The Collectibles (29 page)

A
fter more than a week with Joe in the Abacos, Harry had taken more than four-thousand shots. When he downloaded the pictures onto Joe's computer, Joe was fascinated by the range and diversity of the images. He found out how two people could look at the same thing and see it differently.

They ate fish they had either caught or speared on one of their dives, and lobster they caught at night. They hung out at the beach, at the local bars. And they talked. Instead of Harry winding down with all of this activity, he seemed to be energized, his energy endless. Each day he wanted to see more, do more, and talk more. Finally, late one afternoon, sitting on the cockpit, Joe decided they needed to get serious.

“Harry, you and I have had a great time down here.”

“We sure have, Joe. I've loved it, man. And we're just starting. I want to explore the other islands. We could go to Eleuthera. I've never been there, but I hear it's great. We could go farther down, too. We could go to Puerto Rico . . . ”

“Hold it, Harry,” Joe said. “The water's a lot different between the Bahamas and Puerto Rico. That's a rough stretch. And what about your job? I've loved having you down here, but it's been almost two weeks. How much time away can you really afford?”

“Oh, that's not a problem, Joe. I could take a month. I could take two months. This is great.”

“Have you got the resources to take two months without earning money?”

“Oh, yeah, that's no problem. I can make it when I get back.”

“Well, that's good. So I take it that you haven't needed to see your doctor lately, you've been on an even keel, health-wise?”

“I've been feeling great ever since you called, and I'm loving being down here.”

“I don't want to prick any bubbles, Harry, but how were you feeling a few days before I called?”

Silence for a moment.

Harry clasped his hands between his knees and looked up, his expression somber. “Not good, Joe. I was having a series of problems then. You know, my weight, no energy. I wanted to stay in bed most of the time. I couldn't work. I lost my steady job shooting weddings and a few of my freelancers.”

“Were you seeing your doctor?”

“I went to him; he changed my medication. That helped a lot. What with being bipolar and all, the medication has to be exactly right, or it really screws me up. And sometimes my doctors just don't get it right. That's why I have these problems. But I don't have any problems now.”

“Do you have your medication with you?” Joe asked.

“I did, but I ran out the third day. Don't worry. I don't need it now. In fact, it only causes me more problems.”

Joe paused, searching for the words to impress on Harry the seriousness of his situation. “Harry, I'm not a doctor, and I'm not in any position to give you advice. I love having you here keeping me company and doing all the things we're doing together. It's been fun, more than you know. But I would feel better if you went back, checked in with your doctor, and had your prescriptions refilled while you're still feeling good. I'm being selfish here, Harry. I may not be in a position . . . with the bad telephone reception down here . . . to take another phone call like the one we had one time.”

Neither said anything for a long time.

Finally, Harry responded. “I'm sorry about that, Joe. Sometimes, like then, I wonder why it's worth going on. I was going to end it that time, but after talking with you, I decided it would be better to keep going. You know what I mean?”

“Actually, I do,” Joe said quietly, looking down.

“I think you're right, Joe,” Harry said, getting up from the chair, grabbing the hose, and refilling Buck's water bowl. “I've been putting it off, but I do need to go back. I hate the medicine, but my doctor tells me I've got to take it, or else. Besides, I miss Scooter. It's just that it's been great down here, hanging out and not having to worry about any of that. Do the planes come in here every day?”

“You could catch one at 11:15 a.m. You've got a round-trip ticket with an open return, and I can call this afternoon, if you want.”

“I guess that's the thing to do,” Harry said. “It's funny, every time I'm down, I'm trying to get up. Every time I'm up, my doctor tells me I'm a little too happy. Either way, I'm screwed.”

Joe clapped his friend on the back, wondering how many more times he would have a chance to fish with his friend Harry. “We're all screwed in one way or another, Harry. Let's just remember the good times and try to have more of them.”

Harry and Joe sat in the cockpit with a couple of after-dinner drinks that night and then got a good sleep. After breakfast, then after they ran out of clay pigeons, Harry and Joe rode together in the taxi, had coffee, and said their goodbyes. “Thanks for everything.”

“Thank you, Harry. Your pictures are great, and your company is even better. I've had a good time with you. I appreciate you. I want you to know that.”

Harry gave Joe a big bear hug, waved goodbye, and waddled through security on to his gate.

Joe took the same taxi back to the boat, reflecting upon how much fun it had been with Harry. Uncomplicated. Easy. But he was tired, weary. He had done a lot physically in the last couple of weeks, and Harry's pursuit of happiness had been increasingly intense. He decided to do nothing the rest of the day.

When he returned to the boat, he sat quietly with Buck, reading, grilling a hamburger. He fell asleep in his chair in the cockpit. He awoke an hour later, drank a bottle of cold water, and decided he should refresh his will. His current one left everything to Ashley.

He went into the salon, sat at the table, and hooked up his computer. He had drawn up many wills in his career and was trustee and/or executor in many estates. He pulled up a form will, and started filling in the blanks.

He skipped over the funeral instructions. Ashley had always wanted Joe, when the time came, to have a full Naval funeral and graveside service, and she insisted that he buy two plots in the Braydon cemetery so that she could join him. They had picked out the plots together in a serene section, near a large live oak tree and with water in sight. What Joe never anticipated was that he would be joining Ashley, instead of the other way around. He would have preferred no service, to simply be cremated and have his ashes spread at sea. But he knew how much the full service and burial would have meant to Ashley, and he had made his commitment. He had to talk with Red about the necessary red tape.

He made Alice his executrix. He also made a specific bequest to her in the amount of $100,000, with an expression of his deep gratitude and appreciation of her service, loyalty and support over all the years. He left her his house and furnishings, and to her and Johnny, he left Buck. He made a specific bequest to Red in the amount of $100,000, with his boat, truck, fishing gear, his Navy ring, and all of his jewelry. The rest of his estate he divided in half, one part a gift in Ashley's name to the top five charities that she worked so hard for, the other half to the Bethesda Naval Hospital and the American Cancer Society, earmarked for medical research, prevention, and treatment of brain tumors.

He read the will over and printed it out, placed it in a file, returned to the cockpit, and took another nap.

M
arcia's two weeks with her mother were intense but, on balance, helpful. So were her telephone conversations with Ann. But most of all, it was her replaying over and over in her mind her recent time with Preston that made her decision. She still loved him, perhaps now more than ever, and she knew he needed her. She also knew he was really trying, really reaching out to her. She had to give him and herself another chance. Besides, it wasn't just the two of them anymore. She must go back. Marcia headed for New York.

 

Having Marcia home again gave Preston more energy and spirit than he had felt in the last ten years. A few days after her return, Preston had his lawyers transfer 50 percent of his shares in Wilson Holdings to her. He was determined that she really be part of his business, not simply share the risk. As the days went by, he invited Marcia to join him in trips to his dealerships, and was delighted that she accepted and seemed to enjoy coming along. More and more he realized how smart and effective Marcia was, how much she understood of the strategic side of business. And everyone liked her.

 

It was not all business. Preston flew to Vegas with Marcia and introduced her to Tommy and Missy. At one dinner, Marcia discovered that Preston had been instrumental in talking with a talent agent, arranging for Missy to have an audition as a dancer in a new show at the MGM Grand. Marcia delighted in watching Tommy and Preston smoke cigars and shoot craps together. After a couple of lunches with Tommy, she came to understand that he had a lot more depth and substance than she had originally thought. Preston appeared to enjoy the time he spent with Tommy, finding it relaxing, and to hear Tommy's practical take on ideas from people in Preston's organization.

 

Preston also made a few trips to Braydon, checked in with Alice and Johnny, and drove over to see Corey, taking him three different kinds of ice cream until he discovered the man's favorite, black raspberry. On his last trip, just as Preston was leaving, Corey had handed him something wrapped in brown paper, tied with soft, white string. When he got home, Preston unfolded the paper and found an elegant wooden box made of cherry with bird's eye maple inlay. When he opened the box, he found a scribbled note on a torn piece of brown paper. It simply said, “
Don't forget to feel the wood, young fella.”
Preston kept the box on top of his dresser in his bedroom with his favorite watches and rings in it.

He made several attempts to reach Harry, but was never able to talk to him on the phone. Harry had apparently moved, and there was no answer on his cell phone. Alice said she would do what she could to try to track him and the sixth ‘collectible' down. These were the only two of the group Joe had mentioned that Preston had not connected with yet, and he wanted to meet them as soon as he could.

When another three weeks passed and Preston had not been able to reach Harry, he decided to give Alice a call.

“Good to hear from you, Preston. I haven't called about Harry because I haven't been able to reach him, either. I had trouble reaching Joe, too. I learned later that he'd gotten together with some fishing buddies in Nassau and that they'd gone to Eleuthera, where there was no cell reception. Harry was with Joe for a couple of weeks, but then he came back. Joe hasn't heard from him either but wouldn't have been able to anyway.”

“How's Joe doing, Alice? Catching a lot of fish?”

“He sounded pretty good. Definitely catching a lot of fish. Swimming with Buck. I think he's having a good time,” Alice said. “He didn't say so, but I kind of got the feeling from the tone of his voice that he might be having enough fishing and is ready to come home.”

“Maybe he misses work.”

“Could be,” Alice replied. “I know we miss him, that's for sure. I'm sure Harry will check in somewhere along the line. He goes like this for periods when Joe doesn't hear from him, and then, after a while, he gets in touch. I'll call you if I hear.”

“Thanks, Alice. Good to talk with you. Say hello to Joe. And be sure to tell him Alex and Casey are doing an outstanding job. We're in touch with all our banks every day. Each of the stores is turning around. We're following Joe's plan, which is a masterpiece, and it's working. I still can't believe what a great job he did. Anyway, I don't want to burden him with business issues, but I would appreciate your letting him know we're doing well and that the banks are happy. And how much I appreciate what he did for us.”

“I'll let him know,” Alice said. “I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it.”

 

Over the coming weeks, Marcia became increasingly interested in Preston's new friends, and particularly how much enjoyment he seemed to be getting out of talking and being with them. He told her how Johnny was abandoned as an infant by his parents, left to an institution, that he actually was not retarded, how Johnny might be able to receive special education, and about Preston's discussions with a speech therapist. He told her about a plan he had that would involve all of the group, something about a restaurant with entertainment where Missy could be involved in the show, Corey could make the bar, Tommy could be the bartender and head of security, and Johnny could be in charge of the dishwashing staff in the kitchen. Marcia thought it was a little crazy, particularly since Missy wanted to be a showgirl in Vegas, not some restaurant. She didn't want to throw a damper on his idea, but she let him know her thoughts. “Doesn't Missy want to stay in Vegas? I thought she had something going with an agent, a chance for her to get into a show.”

“She does, and the agent's still working on that. But these shows don't last forever, and I'm trying to figure out some type of long-term solution or plan for all these people to use their individual skill sets, work together in some enterprise, and be able to have a revenue stream, a source of money that each of them can count on. And at the same time, have the enterprise build equity. Maybe it's not a restaurant, maybe it's something else. I just want to find a way that works for them going forward. Something that will give them security.”

“You've got it all figured out,” Marcia said, pleased to see Preston worried about other people instead of himself. At the same time, she worried about Preston's proclivity to control. “I understand what you want to do for Missy and the others. But what they want is important. Before you go too far with your planning, you might want to talk with them.”

Preston's attitude toward her was entirely different and wonderful. Marcia was heartened by Preston's new-found sensitivity, not only to others but in the way he regarded her. More respect, more interest in what she had to say. Even noticing when she was feeling a bit queasy in the morning, and wondering why.

Preston studied Marcia's face as if reading her mind, and smiled. She smiled back, wondering whether she could trust her growing sense that she could be herself, that Preston would love the real her, and whether this was the time to tell him.

Preston asked Marcia to sit down, explaining he had something important to discuss.

He looked hesitant before the out-pouring of words: “Honey, I want to have . . . to start a family. I know I've been selfish about . . . a lot of things, but I really want . . . a little Marcia. What do you think?”

Tears ran down Marcia's face. “Well, Preston, your timing's pretty good. If you want us to have a baby, I think that can be arranged. Sooner than you think.”

Preston simply stared and then jumped up, her words fully sinking in.

“You mean . . . ”

“Yes, my love, you're going to be a daddy.”