Marjorie regretfully suggested putting it on the market for two million dollars, given its condition. Sarah knew they didn't care if it sold for less, they just wanted to get rid of it, and Tom agreed. “We'll put it on the market for two, and see what happens,” Marjorie told them. “We can always entertain offers. I'll get a service in to clean it up, and then have a broker's open house. I'm not sure I can get it done by Thanksgiving,” which was the following week. “But I promise to have it on the market the week after. I'll have a broker's open house the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. It can go on the market officially the day after. Someone will probably buy it, and hope to win a battle with the city to change the zoning. It would make a gorgeous little hotel, if the neighbors will put up with it, though I doubt it.” They both knew a battle like that could go on for years, and the person who undertook it wasn't likely to win. San Franciscans put up a lot of resistance over commercial enterprises in their residential neighborhoods, and who could blame them.
Tom asked to see the part of the house where Stanley had lived, and with a heavy heart, Sarah walked him up the back stairs to show him. It was the first time she had ever seen it without Stanley. The hospital bed was still there, but he wasn't. It looked like an empty shell now. She turned away with tears in her eyes and walked back into the hall, as Tom Harrison patted her shoulder. He was a nice man, and seemed as though he would have been a nice father to his children. She had discovered, as they waited for the meeting to start, that his special needs daughter was blind and brain-damaged, from lack of oxygen when she was born prematurely. She was thirty years old now, still lived in his home, and was cared for by nurses. It had been particularly hard for him to manage her after his wife died. She had devoted almost all her time to her. But he didn't want the girl in an institution. Like many things in life, it was a major challenge. He looked like he was equal to it.
“I can't believe Stanley lived in a maid's room in the attic all his life,” Tom said, shaking his head sadly as they walked back down the stairs. “What an amazing man he must have been.” And more than a little eccentric.
“He was,” Sarah said softly, thinking once again of the incredible bequest he had left her. She still hadn't absorbed it, nor had the others with theirs. Tom still looked shell-shocked over his inheritance. Ten million dollars.
“I'm glad he remembered you in his will,” Tom said generously, as they reached the main hall again. The cab she had called to take him to the airport was waiting outside. “Call if you ever come to St. Louis. I have a son about your age. He just got divorced, and has three adorable children.” She laughed at the suggestion, and then suddenly he looked embarrassed. “I assume, from what Stanley said in his letter, that you're not married.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Good. Then come to St. Louis. Fred needs to meet a nice woman.”
“Send him to San Francisco. And call me too if you ever come out on business,” Sarah said warmly.
“I'll do that, Sarah,” he said, sounding fatherly as he gave her a hug. They had become friends in a single morning, and felt nearly related. They were, through Stanley. They were bonded through his generosity and benevolence, which had blessed them all. “Take care of yourself,” Tom said kindly.
“You too,” she said, as she walked him to the cab, and then smiled at him in the pale November sunshine. “I'd love to introduce you to my mother,” she said mischievously, and he laughed at her.
She was teasing, though it wasn't a bad idea. Although she thought her mother would give any man a pain in the neck. And Tom looked far too normal for her. There was nothing dysfunctional about him. She'd have no reason to go to a twelve-step group if she got involved with him, and then what would Audrey do? Without an alcoholic in her life, she'd be bored. “Fine. I'll bring Fred out here, and we'll have dinner with your mother.”
Sarah waved at Tom as the cab drove away, and then went back in the house to wrap up the details with Marjorie. Sarah was glad she'd gone to Stanley's room with Tom. It broke the spell for her. There was nothing to hide from or mourn for there. It was just an empty room now, the shell in which he had lived, and which he had shed. Stanley was gone, and would live forever in her heart. It was hard to realize that suddenly her circumstances had changed, dramatically in fact. She had far less to adjust to than the others did, but it had been a huge windfall for her. She decided not to tell anyone for the moment, not even her mother or Phil. She needed to get used to the idea herself.
She and Marjorie discussed plans about the janitorial service, and the broker's open house. She signed a release confirming the asking price, on behalf of the heirs. They had signed a power of attorney at her office, allowing her to sell the house and negotiate for them. An identical document had been sent by fax to those who weren't present, for them to sign as well. She and Marjorie agreed that it was unlikely to move quickly, and unless a prospective buyer had real imagination, or a love of history, it was not going to be an easy sell. A house this size, in the condition it was in, was going to scare most people to death.
“Have a nice Thanksgiving,” Marjorie said to her, “if I don't see you before that. I'll let you know how the broker's open goes.”
“Thanks. Have a nice holiday.” Sarah smiled at her, as she got into her car. Thanksgiving was the following week, still ten days away. Phil would be away with his kids, as usual. It was always a quiet weekend for her. She had the coming weekend with him to look forward to before that.
He called her on her cell phone as she was on the way back to her office, and asked how the meeting with Stanley's heirs had gone.
“Were they blown away?” he asked with interest. She was surprised he had remembered and even called to inquire. Often he forgot what she was working on, but this time he had kept track.
“They sure were.” She had never told him how much money was involved, but he had figured out himself that it was a lot.
“Lucky bastards. That's one way to make a fortune.” She didn't tell him she just had, too. She wanted to keep it to herself. But she smiled at his comment, and wondered what he would say if she told him she was a lucky bastard, too. Shit, not just lucky, she had suddenly become a rich girl. She felt like an heiress as she drove downtown. And then he startled her, as he sometimes did.
“I have bad news for you, babe,” he said, as she felt the usual drag of an anchor on her heart. Bad news, with him, usually meant less time he could spend with her. And she was right. “I have to go to New York this week, on Thursday. I'll be there till next Tuesday or Wednesday, taking depositions for a new client. I'm not going to see you till after the Thanksgiving weekend. I'll have to pick up my kids the night I get home. We're heading straight up to Tahoe. You know how that goes.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, trying to be a good sport about it. Hell, she had just inherited nearly a million dollars. How bad could life be? She was just disappointed not to see him. It would be nearly three weeks before she saw him again, since the previous weekend. It was a long time for them. “That's too bad.”
“You'll be with your mom and grandmother on Thanksgiving anyway.” He said it as though trying to convince her that she would be too busy to see him, which wasn't the case. She would be at her grand-mother's house for a few hours, as she always was, and then she would have three lonely days over the weekend without him. And of course he wouldn't compensate for it by seeing more of her the following week. She'd have to wait a whole week, till the next weekend, to see him. God forbid he should miss the gym one night, or an opportunity to play squash with his friends.