Change of Heart

Prologue

About Twenty Years Ago

The red convertible slowed to the speed of a walk. Hop in, handsome, the cute girl with auburn hair called out.

The girl with short black hair smiled and made her way to the car. Hey there, Courtie, she said as she leaned in on the passenger side. How’d you get away from your mom?

Courtie smiled a flirty smile. I told her that I was studying French with Amy, she said, but we don’t have a final in that class. She giggled, pleased with herself.

Sweet, Jackie Lynn said as she hopped in. Where do you want to go? she asked. They never went anywhere too public.

The Camaro swerved back into traffic. We’ve got at least three hours, Courtie said. That’s enough time to do it if you want. Her fingertips toyed with Jackie Lynn’s ear and then feathered through a lock of her hair.

Are you sure? Jackie Lynn asked. Because we don’t have to if you don’t want.

Don’t you want to? Courtie asked as her fingers worked their way up Jackie Lynn’s inner thigh.

Jackie Lynn sucked in a breath. Sure I want to, she said as she grasped Courtie’s fingers and kissed them one by one. I just don’t want your mom giving you a rough time, that’s all.

I’ll be eighteen in two more days, Courtie announced with pride. In eight weeks, we’ll be on our own. She nodded as if the matter had just been closed. Don’t worry, baby, she teased, I’ll just be careful not to take my bra off when my mom’s around. At almost eighteen, her mom still walked in on her when she was in the bathroom. And I’ll lock the door when I’m in the shower.

Sweet, Jackie Lynn said with a wide grin, What are we waiting for then?

Nothing at all, Courtie said as the radio disc jockey put on his next selection. Hey, it’s our song, she announced with a crank of the volume.

Jackie Lynn cranked it a little more. "Can’t Stop Lovin’ You by Van Halen is so hot, she said, like you are, baby."

Courtie belted out the lyrics as she drove along. "And no matter what you say or do," she sang, you know my heart is true. Oh I can't stop lovin’ you…

Jackie Lynn couldn’t help but grin when Courtie looked over to catch her eye.

"You can change your friends," Courtie sang, your place in life. You can change your mind. We can change the things we say. And do it anytime…

Jackie Lynn joined in with her lower voice. "Oh, I can't stop lovin’ you," she sang along.

Courtie parked under their tree, turned off the engine, and pressed into Jackie Lynn’s arms. I love you, she whispered.

Jackie Lynn’s fingertips moved underneath Courtie’s blouse. I love you too, she whispered back. I’ll love you forever, Courtie.

***

Courtie parked in front of the parlor. She got out to plug the meter and then returned to the car.

You scared? Jackie Lynn asked.

A little, Courtie squeaked.

We really don’t have to do this, Jackie Lynn continued. If you don’t want to.

Courtie took a breath and set her jaw. I do, she said. It’ll be a symbol of our commitment to each other.

The bell rang when they walked through the door.

A thirty-something guy with more colors on his arms than one finds in a rainbow came out from behind the curtain at the back of the building. Can I help you? he asked.

Courtie’s voice quivered as she spoke. We want matching tattoos, she announced.

The guy frowned. How old are you two? he asked.

We’re eighteen, Courtie piped out in her oldest voice.

Uh-huh, I’ll bet you are, the guy responded. You know what you want?

The girls nodded in unison as Jackie Lynn took the design that she had drawn out of her back pocket. Something like this, she said as she handed the man her study hall doodle. It was a pair of hearts with their initials, drawn to look like a carving.

The tattoo artist alternated between studying the drawing and the girls. Where do you want it? he asked.

Jackie Lynn looked to Courtie to be sure before she spoke. Right here, she said as she pointed to a spot on her right breast. Except that we want the tattoos on opposite sides so that when we hug they come together.

The guy was shaking his head before Jackie Lynn finished her thought. No you don’t, he said. You’re first-timers and that’s a place that’ll really hurt bad. He continued to shake his head.

Again, Jackie Lynn looked to Courtie.

Courtie nodded back.

Yes we do, Jackie Lynn said.

The guy rolled his eyes as he laid out several needles. Then get ready for a good long cry, he said. Whoever’s going first, take off your shirt. He set a bottle and swabs on the shiny table. And rub down really good with the alcohol. The tattoo artist met each girl’s gaze. Trust me, he added, you don’t want an infection.

Courtie peeled off her shirt and unfastened her bra. I’ll go first, she volunteered.

Chapter One

Present Day

Don’t swat! Julia screamed.

Courtney thrashed about and smacked again.

Stop it, Julia screamed again. The alarm in her voice was evident. If you swat, they’ll swarm.

Courtney violently swished through the length of her hair.

Julia dropped her fries and rushed to put distance between them. Stop swatting, Courtney, she screeched as her drink tumbled off the park bench.

I can’t, Courtney bellowed back. The little son-of-a-bitch is in my ear.

Worker bees are all female, Julia corrected. She was an associate on her way to partner in the firm. Her attention to detail was usually quite amazing, but at this moment, it was downright annoying.

Who cares? Courtney snapped as she leaned forward to smack again. She made solid contact, but the damn thing kept coming. Ouch! she screamed. She took another wild swing, this time connecting with the right side of her head. The insect bounced off her palm and onto the pavement. There was barely enough time to breathe before others were buzzing in her ear. Oh damn! Damn, damn, damn, Courtney shouted as she broke into a run, a feat not so easy for a thirty-eight year old in heels. Come on, she called out. We need to get out of here. Her words were out before she realized that Julia was long gone. She was two blocks closer to the Capitol before Courtney caught up with her.

Thanks for waiting, Courtney spat with a glare.

Julia glared back. I told you not to swat, she said. Bees sound an alarm and their sisters come to the rescue. She shook her head and curled her upper lip. No way I was going to stick around and get stung myself.

Courtney nodded as she rubbed the swelling above her eye and on her cheek. I get it, she said. A person has to look after their own interests. It was the way of the world, especially on Capitol Hill. She plucked the last stinger before gently sliding her tongue across her tender lower lip. Come on, Courtney said, I need to put some ointment on these and add a layer of make-up before I meet with Senator Thomas.

***

Courtney smiled as she took a slow sip of her first drink of the afternoon. Smooth bourbon, neat. Congress had declared it a distinctive product of the United States back in the sixties. It was as American as baseball and apple pie. She had originally selected it, thinking that it would be the perfect beverage for a lobbyist on her way to the top. Her taste for the drink was acquired after years of consumption. I completely understand your position, Senator Thomas. It’s not about our pesticides or the bees, it’s about assuring that the public has the perception that you’re a good man, behind good policy. She raised an eyebrow and smiled. And of course, that you’re re-elected. She set her glass back onto the carved wooden table that was positioned next to her chair. I can assure you that both will materialize should you choose to support this legislation. She locked onto the smooth politician’s gaze. You’re aware of my reputation, Courtney added, I don’t make empty promises. She was confident she would have the silver-haired lawmaker in her pocket before she left.

We’ll need to be careful, the senator said. I have no interest in trading my current seat for one in a jail cell.

You have nothing to worry about, Courtney assured him. No laws will be broken. She smiled with a twinkle in her eyes. At least none that anyone will notice. By the end of the day, I’m certain that we’ll have a coalition strong enough for a win.

***

Back in elementary school, whenever Courtney was asked, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ She would always answer right off. I want to be a lawyer, she would say with pride. I want to help people who are in trouble. Everything changed the day following her graduation from high school. From then on, strand-by-strand, her dreams began to unravel. She left home, went on to attend law school, and did her internship in Washington, D.C. It was somewhere along that road that her bitterness caused her to lose sight of who she was. Her priorities shifted and she began to value status and money above anything else. In the blink of an eye, Courtney became her mother’s daughter. After a while, she even convinced herself that her transformation had been a good choice. What difference did it make if she practiced criminal law? That was a childhood dream, a dream that had no place in cold, hard reality. Her degree would provide the perfect background to become a lobbyist. Instead of helping people, she would help corporations to influence those who write the laws. She would help them because they were better able to pay her price. In no time, she was one of only a handful with any real clout.

No one doubted Courtney’s ability to tackle even the most difficult challenge. She was a magician of sorts, making laws appear and disappear at will. It was no wonder that the most powerful corporations now vied to be her clients. In recent years, most were manufacturers in the chemical industry. Pushing through legislation that would protect those companies, in spite of the fact that they were killing bees and destroying the environment, had become her specialty.

The senator tilted back in his plush leather chair and met her gaze. I’m listening, Ms. Holloman.

It’s fairly simple, Courtney continued. All you need to do is spin the research findings so that the public’s focus is on what’s missing, instead of what’s been found. Then, you emphasize what my client has done for the environment and make a couple of appearances, maybe one at a nature center and another at a school surrounded by elementary students. She brushed back a lock of hair. That should be all that’s needed, she added. She was once again aware of her facial swelling and hoped the senator hadn’t noticed it. People can be quite gullible, Courtney said with a shake of her head. Just look at how quickly they bought into the public relations campaign of my client’s competitor. With minimal expense and effort, that company was able to convince the average citizen that their bee watch center would significantly impact, even reverse, the multi-continent decline in the bee population. She raised an eyebrow and once again met the senator’s gaze. Their campaign wouldn’t have been nearly as effective had the public bothered to read any of the current research.

But the average citizen doesn’t read, he said with a smile. Instead, they rely on sound bites.

Exactly, Courtney said with a return smile. Sound bites that we’re more than happy to feed them.

***

As fire consumes the forest, work consumed Courtney. Personal profit had become her top priority. She had no pets or relationships. Even a goldfish would have required more time and effort than she was willing to donate to its cause. She was never off the clock, always available to her clients, be it four in the morning or while she was in the shower. Every moment of every day was packed with powerbrokers, meetings, and pressure. That’s why she earned the big bucks. Her accomplishments, more in one decade than most manage in an entire career, and of course the money, were what it was all about. While her colleagues were having dinner with their in-laws or attending parent-teacher conferences, Courtney was cultivating a network of powerbrokers that could tempt many in her circle to sell their soul to acquire.

Courtney rode the Metro to and from work, not because she had to, but rather because it made better use of time. The minutes spent traveling were a valuable commodity, a commodity that many wasted. Waste was not something that usually concerned her, except when it came to time. As the train slowed to a stop, she slid her finger across the screen of her tablet. She dropped the device into the side pocket of her red leather briefcase, stood, and waited her turn to step into the aisle. Courtney’s upscale three-bedroom apartment was just down the block. She stopped at the liquor store on the way to her building. It was situated in the heart of one of the most vibrant and rapidly growing neighborhoods in Washington, D.C. She always made it a point to enjoy the best of what her money could buy.

Good evening, Ms. Holloman, the doorman said as he held the etched glass door open. For some reason, his attire reminded Courtney of a commissioned navel officer. It was a uniform worn by all the doormen in her building and a good business decision on the owner’s part. His uniform left the impression that he was an employee of high caliber.

Good evening, Courtney responded. She would have called the doorman by his name, but she had never bothered to inquire as to what it was. She did, however, remember that he had two children. He had mentioned them sometime back when she ended up trapped with him on the elevator. Are your children doing well? she asked.

They are, Ms. Holloman, the doorman said with beaming pride. Thank you for asking.

Courtney smiled before clicking across the marble floor to board the glimmering stainless steel elevator. Four others joined her. They traveled up to their respective floors in silence. Her typical evening routine would have included a swim in the rooftop pool before dinner, but tonight’s thunder had driven her inside. The third-floor fitness center was her distant second choice. She hoped that her fifteen minutes of daily exercise would offset a multitude of pizza slices, burgers, and fries—not to mention alcoholic beverages. She was dialing for a pizza as the number thirteen flashed on the display of her treadmill. It was all perfectly timed. She would jog two more minutes, ride the elevator up to the fourth floor, and shower. A pepperoni pizza with extra cheese would arrive at her door as she was preparing her first martini of the evening, extra dry.

Chapter Two

Jack popped the final bite of her goat cheese sandwich into her mouth, chewed, and took a swig of milk. She glanced across the kitchen table. Thanks for going to all this trouble, she said. I don’t deserve to be pampered when I show up so late for lunch.

Sure you do, Francisca responded. She reached across to squeeze her adoptive daughter’s hand. We appreciate that you spend almost every moment of your weekends with us. I don’t think we’d make it without your help. They both recognized that Jack had virtually been running her parent’s sustainable farm and apiary for the past few months. She was doing it in addition to her own full-time job as an entomologist. It would’ve been nice if her dad would have hired a couple of additional employees to help carry the load, but when he didn’t, she figured out how to manage. She understood that he was having difficulty reconciling the way things used to be, with the way they were.

Mick Camdon had been caught off guard. He wasn’t willing to face the possibility that his mini-stroke trifecta might leave him disabled. In the blink of an eye, he had gone from a strong man who could hold his own against the world to a man hardly able to return his towel to the bathroom towel rack without wearing himself out. Jack would be there for him as long as he needed.

Jack slid back her chair and stood. You know there’s no place that I’d rather be. And having my mom fix all my favorites for lunch is a great bonus. She picked up her dirty plate and reached for another.

Stop, Francisca said softly as she lifted it from her hand. I’ll take care of the dishes.

Jack leaned down to kiss her mom’s cheek. She was a good foot taller than both of her parents. Mick and Francisca joked when Jack was growing up that they were raising the jolly green giant. If you insist, she said. I need to get after that swarm in the front before Dad gets up from his nap. If I don’t, he’ll try to beat me to it. Her brow furrowed. He’s not ready to be on a ladder yet, but I think he’s getting around better. Don’t you?

Francisca nodded, but worry washed across her face. I think he is too, she said with a sigh, but I don’t see how he’ll ever get back to where he was. I’m afraid we’re going to have to sell this place one of these days. Jack’s parents had moved to the country the year after her dad had retired. Running a sustainable farm was how they’d dreamed of spending their retirement.

Jack wrapped her mom into a hug. You don’t need to worry about that, she said softly. I remember how excited you were when you bought this land, she added. She planted a kiss on Francisca’s forehead. I’ll help, Mom. You’re not gonna have to sell the farm.

You already help us too much, Francisca said, more than a thirty-eight year old should have to help her parents. She patted her daughter’s cheek. You should take time for yourself, she said. Find a girl who makes you happy and settle down. She was worried that Jack’s busy schedule had caused her break-ups, but that wasn’t it at all. "What made us think that we could