Alexa's Inheritance

~One~

Noel

NOEL STANLEY MONTGOMERY paced back and forth across the seaside terrace of his villa, hands cupped at the base of his spine, shoulders rigid, muscles taut with tension. Bleary gaze fixed on the ground, he didn’t notice the warmth of the night, nor hear the moonlit sea shush and gurgle as it spat foam on the beach. Behind him, his villa stood pale against the dark, its windows vigilant yellow eyes. He stopped pacing and approached the window to his home office to stare at the blue and ivory urn on the sill. With a forefinger, he traced its shape on the glass.

This was all that remained of Lydia Gilbert, in her living years a vibrant, charming, bright woman who loved the sea, her friends, and her daughter. Face wet with tears, his gaze roamed the night sky dotted with twinkling points of light. Was her spirit out there? He missed her so much. Still, he had to find the strength to transcend this pain and fulfill his promise to her. A gust of wind echoed her last words.

Please, darling boy, find Alexa. She must come to Santa Teresa and read my journals. I so hoped to tell her myself why I had to leave her behind. They lied to her, but the real story is in the diaries. My fondest wish is that you and she scatter my ashes over the sea. Promise me you’ll do this so I can go in peace.

He’d promised, with no clue how to go about fulfilling Lydia’s wish. By the time Lydia had gathered the courage to use the phone number a contact in Canada had given her, she’d fallen ill. He could start with that. Maybe, after he contacted Lydia’s daughter, and arranged for her to come to Santa Teresa, he’d stop blubbering like a child, and this knot in his gut would dissolve. He dropped into a lounge chair, his gaze focused on a single bright star.

He would call the girl tomorrow and see where that led.

~Two~

Alexa

THE PHONE RANG AGAIN. Alexa took a deep breath. Not again. She wasn’t in the mood to endure more meddling in her love life. Her stepmother was convinced Alexa was past her best-before- date, and, if left to her own devices, would never get married. Hadn’t Trish learned, after twenty-four years, that nagging, disapproval, and interference only served to antagonize Alexa into hardline resistance?

Trish had just finished singing the praises of the latest rejected suitor.

He’s a young lawyer with a great future. Her tone suggested Alexa was too dim to understand. You’re all but guaranteed a successful marriage.

He’s overworked and under leisured, Alexa had retorted. Every so often he comes up for air from under a pile of paperwork and tries to weasel me between the sheets. And that’s before he’s even bought me dinner.

Call the kettle black all you want, Trish continued, but you’re not much different, practically living at the office or working from home. You haven’t given him a chance.

What chance? Alexa snorted, his firm has him on a short leash. He’s allowed to run between his office and the courthouse. If he dares to break free, they yank the chain, and he rebounds right back into the fold. This guy charges his mobile twice a day, for heaven’s sake. He’s not what I want in a partner. Trish, I have to go, I’ve got stuff to do.

Don’t you dare hang up on me, I’m not finished.

Yes, you are. Bye Trish. Alexa had replaced the unit into its base and let out a long whoosh.

Exasperated, Alexa wanted to scream women don’t need the so-called security of marriage anymore. She had a career, owned a house, and enjoyed the support of a circle of friends. As a well-paid corporate trainer, she’d traveled the country from coast to coast, until the digital era had cut out the travel, and replaced it with digital and video delivery or material. Although she had no interest in a life partner, she’d made one concession to the notion of settling down. Two months earlier, she’d bought a two-story row house, a commitment to single-hood that infuriated Trish.

All through adolescence, Alexa had engaged Trish in a series of relentless skirmishes, fueled by resentment, that only stopped after the younger woman went to live on campus at university. Anything Trish suggested or endorsed, be it dinner or a prom dress, prompted a loud discussion. Poor Dad, constantly forced to play referee. Alexa acknowledged guilt at his discomfort, but he was the one who’d installed Trish in their home without warning.

This latest obsession with ending Alexa’s single status had to stop. Each time Alexa gave a thumbs down, Trish doubled her efforts and found another poor sap. The choice of prospective mates was not encouraging, and only reinforced the value of self-sufficiency.

Remembering the dinner conversation of the previous weekend, Alexa’s lips thinned, and her cheeks reddened.

Why didn’t you tell us you were buying a townhouse? Trish had demanded. You’re already so fussy this will scare the men away even faster. How am I supposed to find someone for you? What if your future husband already owns a home? Or he wants the two of you to buy a bigger house in a better neighborhood? All the bother of selling it.

First of all, I’m perfectly capable of finding my own partner. Secondly, why don’t you and this husband you’ll love so much live in his better house and neighborhood. I’ll live in peace and tranquility on my own. That way the two of you can trash me and my errant ways and I’ll never know.

You are an impossible, ungrateful creature, Trish grated through clenched teeth. You always have been. When her stepmother stomped off to the kitchen, Alexa launched an impish grin at her father, whose only comment had been a twitch of his upper lip.

Impossible or not, she gloated, she loved having her own little nest. She had no plans to share it with anyone. No point rushing it. Why give your heart away on a whim just to have it crushed?

Rather than pointless arguments with Trish, Alexa preferred to use her time to reduce the pile of boxes in the basement. For two months, she’d cannibalized them for essentials, swearing she’d soon make time to end the hunt and search lifestyle, and make this house a home.

As she’d turned toward the basement stairs, the phone had sung again.

No way was Trish going to waste any more of Alexa’s time. Without looking at the call display, she punched the green button and took a deep breath.

What now? She’d meant to sound firm, not exasperated. There was a moment of silence. A male voice, just this side of gravelly, flowed into her ear.

Alexa Lawrence?

Yes, Alexa acknowledged, puzzled.

My name is Noel Montgomery.

Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Relief it wasn’t Trish hadn’t sweetened her disposition.

I’m not selling, I’m informing. I’m the executor of your mother’s estate.

What mother?

How many do you have, lucky girl? Amusement softened his tone.

One, Alexa snapped. Great, now that it’s convenient, Trish is my mother.

Ah. Your stepmother. I’m referring to Lydia Gilbert, your birth mother. She passed away this past autumn. As her sole beneficiary, you’ve inherited a house, a car, and a very healthy bank account. Her fondest wish in her living years was to see you again, but she became ill and passed away before she could do that. I’m asking you to come to Santa Teresa and claim your inheritance. He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was a timbre lower and huskier. And scatter her ashes.

No. Alexa wondered what the woman had succumbed to and decided her heart must have turned to stone and shattered.

No? Noel repeated.

Which part of ‘no’ must I explain? I already have a house, a car, and a healthy bank account. Give it to charity. My lawyer can dispatch with the paperwork. And why should I inconvenience myself to scatter the ashes of a woman who abandoned me when I was four years old?

Alexa’s lips thinned, her cheeks flamed pink.

Whoa! That’s a lot of bitterness to live with. May I suggest acquainting yourself with the truth about Lydia might help neutralize it?

There’s only one truth, Mr....whatever. My birth mother is a stranger who abandoned me. My father and a substitute mother raised me.

I see. A moment ago, she was your only mother, now she’s a substitute? You really need to sort it out, Ms Lawrence.

I suppose you have a degree in psychology, Mr...?

Call me Noel if you can’t remember the Montgomery part, his tone sharpened. Your parental issues are as transparent as cellophane wrap, Ms. Lawrence.

How dare he judge her, this arrogant man from a nothing island. What did he know about it? Had he been there when Lincoln Lawrence told his little girl that her mommy wasn’t coming back to live with them? And when Trish moved in, and insisted Alexa call her ‘mommy.’

Why should I call you mommy? Where is my real mommy? Stunned, the little girl had reasoned that her mother would only leave her if the angel of death had taken her. She’d seen it on television. A plaintive whimper echoed through time; God took my mommy away. I don’t have a mommy anymore.

Sorry, Noel’s voice cut through Alexa’s flashback. Not my intention to bring up old hurts. You need to know she took interest in your life. If you want to know why she left you, come to Santa Teresa. Read her journals.

Santa Teresa? Where was that? Alexa flipped open her laptop. Santa Teresa turned out to be an island nation on the eastern fringe of the Caribbean, just north of South America.

She wasn’t interested enough to be part of it. Please listen to what I’m saying. Send me the documents and I’ll get my lawyer on it. Goodbye. With trembling fingers, she dropped the telephone unit onto the table and sank into the chair by the window.

Outside, snowflakes tumbled out of a silver-gray sky, danced on gusts of wind, and fell onto a thick white blanket. Gradually, her limbs stopped trembling, her heart resumed its normal rhythm, and reason returned.

That man judged her bitter. Surely bitterness was excusable in the heart of an abandoned child?

Lydia Gilbert’s death was just another nuisance to deal with. Once again, Lydia created a mess and disappeared. But Alexa was an adult now with resources, not a dependent child. She made a note in her agenda to contact a lawyer and deal with this at arm’s length. It would all go away without a trip to Whatsis Island as Mr. Whatever suggested.

Meantime, there were moving boxes in the basement to sort through. That should take her mind off this latest curve ball. She’d vowed, during this vacation, to empty those and the boxes that still languished in the basement of her childhood home. She held her breath while she tapped out Trish’s number and waited for her to pick up.

A MOTHER-SON COMBO drank tea in the Lawrence’s living room when Alexa arrived to pick up boxes. Nobody, she fumed, was as stubborn, and self-absorbed as Trish Lawrence. Still short-tempered and irritable after the conversation with her step-mother, followed by the fruitless discussion with the island man, Alexa was in no mood to compromise.

Alexa, meet Josh Abrams and his mother, Aldona. To his credit, the man who rose to his feet looked as embarrassed and uncomfortable as Alexa felt. Josh’s mother, the other half of the demonic matchmaking team, set down her cup of tea and beamed at Alexa.

Trish’s description does not do you justice, my dear, Aldona crooned.

Alexa’s mouth smiled while her eyes shot darts at Trish. Alexa greeted the pair with as much courtesy as she could muster. She and Josh were snared in a net cast by two conniving witches, who grinned like village idiots so proud of their clever, undetectable plan.

Hey, Alexa reached toward his outstretched hand. His eyes mirrored her apologetic expression.

Nice to meet you both. Sorry, I need to get the boxes. Alexa spun on her heel and headed for the basement stairs.

Josh will help, Aldona prompted her son.

I’m sorry, Josh said when they reached the sanctity of the basement. I think we got snookered.

Alexa marched toward five boxes stacked in a corner.

Not your fault. I gather neither one of us is as desperate as our mothers believe. They each picked up a box, and carried them upstairs.

Matchmaking is an honorable calling in some cultures.

Alexa chuckled. Yeah, and Trish believes it her duty to guarantee the gene pool quality by choosing the sire of the grandchildren.

In that case, a shot of sperm from the perfect sire should do it.

I’ll propose that to Trish, Alexa chortled, then run for my life. Chuckling, she and her helper took the boxes to her car. A half hour later, Josh secured the final box in the back seat.

Thanks for the help. Alexa ducked behind the wheel.

No problem. Hey, what do we do about them?

I don’t know. It’s stupid that we have to do anything.

We could humor them; go to dinner, and say sorry, there’s no chemistry. Josh’s speculative gaze swung to the Lawrence house. But first, I have a confession. Trite but true. It’s me, not you.

Wow. First time I’ve ever been thrown to the curb before the first date.

Well, Josh glanced again at the Lawrence house. I have a boyfriend, Alexa.

Oh. Alexa’s eyebrows rose into her hairline as Josh’s meaning sank in. You haven’t told your mom.

He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged.

Okay, we’ll humor the ladies for a while, as you suggest. Alexa mock punched him on the arm when he flashed a grin of relief.

So, here’s another plan, Alexa’s gaze cut to the house. We let them stew for a couple of days, then tell them we had torrid sex and the grandchildren are incubating.

Funny girl. Josh chortled. Alexa’s grin widened. Such a good-humored guy. Good looking, nice personality. Too bad about his alternate lifestyle.

Hey, you sure you don’t want me to help you unload this stuff at your place?

Thanks, but I’m a homeowner now. I need to get used to the idea of hauling stuff around by myself and playing Ms. Fixit. Oh, wait, Alexa fished a business card from her purse and scribbled her home number on the back. Give me a call, we’ll talk about how to satisfy the maters without inconveniencing ourselves.

Josh took the card from her, gave her a two-fingered salute, winked, and ambled off toward the house.

Hey, he called to Alexa, and thumbed toward the house where the two mothers were watching in the window. Alexa grinned and nosed out into the road. If this ruse with Josh went well, maybe Trish would leave her alone.

After she’d lugged the boxes into the basement, Alexa made a ham and cheese sandwich, and settled in for a quiet evening in front of the television.

At eight o’clock Josh called.

My mother wants to know if I’m waiting until someone else snaps you up before asking you out.

I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Trish. Of course, she’s so old-fashioned she thinks it’s not nice for girls to call boys.

Well this boy is asking if you’re free for dinner Thursday night. There’s a good restaurant on St. Paul in the old city. My partner, Mark, is the chef there, so it’s excellence guaranteed.

That sounds wonderful. Alexa snuggled in her recliner. She looked forward to dinner with a male who had no expectations other than enjoy the food and the company.

The prospect of Josh’s friendship lessened the unpleasant aftereffects of dealing first with Trish, then the island man. She had no reason to travel to Santa Teresa to deal with Lydia Gilbert’s estate. As she’d told the accountant, a lawyer could do the job.