At last she understood what it meant to me, and she had agreed to the prenuptial. Or so I thought.
Sitting there between Teru and Simon in Haley’s kitchen, everything I saw reminded me of her. I thought of what she wrote on that prenuptial agreement in place of her signature. I thought of the “Luckiest Girl Alive,” driven mad by a massive overdose, driven off a cliff above a city with four million of her admirers. Every one of them could grieve publicly for her. Only I could not. Only I must pretend a detachment from my heartache. The love of my life had been murdered in my presence, but I had to hide my grief. I had to find a way to live with that.
Or not.
“I can’t inherit anything from Haley,” I said.
The gardener and the butler stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
Teru said, “I thought we went over this before. You’ve already inherited her estate.”
I took a deep breath. “Look. Because of my job, I had a believable reason to be around Haley most of the time when she was alive. It was risky, but it was possible to pull the marriage off without destroying her reputation. And she really wanted to be married, so okay, I agreed to that. I would have done anything to make her happy, and I could see that it was just barely possible.
“But inheriting her estate is just impossible. One of the butchers of Laui Kalay can’t suddenly be worth hundreds of millions of dollars without making news. Even if I sold this place and all her other stuff and took the money off to Italy or someplace to buy my own houses and jets and yachts, after Laui Kalay, people would always want to know where I got the money. They wouldn’t rest until they knew. The marriage would come out, and that would destroy her memory, her legacy. All the good she did—the hospitals, the homeless shelters, the orphanages, the medical research—everything we all worked so carefully to protect would end up tainted by association with me after all. I won’t let that happen. I have to make sure the world will always remember Haley as she really was, not as someone who got married to a monster, not as someone who didn’t care about the things they say I did, but as…as the kindest, the most caring…”
I had to stop. I wiped my eyes. I reached for the glass of lemonade before me on Haley’s kitchen table. I picked it up. I saw my hand was shaking. I put the glass back down. I realized I was terrified at the possibility that my past might hurt her even now, in death.
Beside me, Teru was slowly nodding, and Simon said, “Yes, I see.”
They allowed me a moment to compose myself. Then Teru said, “So…what? You plan to give it all away?”
I nodded. “Most of it, anyway. I think Haley would want me to keep a little, just enough to get started on my life again without her. And she’d want you guys provided for. And Maria. She kept house for Haley a long time. But yeah, I’ll tell the lawyer who wrote her will to make it look as if she left most of her estate to her charities, and then I’ll just disappear.”
“Sir, Miss Lane was quite generous to me in her will,” said Simon. “I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to be ‘provided for,’ as you phrase it.”
“Me, either,” said Teru. “Haley left me a bundle.”
I should have guessed she’d do that. “In that case, how come you’re still here?” I asked.
They looked at each other and then at me. Simon said, “It would not have been proper for you to return to an empty home.”
Home.
It was an idea I hadn’t thought of much. For thirteen years my home had been the Marines, whatever hooch or barracks I was sleeping in that night, and then home had become wherever Haley was. Maybe that’s why the word sounded so appealing in that moment. Or maybe it was the lingering weakness of my intellect, emotions slipping in where logic used to be.
I had to get a grip on myself. I said, “I appreciate that,” and stood, and walked to the closest sink where I looked away from Teru and Simon and quickly wiped my eyes. I poured the rest of the lemonade down the drain. I rinsed the glass and put it on the counter. Without looking at them I said, “What do you think you’ll do now?”
Teru said, “Find a garden I can work in.”
Surprised, I turned to Simon. “How about you?”
“I will seek another opportunity to buttle.”
“Buttle?”
“Indeed, sir. A verb. To serve or act as butler.”
“Simon, you intrigue me.”
“One is gratified to hear it.”
“You both intrigue me. Why keep working if Haley left you well set up?”
Teru said, “Money doesn’t make a life. For that I need my gardening.”
Speaking to Simon, I said, “Is that how things are with you?”
“I find I am most fulfilled by buttling.”
The word struck me as funny. I heard myself laugh a little too loudly. I silenced myself a little too abruptly. My emotions seemed to swing from one extreme to the other. The doctors had warned me about that, but it was still embarrassing. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I moved toward the door. I opened it.
“Sir?” said Simon. “If I might offer an opinion?”
I looked back. “Of course.”
“I don’t wish to speak out of turn, but it does appear to me that you also find your work fulfilling.”
“He ought to,” said Teru. “He’s very good at it.”
Simon said, “Indeed. And extremely well qualified.”
“That’s what I just said,” said Teru.
“Actually, Mr. Fujimoto, I believe there is a substantive difference.”
Teru began to stroke his chin. “Interesting. You’re saying he could be good at what he does and yet unsuited to the work?”
“One does think of many instances. In your area, for example, Mr. Fujimoto, one might encounter a talented gardener with severe allergies to pollen.”
Teru said, “And there is the area of buttling…”
I smiled. I wanted to cry. I slipped out and closed the door. I walked across the estate to the guesthouse. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a Scotch, drank it in one swallow, poured myself another, and took the glass into the bedroom. I also took the bottle.
10
It was a couple of days later. I had boated across the harbor in the Boston Whaler, which was the tender to the Panache, Haley’s seventy-five-foot Fleming motor yacht. Or my seventy-five-foot Fleming, I supposed, although the idea still hadn’t quite settled in, and the situation was only temporary. I had tied up at a finger pier beside the marina seawall without asking anyone’s permission, and I was sitting in the large corner booth by the kitchen door at the Galley Cafe, with a glass of water on the table in front of me.
The tiny diner was tucked away in a residential neighborhood about a quarter mile from the businesses along the Pacific Coast Highway. There were no other restaurants or shops nearby. Except for the office for the marina which the restaurant overlooked, and the Basin Marine Shipyard next door, every other building for blocks around was a multimillion-dollar home.
The Galley Cafe was the only restaurant I knew of where they still mixed your Coca-Cola syrup with soda water, right in the glass, and they still knew how to make a proper malted milk. They were big on nostalgia at the Galley. They said it used to be a favorite of John Wayne, who had lived close by, and they had faded photos on the wall to prove it.
I had begun to think about going ahead and ordering a cheeseburger and fries when Sergeant Tom Harper came through the door, nearly thirty minutes late. With him was another guy I vaguely recognized.