Chapter 4
Arthur Hale hated waking up worried, but he feared the Merriam legacy in Dare Valley was in jeopardy. Trevor had pulled him aside at yesterday’s shindig to give him the news. He’d been wondering about J.T.’s prune-like face and the worried looks he kept darting at Caroline.
Cripes, that woman! Cynthia Newhouse didn’t know what she was up against this time. A fight was brewing, and he needed to get ready for it, both for J.T. and for the memory of his long-lost friend and mentor, Emmits Merriam. Emmits had fought for what he believed in until his last breath, and Arthur intended to do the same.
Still, there was no denying it was getting harder to crawl out of bed these days. He was turning eighty this May, and some mornings he felt every day of it. He rubbed his right hip, which hurt like a bitch, and watched the sun rise through the large windows in his bedroom. The pink and orange tones seemed to spread flame across the sky. The sunrise always inflated his spirits. There was another day to do what needed doing, and he was grateful for the chance. After his beloved wife, Harriet, had died, he’d ripped off the curtains so he could take in this daily spectacle of creation. It wasn’t like he was worried someone was going to see him parading around naked. His house was remote, and the only unexpected visitors he had were animals. And really, was a wild turkey or an elk going to pause and stare at his old, scrawny body? Not in a million years.
He eyed the clock. Waking up at six fifteen wasn’t bad after going to sleep late last night. His extended family had partied until after ten, when Caroline had finally announced that she needed to drive back to Denver so she’d be ready for work in the morning. God bless J.T. He’d offered to drive her back, but no, his niece had turned him down. That worried Arthur some, but who could blame the poor girl for needing space after J.T.’s ex-wife had interrupted what should have been a romantic picnic? Arthur hadn’t liked Caroline not knowing about the infernal divorce proceedings, but he’d understood and respected J.T.’s desire to keep it a secret until it was over.
Regardless, those kids belonged together. Cynthia Newhouse might try to wreak more havoc, but Arthur didn’t intend to let her ruin things for J.T. and Caroline. And that wasn’t the only thing he had to sort out before he left this world.
Of course, at his age, he thought about death. Not in the weird coffin kind of way—like whether his dead body would be surrounded in white silk or some such nonsense. He could care less. No, he thought about what he was leaving behind and making sure the future was secure for those who came after him—exactly as Emmits had done before him.
Sure, Arthur’s dream had come true when his granddaughter Meredith left New York for Dare Valley and re-joined his newspaper. Even better that she’d wed a famous journalist, Tanner McBride, and brought him on board too. He’d danced more than a few times with his cane when no one was looking. The Western Independent was stronger from an editorial point of view than ever. Arthur didn’t even write every Sunday op-ed anymore, granting that prize spot to Meredith and Tanner whenever they pitched him something worthy.
But financially, the paper was going through the same crunch every other paper from The Washington Post to The New York Times was experiencing. Technology had changed the landscape forever, but Arthur had resisted changing with the times. He didn’t want to offer his paper for a free trial on some decked-out website or post part of an article, only to bribe earnest readers—forcing them to either become an online subscriber or forever wonder how the story ended. Meredith had put her foot down, insisting they had to have some sort of digital presence. Both of them had caved some.
The three-million-dollar loan he’d taken out to go digital wasn’t paid off yet and the interest was killing him. Bah! Meredith was battling with him more and more about trying new online tricks while Tanner watched all creepy quiet from the corner. That man could give lessons in active listening and watching. Right now, Arthur was going to have to hold the line on rejecting more tech improvements. Paying his loan on time was important, especially since he’d put the newspaper’s building up as collateral. Adding to it would only extend things, and Arthur didn’t like the idea of leaving Meredith and Tanner with a load of debt should he up and die.
Plus there was the damn advertising… Courting new and old clients was more competitive than ever, and none of them liked that part of the business.
Arthur scratched the scruff on his face as he stared out the window. Shaving had gotten harder as he’d grown older. Hell, his secretary sometimes pointed out that he’d missed part of his face or under his chin. Like he could see that well anymore. Even his glasses weren’t that good, and it pissed him off. He’d thought about growing a beard in his older years, but it didn’t seem professional to him. In his generation, men were expected to be clean-shaven. Male facial hair was a bit baffling when you stopped to think about it. Why in the hell didn’t it give out like the rest of the body? Why did hair stop growing on a bald man’s head and sprout from his nose instead? Did God chuckle every morning at such male inconveniences?
Getting old was for the birds.
He gathered himself to roll over and winced as he heard four pops in his back. Some days, it sounded like someone was popping off gunfire back there. But at least he had his mind. His mind and the paper, digital inconveniences aside.
People kept asking why an almost eighty-year-old needed to work from eight in the morning until six at night. He usually barked his response. Because he fucking loved it, and yes, he’d said “fucking.” Sometimes it was the only word to get the job done. He loved what he’d created with the paper. Loved the buzz of the newsroom. Loved shaping words with the intention of changing opinions or opening minds to a subject or issue. It was in his veins, like the black ink he joked about. How did a man walk away from what pumped in his heart?
He was trying to secure his own legacy as best he could—and now he was going to have to protect the Merriam legacy too. J.T. needed a pep talk but good. Arthur sat up and reached for his cane, feeling the weight of re-spon-si-bil-ity. Some called it a dirty word, but not him. He had the strength to do what was needed, and he tapped his trusty cane on the floor for good measure. He was going to call that boy right now and leave a message. Yesterday’s party hadn’t been the place for them to talk. Plus, he’d wanted to stew over matters, much like he knew Trevor would be doing. That boy was downright scary sometimes, but he was a good ally in this fight against the woman he called Sin City. Heck! Now that was some nickname. The boy was right. Never get involved with a woman whose first name had “sin” in it, even phonetically. Big mistake.
He pushed off the bed to stand up, and his back popped a few more times in response. “Bah! You’re not stopping me from getting up, dammit,” he told his body.
Reaching for the phone, he realized he’d forgotten to put on his glasses so he cursed again. Then he dialed J.T.’s number.
“Uncle Arthur! Is everything okay?” the young buck immediately said when he picked up after two rings.
“Why are you up this early?” Arthur barked.
“Why are you?” J.T. fired back.
He laughed despite the ache in his back. “Because old men like me wake up at the butt crack of dawn, especially when they’re worried. Since you’re up, why don’t you come over for coffee before I go into the office?”
There was a pause. “Something on your mind?”
So Trevor hadn’t mentioned spilling the beans. Good. “Since I haven’t lost it, you bet your ass there is. Be over here in fifteen minutes. I don’t care if you aren’t your normal pretty self.”
He hung up and toddled over to the bathroom. He’d make himself as presentable as he could in the time he’d allotted. It wasn’t like he’d win a beauty contest or anything.
Fifteen minutes later on the nose, he was ambling down the stairs when he heard the purr of a Ferrari engine in the driveway. Now that was an unmistakable sound. If Arthur had ever had that kind of spare money, he would have gotten himself a fast car. But all of his extra money went into the paper, and he wasn’t sorry for it.
When he heard a loud knock, he opened the door. J.T. was dressed in one of his fancy suits, minus the tie. Well, good for him. Arthur had barely managed to dress in pants and a sweater.
“You bang like that on everyone’s door or only on an old man’s? My hearing is fine.”
“You’re punchy this morning,” J.T. said, holding up a big brown bag. “I brought my small Italian espresso machine and two cinnamon rolls from Margie’s bakery. She says hello, by the way.”
“You made a run to Hot Cross Buns Bakery? You must have broken speed records.”
J.T. followed him into the kitchen. “I was already shaved and dressed when you called, so I simply grabbed my keys and headed out. Honestly, I was happy to leave. Trev was snoring like a mother—uh, sorry.”
“For cursing? Please. I’ve been known to drop the f-bomb on plenty occasions.” He studied the young man as he unpacked the sleek Italian coffee maker. “I remember when we used to boil coffee grounds in a pan on the stove.”
“Don’t make me cry,” J.T. said. “Coffee is an art.”
As he watched the man work, Arthur had to agree. “Emmits loved him a cup of strong black coffee with—”
“A buttload of sugar if he had it,” J.T. finished. “I know all the stories.”
Arthur harrumphed. “I doubt that. So were you up early because you slept like shit? Did Sin City—man, I like that name—mess up your night? She sure seemed to mess up Caroline’s.”
“I’m going to kill Trevor for saying anything,” he said slowly.
“Of course he told me! I’m your uncle in spirit if not blood. Emmits would want me to look after you, and if that woman is coming back, you’re going to need help.”
J.T. pulled out two espresso cups from the bag he’d brought. Boy was prepared.
“Thank you for that. I’m still a little in shock, honestly. I thought it was over.”
“We’ll make it over,” Arthur stated, hoping to offset that kicked-puppy look on the boy’s face.
“When you called, I thought you were mad at me for messing up things with Caroline,” J.T. said, filling the cups with the dark brew.
Arthur took the small cup from J.T. “Might as well be a guest at the Mad Hatter’s party with this cup. No, I’m not mad. I’m sure it was a shock to both of you. In the end, there’s only one question that matters. Are you going to keep dicking around or are you ready to move ahead?”
J.T. snorted. “Everyone who’s married in the Hale extended family has warned me about your relationship advice.”
He was proud of his track record. “What’s there to warn about? Aren’t they all happy as clams? Heck, now they’re popping out babies. Natalie’s up, and I have a hundred-dollar bet with Rhett that Jane is going to be up next.” That poker player would bet on anything, Arthur had found out to his delight.
“You’re betting on who’s going to get pregnant next? That’s kind of weird and awesome at the same time.” J.T. raised his cup in salute and then slowly sipped his coffee. That first taste was followed by a gusty sigh of pleasure.
Arthur couldn’t help but say, “Do you need a moment alone with your coffee or can we continue this conversation?”
That grin was back. “Man, you’re fun. I always remembered that from being here for summers. Over the phone, you were always…starchy. But in person… Uncle Arthur, you defy convention in the best way possible. I can see why you and Emmits got along so well. Everyone says he could be starchy too.”
Yes, he had been, Arthur thought warmly. If Emmits were here, he’d have called J.T. at six in the morning as well to shake him up some. A downright happy thought if you asked him. “You’re evading my question.”
“Was it a question?” J.T. asked, pulling out the cinnamon rolls. “Got any plates?”
“I don’t live in a barn. Top shelf to the right.” Of course, he should move those to a lower shelf. His bony arms couldn’t lift like they used to, but he was too proud to admit it. Unloading the dishwasher took forever these days. He’d thought of shifting to paper plates, but it would raise questions.
When J.T. set the roll in front of him on the kitchen counter, he gave in and led the way over to the kitchen table. “Might as well sit down like civilized people.”
“Because we don’t live in a barn,” J.T. said, picking up Arthur’s coffee before he could say anything.
“Don’t repeat me, kid,” Arthur told him. “Makes me think you’re the one with the memory issue.”
J.T. laughed. “You want to have breakfast with me every morning?”
That was good news. “You’d do better to stay in Denver with Caroline. Don’t turn down a beautiful woman for an old man. Ever. That’s free advice.”
He could see the boy’s shoulders shaking. “If you’re going to start charging me, I’ll happily open my wallet. I’ve probably got a thousand in cash on me. That should last me a couple hours.”
“You young people,” Arthur barked, not sure how to respond. J.T. would pay him, and that would be embarrassing. He didn’t take money from anyone. Never had. Never would.
“It strikes me, Uncle Arthur, that you talk about helping everyone around here, but you never mention how anyone can help you. Well, except when you ask Jill to shut it or stop dancing like a stripper.”
“That Latin dance class will be the downfall of us all.” Arthur shuddered. “Wait, the Calendar Girls’ calendar the ladies shot in their birthday suits might be worse.” Even though the proceeds had gone to a good cause, he hadn’t needed to see people he’d known most of his life, including his crazy granddaughter, Jill, posing with strategically positioned bananas and melons. He hadn’t been able to eat fruit for a month.
“I still need to get a copy,” J.T. said, munching on his breakfast.
Arthur had one upstairs, but he didn’t plan on mentioning it. “Of course, no one asked me to pose in it. Now, stop talking and let me eat my roll.”
Maybe he could evade J.T.’s question much like the boy was evading his. The first bite of the cinnamon roll was sheer heaven like always.
“Do you need a moment alone, Uncle Arthur?” J.T. quipped.
“You’re cheeky, but I like you,” he said before he took another bite. “Of course, your coffee sucks.”
“Sucks! These are prime Italian espresso beans, my friend. When was the last time you were in Rome?”
Arthur thought about it a moment. “1982. It was a dark time in politics.”
More laughter from wonder boy. Notes of Emmits’ laugh could be heard in J.T.’s, and it was bringing back more good memories. He’d never stopped missing his friend after he’d passed. Heck, he missed him almost as much as he did Harriet.
“You probably don’t like espresso,” J.T. said. “Some say it’s an acquired taste. Do you want me to make you regular coffee?”
“I have instant in the drawer by the sink.” Arthur laughed when the boy’s eyes bugged out in horror. “No, it’s fine. I’ll have some at the office.”
“I admire you for continuing to work, Uncle Arthur,” J.T. said slowly.
“I can hear the ‘but’ coming a mile away,” he growled. This was the last thing he felt like discussing. “Did someone ask you to talk me into stepping down?”
“No!” he said, unconvincing.
Arthur gave him a look designed to shrink a man’s balls. This wasn’t supposed to be about him. He’d called the boy over.
“Okay, some people have expressed a thought about you cutting back some. I thought you might hear me out as the new guy in town.”
“Really? You read minds now? Tell me what I’m thinking.”
“You might kill me and leave my body out back for the wolves.”
“Wolves are endangered,” Arthur said. “I would fear the coyotes more. They roam the hills looking for prime white flesh like yours.”
Another chuckle. Good. He’d at least gotten the boy’s mind off that Sin City woman.
“Seriously, if everyone’s telling you to cut back, you might want to consider it. I remember the kind of stress I was under when I was running the Africa and Middle East Division of Merriam Oil & Gas. And I’m only thirty-five. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. Now, before you growl again, hear me out. Please.”
Arthur took an aggressive bite of his cinnamon roll. Emmits had never eased back or retired, and he certainly wasn’t going to do so either.
“When we talked from time to time during my divorce, you never tried to sugarcoat things or pat me on the head. Not that Trev did, but you were outside the situation and gave me some sound advice. That meant a lot to me.”
The boy coughed, and Arthur found himself temporarily unable to swallow his bite of cinnamon roll, the burst of emotion as sticky as the sweet bread.
“You told me to find something else that I loved and make a viable pursuit out of it. Continue with my life.”
Arthur finally managed to swallow. “I told you to make a list.”
“Art was at the top,” J.T. said. “I’d like to think Grandpa Emmits helped me figure out the rest as I sat in front of his painting night after night.”
Damn if that didn’t make Arthur’s eyes water. “Maybe I should be charging you for advice for real.”
This time J.T. gave a slow smile. “Your words are worth their weight in gold, and we all know it. Everyone loves you like crazy. They just want to make sure you let us…well, give back to you, is all. You can’t keep being the giver all the time, Uncle Arthur. You’re turning eighty.”
“Back in my day, that’s just what the elder generation did. It’s what Emmits did for me. If he hadn’t helped me start the paper, it wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.”
“He knew a good idea when he saw it. My dad said he believed in what you were doing. Trying to be the voice of the west at a time when the only real national news was coming out of the East Coast.”
“Emmits was from Oklahoma, and even if it’s technically not in the west, it’s in the middle of this fine country of ours. He understood how little people in powerful positions in Washington and New York knew or cared about what was going on in places like Tulsa or Dare Valley.”
“And you changed that,” J.T. said, setting his espresso down. “Maybe now it’s time to give yourself more time to do the other things you love.”
“Bah! Like what? I don’t have any real hobbies.”
“Maybe you should make a list.”
Arthur’s look made the boy shift in his chair. “Hell, I only play bingo on Wednesday nights to be up on my local gossip. Couldn’t stand people calling me on the phone, jabbering about this and that. I have eaten, drunk, and slept the newspaper business since my first job, and that’s over sixty years now. Old dogs like me don’t learn new tricks. We just get slower. That’s why I have Meredith and Tanner. But don’t tell them that. And this cane, of course.”
“What about a girlfriend?” J.T. asked. “Have you ever thought about getting married again?”
“At my age? Please. I had a girlfriend for a while, but it wasn’t for the long-term.” He’d gone out with Joanie enough to call her his girlfriend for a while, but they’d kept their lives and families separate. He’d been happy to have a companion from time to time for dinner or other comforts, but they hadn’t seen each other lately. Ultimately, he knew she wasn’t over her husband.
“Been there done that, huh?” J.T. asked.
“You ever think about marrying again?” he deflected.
The boy tensed up. “After what I went through? Honestly, I want to find a life partner, but I’m not sure about marriage. There are too many legal issues around matters of the heart.”
Arthur could understand his position. It still saddened him, both for Caroline and J.T. “Perhaps someone will change your mind.”
J.T. waggled his brows. “And perhaps someone will change yours.”
Not likely. Only one other woman had touched his heart before Harriet, and she’d been a brat. Speaking of which. “You’ll forgive me for changing the subject, but you should call your Aunt Clara and ask her about donating the rest of Emmits’ paintings to the museum.”
J.T. shrugged. “It’s like I told Caroline. Aunt Clara and the family haven’t spoken since she took those paintings from Grandma’s house in the Hamptons after she died.”
Arthur didn’t know the specifics, but he knew it had been some kind of a petty revenge on Clara’s part. Maybe her husband had put her up to it. He hadn’t seen her since 1962 when she’d married a rich guy with a stick up his butt. Heck, who knew what was in Clara’s mind? She was as changeable as the sunrise he’d watched this morning.
“I still think you should try,” he pressed. “Emmits would want the whole collection back here at the university he founded.”
“Perhaps I’ll call her when you think about retiring,” J.T. added with a wink.
“When pigs fly, like Trev says.”
“Okay, I did my part. Seriously though. If you need anything, I’m here for you.”
“What! Are people worried I’m about to kick the bucket?”
J.T. finished off his espresso. “You’ve been talking about dying a lot, I hear. Jill and a few others are worried.”
He waved his hand in the air. “That’s age talking. Only a stupid man doesn’t think about what he’s going to leave behind or what it’s going to be like…after. These are questions man has been asking since the dawn of time. Speaking of which, you’ve sidestepped me pretty good, but that ends now. I know your relationship with Caroline is your own, but I’m going to say it again. Don’t let Sin City’s potential return stop you from having a normal, happy relationship.” He’d let the marriage thing go for now.
The joy of their discussion faded from J.T.’s face. “After I got home and Trev tried to give me a pep talk, I went to bed early. But I couldn’t sleep…I just can’t figure out what I did to deserve this kind of revenge. Hearing her talk yesterday, she’s still out to hurt everything I love. It’s like the divorce hasn’t changed a thing for her!”
Arthur heard the undercurrent of self-pity and wasn’t going to pat him on the back and tell him not to feel it—or not to worry. “That’s not the thing to focus on. You have a lot of good things happening. Being back here. The museum. Caroline.”
A slow smile spread across his mouth. “I didn’t expect Caroline, truthfully. I don’t want her hurt.”
“From what I can see, you’ve fallen for her. Hard-like. And she you. That’s a fact. Sometimes, you just have to hold on to each other. There will always be storms, J.T. It’s how you meet them together that counts.”
“Were you always this wise?” J.T. asked, picking up their empty plates and taking them over to the sink.
“The only people who can argue with me are dead, so I’m sticking with, ‘of course.’ I know you’re waiting to see what move Sin City is going to make next, but a real man doesn’t sit around waiting for a snake to strike. Surely you’ve come across plenty of snakes in the oil business.”
“I have,” J.T. said in a serious tone.
“Then you’re an old hand at this,” Arthur said, rising and grabbing his cane.
Suddenly he was tired, and it was good to lean on it in moments like this.
“Cynthia isn’t like any snake you’ve come across, Uncle Arthur,” J.T. said. “A divorce doesn’t seem to have stopped her.”
Arthur had to acknowledge his point. “You know what Emmits used to say in cases like this.”
J.T. met his gaze. “What?”
“You just have to study the snake longer and closer then. Everything has a soft underbelly, J.T.”
And Arthur was going to help the young man find it if it was the last thing he did.