Bad Heiress Day (11 page)

O
ctober 28 was a mild, clear Sunday evening, perfect for viewing the lights of the city from the corner table where Darcy and Jack sat celebrating. It seemed to Darcy that God had ordered up extra stars for the evening, a private hint of His approval of her birthday plans. She was halfway through the best chicken marsala on the planet, enjoying Jack’s face as he savored a steak of monumental proportions. The evening had been perfect. A batting average, she hoped, that would last another two hours or so.

“Is yours as good as mine?” Jack asked, smiling “You’ve got a smile a mile wide on your face.” He eyed her. “Or are you just plotting something?”

Darcy felt that rush of unnamable sizzle, that certain something his eyes could always do to her. Forgotten and familiar. “Both,” she replied. She had always loved the way he looked in that tan sweater. His eyes could stop her from across the room when he wore it. Had it been another favorable sign when he chose to wear it? Or luck of the draw?

Jack’s smile widened. “Fess up, then. What did you do for my birthday?”

Darcy hid behind her water glass, taking a long drink. “Oh, hon, you told me not to go overboard, so it’s not much.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Your face says otherwise.”

“Well, I suppose there’s a bit of
otherwise
in there.”

“More than a bit.”

He was waiting for her to tell. She wouldn’t, not yet. She simply rested her chin on her folded hands and stared at him, teasing. It was as if they were in high school, flirting over milkshakes or something. Her heart was doing flip-flops worthy of an eighth grade crush.

“Well?” He toyed with his steak knife.

“Well, what?”

“The suspense is killing me. If you don’t wipe that look off your face soon, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m not quite sure what I’ll do.” He started spinning his wedding ring with his thumb. It was something he did when a situation put him on his toes. He’d done it for a solid week when they were waiting to see if she was pregnant with Mike. It felt splendid to know she’d caught him off guard. Infatuating.

Over Jack’s shoulder, Darcy caught the waiter looking at her with questioning eyebrows and a
Now?
expression. He was holding a large tray with one of those domed lids on it. Darcy nodded.

Jack caught her signal and looked over his shoulder just in time to see the waiter bring the tray to the table. The waiter, grinning himself, set the tray down and kept his hand on the dome. He waited for Darcy’s signal.

Jack stared at Darcy, then at the waiter, then back at Darcy again. She was wearing a Cheshire-cat grin, practically squirming in her seat with anticipation. Suddenly, she was twenty again, sitting on his car trunk, holding out the first birthday present she’d ever given him. The woman lived for birthday and Christmas presents. He didn’t care much for the presents one way or another, but the way she looked when she gave them—well that was another thing altogether.

“Now,” she practically giggled, her chin still perched on her hands.

The waiter, who obviously enjoyed his role in the charade, whipped the lid off in a dramatic arc. There, on the tray, was a large stack of DVDs.

James Bond movies.

“Whoa, Dar. This is amazing.” He began flipping through the boxes, calling out the titles as he found them. “This is incredible. There’s…there’s six movies in here.”

“A virtual Bond bonanza,” she replied.

How many times had he seen those boxed sets for sale at the video store? How many times had he thought about picking just one or two movies up, trying to calculate if it’d be worth it to own it rather than rent it once a year? How many times had he stopped himself just short of buying one?

How had she known?

She’d known because she was Darcy. And knowing just what to get is what Darcy did best.

“Wow. This definitely counts as
otherwise.
” He ran his fingers down the stack of titles. “You didn’t have to spend so much—even one would have been great.” Jack tried to stop his brain from calculating how much she must have spent, but it ran the numbers without his consent.

“That’s the beauty of it—I didn’t. Ed Bidwell found them wholesale through a friend of his.” Her face told him she’d anticipated his calculations and beat him to the punch. She knew he’d be uncomfortable with the price of the DVDs, so she’d found a way to spend less and still give him what he wanted. Man alive, he loved his wife tonight.

He pulled one of her hands out from underneath that adorable chin, wrapping it in his. She’d kept up polishing her nails since that crazy stint at the spa. She’d kept her hair in that same new style, too. He liked it. He made a mental note to tell her more often.

“These are amazing.
You’re
amazing. Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome. My pleasure.”

“Oh, count on it,” Jack replied, the husky edge of his voice surprising even him. Darcy’s mild shock only made it worse. How long had it been since he’d been so eager to get his wife in private like this? This was the stuff of teenage hormones, not the well-seasoned affections of a man with two kids and a minivan.

Who cares? It felt wonderful.

“Let’s hurry up and get dessert.” He didn’t care how it sounded.

“Oh, that’s fine, but you’re not done yet.”

Jack stifled a gulp. “I’m not?”

“Oh, no, that’s only half the present.”

Darcy felt like a child on Christmas morning as they drove out of the restaurant parking lot. She insisted on driving, which only seemed to make Jack more curious about the second half of his birthday present. Once again, as if God had decided to voice His approval by adding superlative details, the weather was ideal. It was crisp and cool, but not uncomfortable—in fact, it was unseasonably
pleasant, and people were out all over the city enjoying the near-perfect evening. That was important, because this time outside—and other people being outside—were crucial elements in Darcy’s plan. If God truly was in the details, He was making sure the whole world knew it tonight. Darcy was happy—thrilled even—at the show of divine support.

The part of town she had chosen for the second half of tonight’s festivities was a distinct counterpoint to the plush comfort of the restaurant. Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy watched Jack’s expression as she turned toward the other side of town. If she had wanted to keep Jack guessing—which had not been her intent but had arisen as a marvelous byproduct—she had him positively stumped. Good. Mr. Sensible Predictability needed a good shake-up in his life, and she had the epitome of all shake-ups in the works.

Please, Lord. Let this work. It’s either going to be wonderful or awful. I need it to be wonderful. I need your help.

It had taken her three days to find the right spot. Not a good part of town, but not a dangerous part of town. A place on the edge of uncomfortable. When she pulled into the community center, it was just as she had hoped. Filled, even at this time of night, with several boisterous pickup games of basketball. On several far from perfect courts. Slabs of crumbling asphalt with trash and broken glass piling up along the edges. Most without any nets on the hoops at all, some with the last remains of chain hoops that merely swung and chattered when a ball hit the rim.

A few of the teenagers and adults looked up when the car pulled into the parking lot, but most were too engrossed in their games to care much about a rusting sedan’s arrival. Jack’s eyes were wide and a bit doubtful as she switched off the ignition. He was trying to
think of a way to ask her what on Earth was going on—she could see it in the way he squinted up the corner of one eye. He evidently settled on, “What are you up to, Dar?”

“You’ll see.” Darcy took a deep breath and pulled open the door latch.
Here we go.

She heard Jack’s door open as she came around to the back of the car. She waited until he was beside her to hit the trunk release on her key chain. It seemed to take ages to rise all the way open, and Darcy fought the urge to grab the lid and push the hydraulic hinges faster. The slow rise of the trunk lid added a certain drama to the moment.

Darcy waited for Jack to see, feeling as if her lungs had forgotten how to work.

Jack let out a long, slow whistle—an uncharacteristic response to be sure—when he did.

It was excruciatingly impossible to judge Jack’s response to the sight before him. Darcy sent a silent yelp to heaven, and let him take it in.

Or, actually, take
them
in. All twelve of them.

A dozen of the absolute best street-play basketballs money could buy. Nestled like Fabergé eggs in the trunk of his car.

Get it. Get it. Oh, God, please let him get it.

He looked at her. There was the beginning of something in his eyes, a spark she hoped to God could be fanned into just enough flame, a connection just out of reach that she hoped to snap together.

She took his hand and placed a ball in it. “One’s for you,” she said, her voice wavering more than she would have liked. It felt like her whole world was teetering on a knife edge. “The others are for you to play hero with.”

“Hero?” Darcy could see the thoughts string themselves together in his brain. It was not an instant flame as she had known in the spa, but a slow, grasping revelation. An unsure questioning. A disbelieving curiosity.

Just at that moment, as if God had been listening in the wings, a teenage yell came out over the air. “Man, this ball is the worst. I can’t shoot worth—” he added a colorful word here Darcy would have rather avoided, but she wasn’t about to second-guess God’s stage directions “—with this ball.” A chorus of grunted agreements rang out across the court, and one kid even chose to kick the hoop post for emphasis. Its metallic echo pierced the air.

Go with it. Just go with it.
Darcy picked up another one of the basketballs and tossed it to Jack, trying to smile. It was hard; she was unbelievably nervous. She had three different speeches rehearsed, but something told her to just hush up and let the moment do its job.

“You’re kidding,” he said, his tone one of astonishment.

Darcy shook her head.

He paused for what seemed like an eternity. Then, without moving his eyes from her, Jack sent a ball soaring over the chain-link fence behind her. Its crisp bounce made a sweet, clear sound.

“What the…?”

“Hey, where’d that…”

There were a few other choice additions to the clamor of reaction. It wasn’t every day brand-new basketballs appeared out of thin air.

It had begun.

But where things went from here would make all the difference.

The group turned, peering in the direction from which the ball came.

“Yo, mister, your ball.” One very tall, rather scary-looking teenage boy palmed the ball easily and walked toward Darcy and Jack.

Please, God. Please-please-please…

Jack walked past her up to the waist-high fence. She turned with him, feeling as if she were pulling her feet out of quicksand instead of pivoting on asphalt. The boy—well, you could hardly call him a boy, but he was no man, either—flicked the ball toward Jack with a single, casual move. Jack caught it in the chest.

I swear, I’ll do anything, anything you ask just please-please…

Jack shot the ball back toward the group. “Keep it.”

Darcy felt as if her entire circulation system had just changed direction.

“You crazy, man?” The group laughed and came a bit closer.

“Could be,” Jack replied, looking at Darcy. She thought her stomach would drop out of the soles of her shoes at any second. The whole world spun in the dark of his eyes, as if someone had just turned on a light, or opened the door onto a breathtaking vista.

“Nice ball.” The youth turned it in his hands, clearly enjoying the feel of it. Darcy noticed that the ball they had been using—now held by a smaller boy in the back of the group, was near black with dirt and even had what looked like duct tape on it in a few places.

“You bet,” Jack replied. Darcy watched something catch fire in his eyes and spread throughout his body, almost visible, until it looked like the man would shoot sparks out of his fingertips. “I got more in here,” he added, with the most remarkable look on his face. “Anyone else want one?”

The crowd went wild.

Darcy was near tears by the time all the balls had been passed out, and whoops of joy echoed through the floodlit basketball courts. Jack himself had been pulled into the first group’s game, his hair all ruffled and his sweater sleeves pulled up. It was like Christmas in November. It was amazing.

It was a miracle. Her own, personal, precious miracle. She sat hugging her knees on the trunk of the car, watching her husband turn into a wild-eyed twelve-year-old boy, laughing and carousing with a group of boys who could hardly believe what had just happened to them.

My hero.

M
ike walked out the door for school at 8:17.

At 8:18, the phone rang.

“SO?” Kate’s voice practically exploded through the receiver. Actually, Darcy was a bit surprised Kate wasn’t waiting in the driveway when Mike opened the door this morning. She was glad. It had taken a gallon of coffee to get her and Jack going this morning.

“So is Jessica going to sell Girl Scout cookies this year?” Darcy replied, smiling. She knew exactly what Kate was asking, she just felt like kidding around a bit this morning. She felt almost giddy with the afterglow of last night’s events.

“So how’d it go with Jack?” Kate yelled into the phone.

“Oh, yeah, that.”

“‘Oh, yeah, that.’ Come on, I’ve been on edge all morning. Give up the details or I’m going to come over there.”

Darcy’s response was a sparkling sort of sigh. She couldn’t even think of where to begin.

She heard Kate chuckle on the other end of the phone. “That good, huh?”

“Incredible.”

“Spill it, girl. Start with dinner and don’t leave anything out—well, okay, it sounds like there’s a
bit
I probably don’t need to hear in detail—but don’t leave a speck out of dinner and the basketballs. However you all chose to occupy yourselves after you came home is…well…skippable.”

Darcy sat down at the counter and poured herself a fourth cup of coffee. “Kate, it was wonderful. Every last bit of it.”

“Jeff Ruby’s still a great steak, huh?”

“For sure. Jack was practically glowing over the slab of meat. And the waiter thing, with the DVDs? Went off without a hitch. Everyone in the restaurant stared, and the waiter was great about it. Dramatic presentation and everything.”

“Pure Darcy Nightengale. You do this kind of stuff better than anyone I know. So, did he love that you got them at a bargain, too?”

Darcy glanced at the stack of DVDs now proudly displayed on the coffee table. “You know it. I just knew he’d get weird about that—it was the perfect touch to let him know I’d gotten them at a great price. At about two o’clock this morning, he actually calculated that we’d get a full return on our investment over rental fees in under three years.”

“You guys were up at 2:00 a.m.?”

“Well…”

Kate interrupted her. “Let’s not go into it, shall we? I want to hear about the basketballs. Did it work? Did he get it? You didn’t get mugged or anything?”

“It was amazing.” Darcy hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off her face yet. Even the kids had given her grief about her exhausted state of euphoria. “I thought I’d die just after I opened the trunk. It took forever.” Darcy went on to tell the whole tale, from the first hesitant basketball pass to the astonished faces of those boys to the wild games that followed. When Jack had finally held his hands up and pleaded middle age, he was winded, sweaty and downright electrified. He walked back to the car, haloed by the court floodlights, panting and grinning. As if someone had peeled ten years off his soul. He was young and vibrant and athletic and the world was his oyster—the dynamo of a man she’d fallen head over heels for in college. The man glowed from the inside out. Without a word, but just the instinctive sigh of her name, he’d pinned her up against the side of the car and kissed her as if they’d been apart a hundred days.

Once home, they sat up talking for another hour. About what giving those basketballs felt like. What it did to those boys. How that energy that came from doing something so unsuspectedly nice for them was downright addictive, even if it couldn’t really be explained.

Her body went into that wonderful meltdown of feeling, just remembering the look in his eyes.

“He
gets
it, Kate. He gets it now. I thanked God a dozen times for you last night—I’d have never thought of something like this. I owe you.” She didn’t know if it was fatigue or the leftover emotional release of last night, but she found herself choking up on the phone. “I owe you so much.”

Kate’s own voice faltered. “Yeah, well, I can’t let you go around having all the good ideas now, can I?”

“We make a pretty good team, Kate Owens.”

“That we do Mrs. Nightengale. Who knows how it will pay off now?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “I think we stand a pretty good chance of getting the Restoration Project off the ground now.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“No?”

“No, I had more immediate gratification in mind for you.”

Darcy was puzzled. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning are you forgetting your birthday is a week from Thursday? Think of the payback! I hope he comes to me for advice—I think it’s time you got that tiara you’ve been eyeing. Or maybe a new…”

“Fridge?” Darcy finished for her.

“Not on my watch, girl. Not on my watch!”

Tuesday Morning Prayer in the Henhouse was more like Tuesday Morning Party in the Henhouse. Glynnis was bubbling with excitement. She held Darcy at arm’s length. “My, but I’m not sure I even have to ask how it went. The look on your face could light up a room.”

“It was wonderful.” Darcy felt as if those words had come out of her mouth a hundred times in the last two days.

“Isn’t it
wonderful
when God goes the extra mile? I just love it when he exceeds our expectations. Feels like a glimpse of heaven, doesn’t it?”

Darcy took her usual chair at the kitchen table. “Well, Jack hasn’t actually said yes to the project yet.” She was trying hard not to jump to conclusions, not to run off and put everything in the works just because of one wonderful evening. It was pretty hard—her brain seemed to be
working overtime ironing out the logistics of The Restoration Project’s first wave.

Glynnis looked surprised. “You mean you haven’t discussed it yet?”

“Well, sort of. We talked about what it felt like to give those balls away, and why it’s worth the—what did Jack call it?—‘fiscal irrationality,’ but we didn’t quite make the jump to going forward with The Project.”

Glynnis still looked stumped. “Why ever not?”

Darcy felt like she was turning crimson. “Well, for one thing,” she said sheepishly, “he kept kissing me.”

Glynnis’s eyes took on a sparkle worthy of a woman one-third her years. “Well, there is
that
to consider. A mighty fine reason, if you ask me.”

Glynnis sauntered off the stool toward the refrigerator for the requisite iced tea. “You young people think you have the monopoly on romance,” she called over her shoulder.

Darcy sucked in her breath. Some thoughts a brain just can’t hold without making you wince.

“Ed Bidwell could sweep any woman off her feet. Even now, and even without the fancy car, mind you.” Glynnis filled two glasses and returned to the counter.

It was like thinking about Santa putting the moves on Mrs. Claus. Darcy could only roll her eyes, even though she tried to look understanding.

Glynnis could have been insulted, but she merely regarded Darcy with a one-day-you’ll-understand kind of look and sighed. “God designed marriage—and the marriage bed, mind you—for the long haul.” She spread her hands on the counter and pulled in a long slow breath. “Once you get those kids out from under you,
you’ll be amazed at what you can find to do with your free time.”

Now Darcy was positive she was turning crimson. The Bidwells were just one surprise after another. Or one shock after another, depending on how you looked at it.

When I grow up, I want to be just like Glynnis Bidwell, Lord.

“You know,” she said, rather eager to change the subject, “that wasn’t the only reason we didn’t get to that discussion. I felt something—a tug, sort of, a hesitation. I wanted to talk to you about it, actually. Every time I tried to steer the conversation around to that, I’d get this weird feeling that I wasn’t supposed to ask him about it.”

“Really.” Glynnis leaned in.

“Yes. It was…well, it was the exact opposite of what I felt up on the church steps. As if that had been a giant green light and this other feeling was a giant red light.”

Glynnis pondered the information for a moment. “Well, I gather you’re learning to listen better, hon.”

“What? To Jack? To my nerves?”

“To God.”

“God? Why’d He stop me from talking to Jack about it?”

“Don’t you think He can say
stop
if He can say
go?
”

Darcy didn’t have an answer to that one.

Glynnis sighed. “Everybody’s always looking for an answer to prayer. Trouble is, people often forget
no
is an answer to prayer, too.”

Darcy felt her chest tighten. “You mean God is saying
no
to The Restoration Project? He can’t do that
now,
can He?”

“God is God. He can pretty much do as He likes.” Glynnis reached out and patted Darcy’s arm in a motherly gesture. “But no, I’m pretty sure He’s already given His stamp of approval to your idea. But maybe He just doesn’t want you to push the issue with Jack right now.”

“But I need to move forward! So much good has happened—he
gets
it Glynnis, Jack finally gets it—and I know God did that. I’m dying to get started
now.
”

“All the more reason for you to sit tight. If God’s telling you to sit still, it’s because you need to. He’s already done heaps for you this week hasn’t he?” She waited, staring at Darcy, until Darcy nodded her agreement like a pupil in class. “So you can trust Him, can’t you?”

“I supp—Yes.” Glynnis had banned the use of
I suppose
two weeks ago.

“Don’t you just hate it when God decides it’s time to learn patience? I just hate cooling my heels when I’m raring to go on something.” She picked up a cookie, pointing it right at Darcy. “But like I said, God has a habit of exceeding my expectations when I do.”

“Really.” Darcy tried to sound enthusiastic, but wasn’t very successful.

“You just watch, Darcy Nightengale. God has whopping big plans for you. You’d better let him get Jack onboard in His own way.”