan’s and went inside.
“How about a Crown. Neat,” he told Waylan. “And then another one.”
The letter to Grace was in the center console in the Jeep. There was only one dim light shining in Grace’s loft. She needed time alone but he was going to have to go to her. There was no way he could have that conversation with Winnie and not tell her; no way he could be in possession of that letter and not give it to her right away. But he thought it was reasonable that he have a couple of belts for both his nerves and need of courage.
“Until very recently, I didn’t know anything about Grace’s family. Until this very moment, inheritance never crossed my mind.” He laughed uncomfortably. “By the looks of you, such an event is a very long way off.”
She didn’t make eye contact. She lifted her drink and took a sip. Her hand trembled and she used her other hand to help stabilize it.
His drink arrived quickly. He took a sip. He made a face. “What is this?”
She actually smiled. “A Manhattan. With bitters.”
“Delicious,” he said, putting it down.
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Well, let’s have it, shall we? Why are you here? What do you expect me to say?”
“I’ve never seen two women more adept at button pushing, and I have a sister and mother. They’ve had their share of standoffs. But what I saw a couple of hours ago was brutal. So, here’s my question. What’s it going to take, Mrs. Banks? Is it possible for you to have some kind of decent relationship with Grace?”
She thought for a moment. “I should be having this conversation with my daughter.”
“Of course you should, but you haven’t. Grace is unhappy and if I’m not mistaken, you’re unhappy. There must be a way.”
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand.”
“That there’s baggage? That you have a history of conflict? That finding a compromise is difficult? Try me. I’ve mediated some legendary arguments in my time. Right now, I have at least fifty teenage girls in my classes. Go ahead, lay it on me.”
She took another sip. “I’ve made mistakes with my daughter, but this time I can’t afford to make another mistake.”
“Sending her that note...”
“It was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I want my daughter to come home, Mr. Headly. It’s imperative that she come home. But I don’t want her to come out of pity.”
“For a visit?” he asked.
“For a very long visit. In a rash moment I thought if she felt unsafe on her own she would let me help her. I made a mistake.”
“She’s safe. And I don’t think she needs help. She was pretty clear—she doesn’t like the career choices you suggested. She’s really good at what she does. And she’s happy.”
“Mr. Headly—”
“Mrs. Banks,” he said, leaning toward her. “My name is Troy. For just a minute, let’s pretend we’re friends and that we trust each other. At the least, let’s assume we both have Grace’s happiness and safety as our shared priority.”
She took another bolstering drink. Her hand continued to shake a little. “Troy. I have money. Family money. Taking care of it is complicated. With money comes predators. With old money there is responsibility. When that money is Izz—Grace’s, I frankly don’t care if she spends it, gives it away, puts it to work or does what I’ve been doing—preserve it and grow it. But I don’t want her to be robbed or to lose it because of her inexperience. It’s time for Grace to trust me. To let me show her how to manage. She has absolutely no experience in the management of wealth.”
“She managed to buy a business and operate it at a profit,” he said.
“Please. Don’t be naive. Her father left her a trust. She used it to buy that flower shop.”
Troy sat back in his chair. “What has that got to do with skating or broadcasting or coaching?”
“I thought it would be best if she chose a career path with some longevity in a field she loved. But she’s adamant...”
“You’re not going to win that one,” he said. “I don’t know why you can’t open a dialogue about what it will one day take to manage your old money. She doesn’t have to coach or work for the media for that to happen. And, for God’s sake, this is not urgent.”
Winnie Banks pierced him with her cold blue stare. “Mr. Headly. Troy. I wanted Grace to come to me out of loyalty and love. I had planned to tell her once we were talking again—there isn’t much time. I’m ill, Mr. Headly. I have ALS. The symptoms are getting stronger every day.”
He was speechless. She was a young woman, early fifties, he guessed. She appeared strong, except for the tremor. She was beautiful and willful, but with ALS, the mind would be strong until the body finally gave out.
“You have to tell her,” he finally said.
“Of course,” she said. “At once. I’ve written a letter. I wrote it before we had our altercation today. I was going to have my driver take it to her tomorrow but if you’re willing, you can give it to her.”
A bellman came to their table pushing a wheelchair. “If you’re not ready, I can come back anytime you like,” he said.
“It’s fine, Bruce. I’m ready.” She transferred herself into the chair. “Will you? Take my daughter a letter?”
He nodded, numb from the news. “Mrs. Banks, I’m sorry.”
“The letter is in my room. Can you pick it up?”
A few minutes later, Winnie was resettled in her cottage. Virginia, who was a maid or assistant or keeper of some kind, was there to assist her, some fresh fruit and cheese put out on her small breakfast table. The letter was on the coffee table, addressed but not stamped. She put it in his hand.
“Are you sure this is ready?” he asked her.
“It begins with an apology,” she said, reassuring him. “That’s something easier to do in a letter, I’ve found. Easier than while facing her anger.”
Fourteen
Troy hadn’t liked the Manhattan that he’d had with Winnie but he could really use a drink. In fact, a drink in a dark bar sounded like just the thing. He didn’t feel like running into friends so that eliminated Cliff’s and Cooper’s. He parked in front of Waylan’s and went inside.
“How about a Crown. Neat,” he told Waylan. “And then another one.”
The letter to Grace was in the center console in the Jeep. There was only one dim light shining in Grace’s loft. She needed time alone but he was going to have to go to her. There was no way he could have that conversation with Winnie and not tell her; no way he could be in possession of that letter and not give it to her right away. But he thought it was reasonable that he have a couple of belts for both his nerves and need of courage.
