Logan 05 Olivia Page 27

  "Yes."

  "Promise . . . me," he said, his voice so low, I barely heard it now.

  "I promise, Daddy," I said.

  His face took on a gentle glow for a moment and then he closed his eyes.

  I waited for him to wake up again, but he didn't. A half hour later, he died. I was just sitting there when the monitor sounded its alarm and the nurses came rushing to his bedside to do what they could. They asked me to wait outside. Samuel was there in the waiting room. He looked up when I appeared.

  "Something's happening," I said. "They're working on him."

  "Oh?" He looked terrified, which made him appear younger, smaller, like a little boy.

  The nurse came out ten minutes later. From the expression she wore, I knew what she had come to say.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Logan," she said. She took my hand. Samuel rose and put his arm around me.

  "Thank you," I said. "Did you call Doctor Covington?"

  "Yes," she said. "Can I do anything for you?" "No, thank you."

  "The doctor wanted me to plead with you to go home now," she added.

  "You don't have to plead. I'm going," I said.

  We started to leave. When we reached the elevator, I thought my legs had fallen away. I felt myself sinking. Samuel realized it and tightened his grip.

  "We need a wheelchair here!" he cried and the nurse ran for one.

  They took me to the car in the wheelchair and Samuel practically lifted me into the seat.

  "Maybe we should stay here," he wondered aloud.

  "No, let's just go home, Samuel. I'll be all right once I'm in bed."

  "All right," he said and we started away. "How are you doing?" he asked after a moment.

  "Better," I said.

  "When you were in there before, did he ever regain consciousness? Were you able to speak to him?" he asked.

  I thought a moment.

  Daddy had set his eyes on me last. I was there for him, but who was in his thoughts at the end? Not me. It was Belinda. It was always Belinda.

  "Olivia?"

  "No," I said. "I never got to say good-bye."

  15

  Moving On

  .

  Belinda never returned the phone call Samuel

  had made. He tried again as soon as we were home from the 'hospital and then came to my bedroom to tell me she was still not there. He left a message for her to call immediately, but she didn't call us until late the next morning, claiming she had gotten home too late. I didn't speak to her. Samuel told me she was on the phone, but I instructed him to tell her to just come home. There was nothing to say on the phone anyway.

  I realized from the way Belinda reacted that day and the days that followed that for her Daddy had died a long time ago. She refused to remember him or think of him as anything but strong and vibrant. The man who had become a prisoner in his own body because of his stroke was not the same man she had known as her father. The stroke had turned him into a stranger and she couldn't mourn a stranger the way she would have mourned her father. Perhaps in her own way she mourned him after his stroke, I thought. That was the most generous I could be toward her.

  Of course, she put on a good act for everyone, moaning and crying about not being there at Daddy's side and not speaking to him before he died. She had never called him on the phone because she couldn't stand his stuttering, so she had really not spoken with him since returning to Boston. She relied on me and Samuel to give her the details of his final days and hours.

  Jacob was still too young to understand all that had happened to his grandfather. Thelma did a good job with him, explaining that Grandpa had been called to heaven where he would live with the angels and watch over him from above. I heard her tell him this and answer his questions in his room. Jacob was a very inquisitive child and never shy about asking questions. I decided not to bring him to the funeral.

  Daddy's funeral was even bigger than Mother's because we had developed so many more business associations since Mother's death and practically everyone sent a representative. Someone told me the police declared it the biggest funeral procession in the North Cape.

  Because of my condition, we decided not to have people over after the funeral. People offered their condolences at the church and at the cemetery and then left. Belinda, of course, returned to my house and I, under Doctor Covington's supervision, was sent directly to bed. After I rested and had some dinner, I told Samuel that he and I and Belinda had to have a family meeting immediately.

  "Can't it wait until morning, Olivia? Everything is still so fresh," he complained.

  "That's why it's best to do it now. Besides, time won't make any difference in regards to what has to be done, Samuel. It only keeps other people on pins and needles. Go get Belinda," I said and his face revealed the real reason he had wanted to postpone our family gathering.

  I could read it like the front page of a newspaper. The headlines were in his eyes and on his brow. "She's gone, isn't she? Where did she go?" I followed before he could even attempt to deny it.

  "Out with some old friends," he confessed.

  "Tonight? She buried her father this afternoon and she went out to party with some of her friends tonight? Why did you let her go?" I demanded.

  He shook his head.

  "I don't think I could have stopped her, Olivia. She doesn't listen to me," he explained.

  "Well, why didn't you come up to tell me she was planning on leaving?"

  "I didn't want you disturbed any more than you are," he said. "You're only ten days from your due date."

  "She has no respect for her own family. She doesn't have the smallest concern about what people here will think of us."

  "Maybe shell just have a quiet dinner and come home early," Samuel suggested. I stared at him and the optimism leaked out of his face, turning his hopeful smile to a grimace of despair. "Do you want me to try to find her?"

  "Of course not. How would that look and besides, she wouldn't come back with you." I thought a moment. "This confirms what I was thinking I should do," I muttered.

  "What?"

  "Never mind now." I swung my feet over the bed. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

  "I'm going to go through some documents, family documents," I said. "I have everything in the den."

  "Just tell me what you want and I'll go get it and bring it up to you, Olivia."

  "You don't know where it is and it would take too long to explain.I'll be all right," I snapped. "Hand me my robe. Please do as I ask, Samuel," I said when he hesitated. "I won't sleep if I don't do this now."

  Reluctantly, he got me my robe and slippers and escorted me down to the den. I sat at my desk and opened the top drawer, taking out the key to my wall safe. He stood by watching my every move.

  "You can leave me now, Samuel. I don't need anyone hovering over me. I'm fine."

  "I could help you."

  "There's nothing for you to do. Watch television, read, relax," I said. It came out more like an order. He stared a moment.

  "All right," he said, flashing me a tired look and a weak smile. "As long as you're fine," he added and then left.

  Soon after Daddy had had his stroke, I had gone to his files and removed his personal documents. I took his will and his titles and deeds, all of his estate materials home and put them in my own safe. I had planned to read it all with Belinda present, but now I thought it would be better if I looked at everything first and decided on my own what would and would not be done.

  Daddy had left half of his estate to her and half to me, but he had placed a great deal in trust to be kept for our children. It was a considerable estate. Belinda would have more than she needed and too much to waste. The only stipulation that gave me any promise and hope was the clause providing that in the event either she or I became mentally or physically incapacitated, the other would become the sole executor of the entire estate. Daddy had some foresight there, I thought.

  Belinda had no idea where any of the trust funds we
re kept, nor did she have the slightest inkling as to how much we had. Money and property details were always boring to her. She simply wanted to have whatever she wanted when she wanted it. That was all that concerned her. I sorted everything out and planned out what actions I would take during the next few days.

  Belinda didn't return until very early in the morning. I had gone back to bed and fallen asleep, which was a blessing, for if I had been awake to hear her stumble around in her drunken state, I would have gone into a rage. She didn't get up until late in the morning. I had brought everything up to my room and had it organized. I told Samuel to bring her to me as soon as she had had some breakfast. She wanted only black coffee and came upstairs in her nightgown, groaning, her hair wild, her eyes drooping.

  "You look like a shipwreck, Belinda. Where did you go?"

  "Just out with some friends who were feeling sorry for me," she replied. "I guess I had too much to drink, but couldn't help it. I was feeling so miserable and everyone kept buying me a drink." She paused and looked at me as if just remembering I, too, had lost a father. "How are you?"

  "Fine," I said sharply. "Sit."

  "What do you want so early? I just want to rest today," she moaned, her eyes suddenly full of panic. "I don't want to be bawled out or hear any lectures."

  "Just take a seat, Belinda," I said firmly and glared at her until she took the seat to my left. Samuel stood with his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels.

  "She's just like Daddy with his family meetings," Belinda muttered to Samuel. He glanced at me and then stopped his smile.

  I ignored her and opened the folders.

  "These documents pertain to Daddy's estate," I said. "There's property we'll liquidate now, moving the funds into investment devices. I am designated as the executor so I will handle the work," I said. Actually, I wasn't the sole executor, but I knew she wouldn't challenge it and it would be easy to do everything I had planned by just adding her signature wherever it was needed or getting her to sign a paper. She would never read it first.

  "Good," she said, obviously relieved it was only business, and started to stand.

  "There's more," I snapped and she sat again. "Don't you care?"

  "I never knew much about business affairs, Olivia. You're the expert. I'm sure you'll do

  everything right," she said.

  "Thank you for your vote of confidence," I said dryly. "I plan to sell the house."

  She looked up sharply.

  "The house?" She looked from Samuel to me. "Sell Daddy's house?"

  "Of course. What do we want with so big a home now? Why should we incur the cost of all those servants to keep it up? The proceeds will go into the estate and be better invested. Daddy made provisions for our children as well. There are things that have to be done correctly to avoid losing too much to estate taxes: shifting funds, activating the living trust . . ."

  She shook her head and then clapped her palm to her forehead.

  "I have such a splitting headache, Olivia. I'm sure you'll do the right things," she said. "Only . . ." She lowered her hand, finally a serious thought meandering through the maze of bubbles to reach her sleeping brain.

  "Only what, Belinda?"

  "If we sell the house, where will I live?" She looked to Samuel for the answer, but he had his lips pressed so tightly closed, the corners of his mouth were white.

  "You can live here for a while until you find something sensible or . ."

  "Get married?" She laughed and bounced on her seat. "Why is it you and Daddy were always trying to get me married?"

  "I don't know Daddy's reasons, but mine were purely revenge on the male sex," I said. Samuel finally cracked a smile. It flashed like car headlights in her eyes.

  "You're not very funny," Belinda lamented. "You're all set. You have a husband, a nice little boy, another child coming, but I . . I have no one."

  "Whose fault is that?" I shot back at her almost as quickly as her words touched my ears.

  She stared and then grimaced in pain again, squeezing her temples between her fingers and her thumb.

  "I have a horrible headache. I have to go back to bed. I don't care where I live," she said rising, "but if you sell the house and I move here, I don't want you treating me like a little girl." she warned.

  "Don't act like one and I won't," I replied. "What about your schooling?" I asked as she reached the door.

  "Oh, I told them I wouldn't be back now. Besides, you just told me I don't need to work anymore. I'm an heiress." She laughed and left.

  Samuel turned to me and lifted and dropped his shoulders with a big sigh.

  "Okay, that's done," he said.

  "I want to go to my father's house," I told him. "Right now."

  "Now? Olivia, you are flying in the face of caution, doing everything against Doctor Covington's wishes," he lectured.

  "You can come along or not," I said putting the folders aside. Then I looked up at him, my eyes firm and burning. "When something has to be done, I do it."

  He shook his head slowly.

  "I know," he said. "I know." His voice was full of resignation. "All right, I'll go along with you. Should we take Jacob along?"

  "No, he'll only wonder where my father is and I don't have time for that," I said. What I really meant was it would be too emotionally difficult for me, even with Thelma's assistance.

  In fact, the entire visit was emotionally draining. The house had become dark and foreboding to me ever since Mother's death and then Daddy's stroke. It was a shell of what it had been. It was hard to enter it now and envision the grand dinner parties, the laughter and music, even Belinda's music. Not that it wasn't clean and neat. Effie had done a great job of that, and that was why I wanted to meet with her as soon as possible to explain what I wanted her to do.

  "I'd like you to remain awhile and keep the house up so it shows well when the real estate agents bring prospective buyers around, Effie. I will give you six months salary when you are terminated here, and of course, I'll do my best to find you another position in the area, if you like. I've always been quite pleased with your work."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Logan. That will be fine," she said. I made the same arrangements with the groundskeeper.

  I wasn't physically able to go through the whole house and look at everything, planning on what I wanted to bring back to our home and what I wanted to donate or sell, but I did wander through the first floor and spent some time in Daddy's den while Samuel checked on the upstairs and the boathouse. Sitting there, I couldn't help but recall my many private talks with Daddy. He always treated me like an adult and I know he had a high regard for my abilities. I wondered how often he had looked at me and wished I really was his daughter, born of his blood. How important family meant to him, so important that he would swallow what would have certainly choked most men.

  There was something so masculine about Daddy's den, from its dark woods, to his cigar humidor and his pictures of seafaring men battling the elements. He had his old guns in their glass cases and his prize knives alongside them. There was a leather chess board with medieval figures on the corner table. He was proud of his room, proud of his home and proud of what he had accomplished. I would miss him, I thought.

  I rose and walked to the rear of the house. Samuel was standing on the dock looking at the sea. Off to the right by the trees was the unmarked grave. No one but me knew what was buried there. It put a chill in me for a moment when I recalled Daddy's look of terror as he placed the wrapped fetus and afterbirth in that box and then disappeared into the night to bury Belinda's sins, which were sins visited on all our heads.

  "Samuel!" I cried. He turned. "Take me home. I'm feeling faint," I said.

  He hurried back. I paused to gaze once more at the dark place under the tree and thought, soon, soon I'll sell all this and never return.

  Less than a week later, I went into terrible contractions and was rushed to the hospital where I gave birth to our second child, a boy whom we named Chester for
Samuel's grandfather. I knew he was disappointed. He had wanted a girl and so had Daddy.

  I remained in the hospital for three days after Chester's birth. Belinda came the second day to see the baby and visit me. She wore a very bright autumn gold blouse and a dark blue skirt. With her hair tied back neatly, Belinda looked young and vibrant. Lying in the hospital bed after just having given birth, I didn't feel very pretty. Never did the contrast between us seem more vivid.

  "Don't worry about Samuel," she told me, "I'm looking after him. Jacob's very excited about his new brother, too. I took him for a walk yesterday," she said.

  "You mean you're acting like an aunt?"

  "Yes," she said laughing, "but a young aunt. He's so curious about everything and so serious. I'm afraid he takes after you, Olivia. Whenever he laughs, he looks guilty immediately afterward."

  "That's ridiculous," I said, but I knew she wasn't wrong about Jacob. He was a thoughtful, pensive little boy and very bright, too.

  "Nelson Childs told me you asked him for a job," I said suddenly, locking my gaze on her. Her eyebrows rose.

  "He said I asked him?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "It's the other way around, Olivia. When he heard I was in business school, he asked me and I told him I wasn't going to work for anyone but my father," she claimed.

  "Where did you see him, Belinda?" I

  questioned skeptically.

  "In Boston. He stopped by to see me when he returned from the Bahamas," she replied so matter-offactly, I couldn't doubt her.

  "Why did he do that?"

  "You'll have to ask hint," she said. "I was just as surprised as you are." She opened her purse and plucked out her makeup mirror to check her face and then looked at me. "I'm telling you the truth, Olivia. Stop looking at me as if I am making up some lies."

  "Fine," I said. Inside my stomach, hot coals turned. Was she telling the truth and Nelson lying? Was he just covering for himself in case she had told me? Was there any man I could trust? I wondered.

  "You look so deep in thought," Belinda said.

  "I think, Belinda. There's no shame in thinking. There's shame in not thinking."