One Wish (Thunder Point #7)(60)

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out the chair opposite her. The waiter was instantly beside him. “Bring me whatever Mrs. Banks is having.”

“So, is Izzy all right?”

“She’s a little rattled, but she’s resilient. You’ll have to forgive me, Mrs. Banks—it’s hard for me to think of her as Izzy. She’s Grace to me.”

“Grace. Yes,” she said, sipping her drink. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Headly?”

“I’m a high school teacher. And a part-time bartender at a local beach bar. Not exactly a high-profile profession, but I find teaching rewarding.”

“And your relationship with Izz...Grace? Is it serious?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m very serious about her, though we don’t have marriage plans. I’m not rushing into anything. That doesn’t mean I’m hesitant. It just means we deserve time. Tincture of time, my grandmother used to say.”

“Are you hoping for a big inheritance?” she asked forthrightly.

“Until very recently, I didn’t know anything about Grace’s family. Until this very moment, inheritance never crossed my mind.” He laughed uncomfortably. “By the looks of you, such an event is a very long way off.”

She didn’t make eye contact. She lifted her drink and took a sip. Her hand trembled and she used her other hand to help stabilize it.

His drink arrived quickly. He took a sip. He made a face. “What is this?”

She actually smiled. “A Manhattan. With bitters.”

“Delicious,” he said, putting it down.

She chuckled in spite of herself. “Well, let’s have it, shall we? Why are you here? What do you expect me to say?”

“I’ve never seen two women more adept at button pushing, and I have a sister and mother. They’ve had their share of standoffs. But what I saw a couple of hours ago was brutal. So, here’s my question. What’s it going to take, Mrs. Banks? Is it possible for you to have some kind of decent relationship with Grace?”

She thought for a moment. “I should be having this conversation with my daughter.”

“Of course you should, but you haven’t. Grace is unhappy and if I’m not mistaken, you’re unhappy. There must be a way.”

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“That there’s baggage? That you have a history of conflict? That finding a compromise is difficult? Try me. I’ve mediated some legendary arguments in my time. Right now, I have at least fifty teenage girls in my classes. Go ahead, lay it on me.”

She took another sip. “I’ve made mistakes with my daughter, but this time I can’t afford to make another mistake.”

“Sending her that note...”

“It was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I want my daughter to come home, Mr. Headly. It’s imperative that she come home. But I don’t want her to come out of pity.”

“For a visit?” he asked.

“For a very long visit. In a rash moment I thought if she felt unsafe on her own she would let me help her. I made a mistake.”

“She’s safe. And I don’t think she needs help. She was pretty clear—she doesn’t like the career choices you suggested. She’s really good at what she does. And she’s happy.”

“Mr. Headly—”

“Mrs. Banks,” he said, leaning toward her. “My name is Troy. For just a minute, let’s pretend we’re friends and that we trust each other. At the least, let’s assume we both have Grace’s happiness and safety as our shared priority.”

She took another bolstering drink. Her hand continued to shake a little. “Troy. I have money. Family money. Taking care of it is complicated. With money comes predators. With old money there is responsibility. When that money is Izz—Grace’s, I frankly don’t care if she spends it, gives it away, puts it to work or does what I’ve been doing—preserve it and grow it. But I don’t want her to be robbed or to lose it because of her inexperience. It’s time for Grace to trust me. To let me show her how to manage. She has absolutely no experience in the management of wealth.”

“She managed to buy a business and operate it at a profit,” he said.

“Please. Don’t be naive. Her father left her a trust. She used it to buy that flower shop.”

Troy sat back in his chair. “What has that got to do with skating or broadcasting or coaching?”

“I thought it would be best if she chose a career path with some longevity in a field she loved. But she’s adamant...”

“You’re not going to win that one,” he said. “I don’t know why you can’t open a dialogue about what it will one day take to manage your old money. She doesn’t have to coach or work for the media for that to happen. And, for God’s sake, this is not urgent.”

Winnie Banks pierced him with her cold blue stare. “Mr. Headly. Troy. I wanted Grace to come to me out of loyalty and love. I had planned to tell her once we were talking again—there isn’t much time. I’m ill, Mr. Headly. I have ALS. The symptoms are getting stronger every day.”

He was speechless. She was a young woman, early fifties, he guessed. She appeared strong, except for the tremor. She was beautiful and willful, but with ALS, the mind would be strong until the body finally gave out.