Bleeding Heart (15 page)

It was almost dark when I decided to call it quits. I’d been over the statements so many times the numbers were starting to run together. I was just shutting down Mara’s computer when I heard a knock on the screen door.

“Alice?”

“Tom!” I said, startled. He’d never been out to my house
before, as far as I knew, and the barn was tucked back in the woods behind it. Not the easiest place to find.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. “I was going to call you, but I thought it would be better if I came over.”

“What—?” I began, but then I knew. I heard it in his voice. “Oh, no, please . . .”

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting himself in. I remained behind the desk, unable to get up, searching his face for some sign that I was wrong. But his gaze was solemn. “I’ve been at the hospital all afternoon with Chloe and Lachlan. No one would talk to us for the longest time. I kept trying to get information from the nurses or from anyone in authority, but it was like I was asking for state secrets. A doctor finally came out and talked to us. I’m sorry, Alice, but he didn’t make it.”

“Oh, God,” I said, trying to take in the news. Mackenzie—always so much larger than life—gone. It was inconceivable. “But—what happened? Was it his heart?”

“I think so,” he said. “A massive heart attack, probably. They’ll be doing an autopsy. Chloe told me that his cholesterol and blood pressure had been out of control for years. And that he didn’t take care of himself. Apparently he had some issues with mainstream medicine.”

“I know,” I said, taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I felt panicky, my heart racing. I’d gambled everything on Mackenzie—without even realizing it. Everything I’d worked so hard for since Richard had disappeared. All those hours, weeks, years making myself over, learning a new trade, building the business. All to be undermined by another charismatic man! But it wasn’t love that had blinded me this time—it was pride. In my talent. In Mackenzie’s approval. In the glittering promise of the most beautiful garden in the Berkshires. What a fool I’d been!

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. “I’m really sorry—I know how much you admired him.”

And I had. I’d been drawn to his magnetic self-assurance. To that booming laugh. His keen mind. And, of course, the exuberant ambition he put into our shared endeavor. I’d never really seen the ruthless side of Mackenzie that Tom knew. Nor had I ever sensed that he was the kind of man who, as Chloe said, “promises the world to everyone he meets.” I’d believed in him. I’d convinced myself that our relationship was special. And that he regarded me as someone exceptional. Like him.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, getting up from the desk. But once I was on my feet, I felt sick to my stomach and dizzy. I held on to the back of the chair as the realization of what had happened—and all that I’d lost—swept over me again. I bowed my head. I shut my eyes. My head was spinning. Somewhere, I heard Tom call my name. Then I felt his strong arms around me, holding me upright.

“Alice,” he said, pulling me close. I found myself resisting at first, then giving in to his embrace. Everything in my world had gone wrong. And at the same time, this—Tom’s body against mine—felt so right.

G
wen called me first thing the next morning. I was still in bed, though I’d been awake since before dawn. Thinking. Worrying. Cycling through the events of the day before. Anxiety weighed on my heart. Even the memory of Tom’s arms around me the night before couldn’t dislodge it.

“Did you hear?” Gwen asked in a small, frightened voice.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “It’s awful, isn’t it? How are you holding up?” I’d been so overwhelmed by my own concerns, I hadn’t given any thought to what Gwen might be going through.

“Not so well,” she said. “Can I come over?”

“Sure,” I said, sitting up in bed. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

I got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. Some people—like Gwen—need to eat when they’re upset; others—like me—lose their appetite. But I’ve always found that the act of cooking steadies my nerves. The world just seems less formidable when I have a spatula in my hand. By the time Gwen arrived, the smell of bacon filled the downstairs and I had a stack of pancakes warming in the oven.

“Hey, there,” she said, walking right over to me and giving me a big hug. “Oh, God, Alice, this is so awful!”

“I know,” I said, hugging her back. Then I started to set things out on the wide-planked kitchen table. I had the French windows open to the backyard, and a gentle breeze ruffled the paper napkins. In an attempt to add a little cheer to the sad morning, I’d cut some fresh roses and lady’s mantle and arranged them in a silver urn in the middle of the table.

“When did you find out?” I asked her as I sliced bananas and strawberries into a cut-glass bowl.

“I had to pry it out of that damned housekeeper,” Gwen said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She leaned against the counter and watched me as she talked. “I kept calling the house yesterday when I heard what had happened. God, she’s so possessive! And kind of scary, like Mrs. Danvers in
Rebecca.
But who else could I call? The hospital wouldn’t talk to me because I’m not family. It was awful. Being so worried and then having that woman treat me like such crap! When I called for about the tenth time, early in the evening, she was blubbering—which is how I learned about it. I’ve been out of my mind ever since.”

“Okay,” I said. “Sit down and have some breakfast. And then I really need to hear what’s been going on with you and Mackenzie. Am I right in thinking that you two were involved—and not just professionally?”

“What a sweet euphemism, Alice,” Gwen said as she took a seat across from me and started to pile food onto her plate. “
Not just professionally!
But, yes, of course, you’re right. Though I know you warned me against it. Even before I met Graham you told me I should watch my step. But what was I supposed to do? I mean, from the very beginning we had this amazing connection!”

“I thought so,” I said, watching her dig into the pancakes I’d
served her. “And I’m not surprised, really. I think I knew when I introduced you two that something like that might happen. Oh, Gwen! What a damned shame. I’m so sorry he’s gone! For everyone’s sake—but especially yours. You must be heartbroken.”

She nodded her head as she continued to eat. She might be devastated, but it wasn’t affecting her appetite.

“That’s better,” she said as she stirred sugar into her coffee. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Graham and me, but I just didn’t feel right about it. It still seemed so new—and so special. I wasn’t ready to share it yet. I don’t think I’ve ever really felt this way before. Protective, I mean. About the two of us.”

“I understand,” I told her. But though things might very well have been different between her and Mackenzie, the truth was that Gwen had always kept her love affairs to herself. I’d grown accustomed to her disappearing from my life for weeks, sometimes even a month or two at a time, when caught up in one of these grand passions. And then coming back and—often hilariously—dissecting her ex-lover’s character and foibles with me once the relationship began to unravel. As they all inevitably did.

“Graham was such a wonderful man . . . ,” she said. “God, what passion—and generosity!”

“Yes, I know,” I said, but I found myself not really wanting to hear any of the intimate details regarding their relationship.

“So you think this might have been the real thing?” I asked her instead.

“I’m having a hard time thinking about it in the past,” she said, gazing out the French windows into the sunlit morning. “He still feels so present! You know, I feel like he really cared about me for who I am. There was definitely something going on between us. But now I guess I’ll never know if it would have lasted. Goddamn it!” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Gwen,” I said, reaching across the table for her hand. My friend wasn’t a weeper. In fact, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen her cry.

“I’m a real mess, Alice,” she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Of course you are! Go ahead and cry. Who gives a damn what you look like? You should be letting your feelings out. It’s horrible that this has happened to you! It’s so unfair.”

“I mean, I’m
in
a real mess,” Gwen said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gr-a-ham,” she said, stuttering a little as she tried to pull herself together. “Graham understood how much Bridgewater House meant to me. . . .”

“I’m sure he did,” I said. Gwen wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a paper napkin. She took a breath and continued on in a steadier tone.

“And he loved the place, too, especially the property. He saw how significant it was historically—and the amazing potential it had if it was fixed up properly. In fact, it was his idea to turn the stables into a museum and learning center.”

“That’s great,” I said, studying my friend as she looked down at the napkin that she’d wadded up in her lap. She seemed lost in her thoughts—and they clearly weren’t happy ones. “So? Was he going to contribute to the capital campaign?”

“No,” she said, looking up and meeting my gaze. “He promised to underwrite the whole thing.”

“What? But isn’t that almost—”

“A million dollars,” she said, nodding. The tears began to flow again. “When we first got together, he was only interested in making a generous gift. But the more I told him about my ideas for
Bridgewater House, the more excited he got about it, too. He began to talk to me about how it could be turned into this museum and research center for local history—one that would bring scholars in from all over the country. Then he began to envision the place becoming a kind of cultural gathering place for the town, too. A beautiful historic setting for holding parties and lectures and concerts. One night when he came over to the house, I took him out to the old stables and he just fell in love with the building! You know how it has those great big old sliding doors and soaring ceilings.
This is it!
he told me.
This is going to be the Bridgewater House Museum and Research Center
. And he made the pledge right on the spot. Though he insisted it be anonymous.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, but Gwen looked so downcast that I knew already where this was heading. “I hope you got that in writing.”

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, of course, I drew something up for Graham to sign, but—things began to get more serious between us. And then he began to have some business setbacks. It just didn’t seem right to press him.”

“So—you only have his word?”

“He told me he was talking to the Mackenzie Project staff—that he was getting the ball rolling. I’m sure he did. I mean, you don’t make that kind of promise to someone you—someone close to you—and not follow through with it, right? He knew how much this meant to me, Alice! He knew my career basically depended on it, really.”

“No, it doesn’t!” I told her. “Mackenzie’s contribution would have been great, but you’re going to make the Bridgewater House restoration come together one way or another—even without it.”

“Well, that’s not the only thing at stake anymore,” she said. “When I told Larry Wadsworth—he’s the Bridgewater board
chair—that I’d made the capital campaign goal nearly a year ahead of schedule, he was just floored. The next day he called me and asked if I’d be interested in heading up the Commonwealth Historical Commission. The CHC, Alice! It’s my dream job! But I’ve got to get Mackenzie’s money for Bridgewater House first. I’ve just got to.”

“That might be a problem,” I told her bluntly. It seemed to me that we’d drifted pretty far from the shock of Mackenzie’s death to concerns about my friend’s career. I couldn’t help but wonder just how much Mackenzie’s passing meant to Gwen after all.

“Why?”

“His business problems were really escalating. Listen, I wasn’t going to burden you with this today, but you might as well know the truth: his last check to me bounced. And it was for a lot of money.”

“Oh, no!” Gwen said, her eyes wide. “Oh, shit.”

“Exactly,” I told her. “And I have a bad feeling that his creditors are already lining up. Sal Lombardi did some kind of a deal with Mackenzie recently and he made it pretty clear that he got badly burned. And Sal said something about the MKZ stock tanking if word got out that Mackenzie had fallen ill. God knows what will happen to the company now.”

“This is awful! Are you going to be okay?”

“Well, you better believe I’m going to fight tooth and nail to get what I’m owed. But, you know, I’m thinking . . . Mackenzie’s not-for-profit might very well be protected if the company itself goes into bankruptcy. I’m sure I remember hearing that when Lehman Brothers went down in 2008 they had a big charitable arm that couldn’t be touched. You should look into that. Maybe Sal could help you—he’s still chair of the Bridgewater House board, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. “Though he hasn’t been all that active since . . .”

I’d forgotten. How in the world could I have forgotten? Perhaps because it had been one of the briefest of Gwen’s many short-lived affairs. It had started about two years ago, though, as usual, I didn’t hear about it until Gwen put a stop to the business a few months later. Sal had fallen for her hard, which was never the best approach with my friend. He offered to leave his wife, to set Gwen up in a luxury co-op in Manhattan, to give her whatever she wanted—but the more he pressed her, the less interested she became. She was finally able to end things by pointing out how inappropriate it was for a board member to fraternize with an employee. She could easily get fired. That helped salve Sal’s ego a little. Though Gwen had confided to me that he’d wept when she told him they were through.

“Listen, let me ask Sal for you,” I told her. “I won’t get specific. I was going to approach him anyway for advice about how to get my money. And it would be a natural thing for me to bring up the charity. It was one of the main reasons I agreed to work for Mackenzie in the first place.”

“Thanks, Alice. That would be great. But, yes, I think it would be better if you kept my name out of it.”

Gwen stayed for another hour or so, and the conversation turned back to her and Mackenzie. She revealed little bits and pieces of their time together. They met mostly at night, apparently, and rarely seemed to leave the house.

“We’re both such night owls,” she said, slipping into the present tense. “And we both get so hungry in the middle in the night! Graham makes a terrific omelet, by the way.
Made
, I mean, of course, damn it.”

“He was sick for the last couple of weeks, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he had some kind of a stomach thing. I think it was all tied up with his business troubles. The last few nights I saw him, I don’t think he slept at all. He’d prowl around the house or work in
his office. Sometimes he’d even go out and wander around in your garden.”

“Weren’t you worried about him?” The last time I’d seen Mackenzie his physical deterioration had really shocked me.

“He told me it was nothing serious,” she said. “He didn’t like to talk about his health, or anything personal like that. He told me he lived for today. He said that he thought we were kindred spirits in that way. We kept it pretty light, Alice. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”