“I’ll admit that one stopped me as well. I wish there was a way to break them up.”
Harlow laughed. “Me, too.” Her humor faded. “There’s also stuff with Kip.”
She sucked in a breath as she gathered the courage to admit what she’d found out. “It’s a lot. His family celebrates on Christmas Eve. They open presents and don’t go to church. Judy didn’t let the kids believe in Santa, so no stockings.”
Her mother looked at her. “Sad, but workable. What do you really want to tell me?”
Harlow wasn’t surprised her mother guessed there was more. “Kip has credit card debt. Over twenty thousand. We were supposed to talk about it, but we never did. Other stuff happened.”
“The debt is big news, and it’s unfortunate, but not the end of the world. You need to understand his history and decide if he’s learned his lesson and won’t do it again or if this is a pattern.”
Harlow nodded. “You’re right. We have to talk about it.” She plucked at the hem of her T-shirt. “Kip was married before.” She raised her gaze to her mother’s face. “He eloped when he was nineteen. The marriage didn’t last long. I found out when I had dinner with his parents. I didn’t know, and his mother said something about Tracey calling.” The tears returned. “He was married and he never told me.”
Her mother pulled her close and held her.
“You said I didn’t know him very well. What if you’re right? I love him, Mom, but what if I can’t trust him?”
Harlow sniffed and drew back, wiping her face. “What if there are other secrets? Worse ones? What if everything’s a lie?”
“Everything isn’t a lie.”
“But some things are.”
“Yes.”
“How do I figure this out?”
Her mom looked at her. “I don’t have an answer right this second.”
“But you always know.”
“This is bigger than regular stuff, sweetie. Kip’s a good guy, and I believe he loves you, but I don’t know what to say about him having been married before. It’s not that he was married, it’s that—”
“He didn’t tell me,” Harlow finished. “Those stupid lies of omission.”
“You’re not wrong to be upset. This is really significant. Have you talked to him?”
“Not much. Between that and Dad and a stupid fight about beets, I ran.”
Robyn laughed. “I ran, too, so I’m not going to judge. Sometimes the immature response is the right one.” She hugged her again. “I’m really glad you’re here. Let’s hang out as much as we can. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. I love you, Mom. You’re my rock.”
“And you’re my little pebble.”
* * *
Mason sat at his desk until nine in the morning, then called Lillian’s lawyer. After about thirty seconds on hold, he was put through and was able to ask the list of questions he’d come up with last night, while he wasn’t sleeping. Thirty minutes later, he hung up and carefully put his cell phone down in front of him.
He’d been shot at more than once in his life. He’d parachuted out of a flying plane twice, had been in a Humvee that had overturned. He’d been married and divorced twice. He’d scared the shit out of kids to turn them into soldiers, and he’d told sobbing recruits it was time to go home.
But he’d never faced anything remotely like what Robyn had so blithely mentioned yesterday and that Gregory had just confirmed. He, Mason Alexander Bishop, born in a house that barely had running water, whose family had spent a couple of generations in the coal mines, was going to inherit a house that would be sold to the historical society for twelve-point-seven million dollars.
The lawyer had made it clear Mason could get triple that amount from a developer. Maybe more. But Lillian was hoping he would agree to the deal with the historical society so the house could be saved.
There had also been a discussion of tax implications, which would reduce the amount Mason would eventually put in his bank account, but he was okay with that. Ending up with eight million was still something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.
Him. Eight million in cash money. How was that possible?
He went in search of the one person he could talk to. He found Robyn in the pantry, studying the shelves. She looked up at him.
“I’m planning menus. I figure Salvia has enough to do with the sudden influx of guests. You’re right about Lillian’s love of salads and soups for meals. Between you and kids, we’re going to need more substantial food.” She stopped talking. “Are you all right?”
“No. I spoke to Gregory.”
She nodded and led the way through the kitchen and out to the far back little patio area where he stored the barbecue. They settled on chairs opposite each other. Mason leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs.
“I never thought it was real,” he admitted. “Any of this. When Lillian first started writing me, I thought she was a loon.”
“Who owned a three-bedroom rambler,” she teased.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah, that. When I first got here, I couldn’t take it in. Not really. As for inheriting, that was a concept. Nothing real. Then Lillian mentioned me keeping some land for myself, and I liked that idea.”
He’d come to love the area and could see himself settling here. He didn’t need much—a small house with a view of the ocean would be more than he’d ever expected.
“Gregory said Lillian and the historical society have agreed on twelve-point-seven. After taxes, I’d end up with about eight million.” He looked at her. “Dollars.” He ran a hand over his hair. “That’s not me. That’s not my life.”
“It doesn’t have to change much, Mason. You’ll build a house and write your books and maybe get a car you’ve always dreamed about.” Her tone was gentle. “It’s a lot to take in. Give yourself a little time.”
“I want her to live forever. I like her. I’d rather have her than the money.”
Her expression softened. “Now you’re just trying to make me throw myself at you, and it’s working.”
“She’s the only family I have.” He thought about all the time he’d wasted. “Why didn’t I answer her right away? I could have gotten to know her years ago.”
“You know her now.”
Feelings churned inside of him. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”