Leaving Carolina (28 page)

And goodness knows, that yogurt container was way too heavy to carry to another room
.

“After he finished the ramp, he went into town.” Which means Uncle Obe won’t be able to enlist him as a shield against talk of the will, as he has done several times. Providing Trinity stays focused on the upstairs bedrooms, all is set for what I pray will be a productive discussion.

With a tremble in his cane arm, Uncle Obe halts before me.
“I’ve been looking forward to spendin’ time in my garden. As long as you don’t start in about the will, this will be my best day yet.”

Sorry, Uncle Obe. I step back. “Your garden awaits.”

He maneuvers the turn in the hallway. The going is slow, but we make it through the kitchen and outside onto the stoop. He rests a minute, drinking in the sight of his garden, then closes his eyes and pulls the scent in through his flared nostrils.

“Now I really am home,” he murmurs, and my heart tugs at the depth of his content. “Give me a hand.”

That surprises me, but I grip his forearm as he descends the ramp. At last he eases onto a garden chair at the table Axel set near the bottom of the ramp.

“Iced tea?” I ask.

He squints against the late morning sun. “That would be mighty nice, but don’t skimp on the sugar like you did yesterday.”

A true Southerner.

Shortly I return with two sweating glasses, one mixed with four teaspoons of sugar, the other with one. Not that I’m a sweet-tea drinker anymore, as I hate to waste my calories on drink, but I can indulge a little.

Uncle Obe thanks me as I set down his glass and lower myself to the chair next to his.

We drink in silence that I’m loath to trespass on, but I have to. “Uncle Obe—”

“Give any more thought to Axel?”

At least once a day he pumps me with Axel’s virtues. “No. Not only will I be returning to L.A.”—if I want to keep my position at the firm—“but Axel and I are hardly compatible.”

“How’s that?”

I will not be drawn into this discussion. It benefits no one—

But it could. When he tilts his head questioningly, I venture, “How about this: we can discuss Axel and me if we also discuss your will.”

He sets his glass heavily on the table. “That’s manipulative. Is that what they teach you out there in… in… Los Angeles?”

I sit back. “You need to make a decision, Uncle Obe.” Hopefully, the one that’s best for all concerned.
Meaning the Pickwicks, Piper notwithstanding
.

To my relief, he nods. “All right, but first we talk about you and Axel.”

“What about us?”

“Us?”
He brightens. “Now that’s promising.”

Patience
. “I don’t know why you think he and I are compatible.”

“You don’t like him?”

To deny it would be a lie. “I do, but not in
that
way.”

“Why? Is it his leg? Does it put you off?”

The tip of my tongue flies to the spot behind my upper teeth, but I squelch the denial. Why
am
I not interested in Axel? After all, I’m attracted to him. Too, it appears that I’m no longer “spoken for,” as evidenced by the public’s enthusiasm for the tire tycoon’s daughter who has been on Grant’s arm at a half-dozen events. As further evidenced by a photo of them holding hands and kissing. Gone are the rumors about Grant’s sexuality…

“Axel is one of the most admirable men I know,” Uncle Obe says, “but some women might consider him less than a man with that prosthetic. Is that how you feel?”

It isn’t. I hardly notice it or the hitch anymore. And it’s hard to believe any woman deserving of him would be bothered by the loss of his leg. Axel could lose both legs and still exude more masculinity than most men. So why do I reject knowing him beyond his role as a gardener, especially now that Grant is slipping out of my future? Is it the distance between L.A. and Pickwick? that I’ve only known him two weeks? Is it that I’ve always imagined marriage to a man like Grant—white collar versus blue collar?

“You’ve put your niece on the spot, Obadiah,” a terribly familiar voice says behind me. “That’s not fair.”

Oh no. What did Axel hear? Rather, what
didn’t
he hear? My denial about considering him less than a man. But I was getting there.

“I thought you had gone into town,” Uncle Obe says.

Turn around. Face him
.

“I forgot something.” I hear Axel advancing over the grass. “And I thought I would ask Piper if she wants me to bring lunch back to save her the cooking.”

Slapping on a smile, I look around. “That’s thoughtful, but I don’t mind whipping up something.”

His Blue eyes are merely blue today, and though I could blame it on the bright sunlight, it’s me. And that I didn’t deny what I meant to.

At three feet away, he halts and shifts his gaze to Uncle Obe. “I should be back in an hour or two.”

“Drive carefully,” Uncle Obe says.

Axel turns away.

Heart thudding, I look back at Uncle Obe, who seems oblivious to the terrible misunderstanding.

“Oh,” Axel says, “Maggie and Devyn were coming up the drive a minute ago, so they’re probably at the front door.”

And there goes our discussion about the will.

“Thank you.” Uncle Obe looks to me. “Why don’t you ask them to join us out here?”

That’s triumph in his eyes, but I’m not done with him. I rise and, a few minutes later, lead a disgruntled Maggie and Devyn into the garden. Fortunately, whatever disagreement they had on the drive over has been put on hold.

“Unc-Unc!” Devyn slips past me and goes into Uncle Obe’s arms. “You’re outside! I’m so glad.”

“Me too.” His eyes shine as she pulls back.

“Why, I’ll bet you were going crazier than a run-over dog—” She claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I forgot about Roy.”

He appears momentarily stricken at the mention of the dog he hit with his golf cart. “It’s all right, though I do miss that old dog comin’ around.”

“Excuse me.” Maggie steps around me and descends the ramp. “We brought you some bestsellers to read.” She hands him a paper bag.

Uncle Obe peeks inside. “That was kind of you.”

As Maggie lowers into a chair, I remember my manners. “Can I get you some iced tea, Maggie? Devyn?”

“That would be nice.” Maggie still looks bothered by what happened between her and her daughter, but she smiles. “Sweetened, please.”

Devyn nods. “Sweetened for me too, thank you.”

When I return with two glasses, Devyn is gone and Maggie is leaning toward Uncle Obe with urgency.

A shoulder to the screen door, I hesitate.

“Devyn’s pushing me again,” she says. “Wants to know who her father is and cites ridiculous research on the importance of a father in a teenage girl’s life.” She throws her hands up. “And she’s not even a teenager.”

Uncle Obe pats her knee. “In another year she will be, and don’t forget she’s mature for her age.”

“That doesn’t mean she needs to know who fathered her.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

I know what
I
should do, and I would give them privacy if the parallel between Devyn and Uncle Obe’s children hadn’t smacked me in the face.

Maggie flops back in her chair. “I’m not ready to talk about it. And it’s more complicated than anyone knows. Maybe when Devyn is an adult…”

“If she’s asking to know who her father is, my advice is to tell her. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be to deal with and she’ll have more resentment.”

Does Uncle Obe realize what he’s saying?

“I’ll tell you what the Good Book says.” He digs himself in deeper. “‘He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.’”

I give an Artemis-worthy, “Ahem. A-hem.”

Maggie’s head snaps around, but it’s Uncle Obe’s gaze I fasten on as realization blooms on his face.

I descend the ramp and set the glasses on the table. “Where’s Devyn?”

“She went to the herb garden to get spearmint for our tea,” Maggie says.

As I return to my chair, Devyn appears with a sprig of leaves, and I nod when she asks if I would like some.

Over the next half hour, talk revolves around the books Maggie brought, the auction business, and Devyn’s boredom with summer vacation. Uncle Obe looks anywhere but at me, and more than once he seems to drift out of the conversation. Hopefully, he’s thinking about the parallel between Devyn wanting to know her father and his children wanting to know theirs.

Maggie stands. “We should go. Lots to do before tomorrow’s auction.”

“Thank you for dropping by,” Uncle Obe says, “and for the books.”

“You’re welcome.”

As Maggie and Devyn go around the side of the house, I turn to Uncle Obe and he raises his palm toward me. “I know what you’re going to say, but it isn’t necessary. I’ve made my decision.”

He has?

“I do need to make amends to my children before I pass away, give them a chance to know me if that’s what they want.”

My heart feels toasty. “That’s wonderful.”

“As for my will”—he drains the last of his iced tea—“with the exception of adding Antonio and Daisy, as is their right, I’ll leave it as is.”

Then there won’t be headlines to pay? The impulse to clap my
hands is so strong I have to lock my fingers.
Thank You, Lord, for making him see the sense in letting the past lie. What’s done is done, right?

I sigh. With my Get In, Get Out strategy a success, I can leave Pickwick. And Bart, Luc, Bridget, Maggie… Devyn… Axel…

Well, I don’t have to leave right away. There are loose ends to tie up, the loosest one being to get Uncle Obe firmly back on his feet.

“Piper?” He snaps his fingers in my face.

I startle. “I’m sorry?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, you’re definitely doing the right thing.”

“Even though I’ll have to sell the estate?”

I jerk. Did I miss something? “Sell the estate?”

“Well, how else am I going to come up with the money?”

“For what?”

“To make amends to all those people.”

I thought we were past that. “What?”

He sighs. “I’m talking about those I was going to add to my will before you made me realize the importance of making amends to my children while I’m still around.”

What have I done?

“So why stop there? I’ll right the wrongs now, even if it means selling the estate and seeing it turned into a…” His face tenses. “You know, buildings…houses…”

“A development.”

“Development,” he snatches up the word. “Anyway, at least I’ll have peace about our family’s wrongs.”

Then there
will
be headlines to pay. I lay a hand over his on the table. “But this is so sudden. Shouldn’t you give it more thought?”

“You said I had to make a decision.
That’s
my decision.” He pulls his hand from under mine. “Thank you for helping me see the light.”

I don’t feel so well.
Pull yourself together. That’s it. Now think!
Okay, I knew this could happen. It was always a possibility, just not the one I would have chosen. Fortunately, all is not lost—
if
it’s handled correctly. “Then restitution it is, but I have to warn you that the family isn’t going to take this well.”

“I know that. But more than that, I know that ‘in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.’” He smiles. “Romans 8:28.”

I startle. Coincidence or divine counsel by way of Uncle Obe? Either way, it’s a wake-up call to go beyond peacemaking—to take the bad of my past and to find the good of it in my present.

“You like that, hmm?” Uncle Obe asks.

“It’s a keeper,” I say and quickly shift back to first gear. “I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“That we start selling off the estate and, where possible, make restitution in such a way that it appears to be philanthropy.”

His eyebrows dive. “But it isn’t.”

“We’ll know that, but—”

“Is this how you get your fancy clients out of trouble? With lies?”

Ouch. “I like to think of it more as… an alternate version.”

I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that.

“I’m disappointed in you, Piper Pickwick.”

So is my conscience, but there are others to consider—and not
just me. “Uncle Obe, if you insist on selling the estate, this way is best for all.”

“All who?”

I go for his soft spot, which is also mine. “Devyn tops the list.”

His gaze flickers.

“I understand she’s part of the ‘out’ crowd at school. If we don’t put a sp—” Ooh, not the right word to use.

“Put a spin on it?” Uncle Obe rumbles.

So he knows the jargon. “That is what we’d be doing. If we don’t, this could be hard on her.”

His jaw grinds, but finally he turns his palms up. “So how do you propose to make”—his lips press—“res-restitution to all those people under the guise of philanthropy?”

Guise. “Unfortunately, it won’t work in all instances, but let’s take the statue that was dumped in the lake years ago by one of the Pickwicks.”

“That would be me.”

I gape.
“You
did that?”

“It was a terrible likeness of your great-grandfather. Made him look all honorable and beneficent when he was nothing of the sort.”

“I can’t believe you did something like that.”

“Neither could anyone else.” He smiles. “Just like no one suspected you were Lady Godiva.” He jacks up his eyebrows. “Call it teenage rebellion.”

I can relate to that. “Anyway, you would simply fund a new statue for the betterment of the town.” I shrug. “Your conscience is eased, the town is grateful, and the Pickwicks earn a mark in the plus column.”

“To counteract all those minuses?”

I smile.

He frowns. “Sounds slick to me—like Luc.”

Oh, Lord, to be likened to Luc…
Luc who is bound to cause problems when he gets wind that Uncle Obe plans to liquidate. If he seeks to have Uncle Obe declared mentally incompetent—No, I can’t worry about that.

“You said this philanthropy gig won’t work for everything. So then what?”

“We make restitution with an apology.”

“Pay the piper, hmm?”

I hate that expression.