The Big Bang (43 page)

“Me too.”

Eva grabbed her mother’s free hand as she read the e-mail.

M
eg’s invitation of lunch down at the capitol, clearly an attempt to lift Will from his funk, seemed doomed to failure.

Failure being the concept du jour.

The phone number Maryellen had given him paid off in that a disgruntled ex-employee of Henderson Homes answered the call. Will found out Henderson Homes was basically open one day and closed the next. The man had no idea how the company handled, or if they even held, insurance. He did know the aggravating details of Frank Griffin’s land deal from inception to final payment, including the promise of a deed that was to be processed and mailed but never arrived. Will gave that info to Tim to handle. Out both a job and a final paycheck, the man was certain Henderson Homes pulled up stakes not because they were bankrupt, but to protect themselves from ending up that way after the unprecedented number of rain-related claims. Furious and certain Henderson Homes left with a pile of money to protect, he’d been doing his own investigating.

He had managed to come up with some vague information that one of the principals of the company had some sort of interests in California before his trail had gone cold.

Cold as Will’s.

At least there was chocolate on Meg’s desk.

Will opened the See’s Candy and helped himself to a Kona Mocha. “A welcome surprise.”

“Candy isn’t the only surprise I have for you today,” she smiled and closed the door.

“Here?” he asked. The last they needed was for her to be removed from office because of a sex scandal in her own office. With her own husband, no less.

Besides, he was hardly in the mood.

Meg picked up her phone and dialed some numbers. “Thought you might enjoy being part of this call.”

She pushed speaker.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” the man on the other end of the call answered before Will had a chance to ask what he was supposed to be ready for. “I’ll dial, then patch you in.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Thanks.”

“What’s going on?” Will asked during the silence.

“I fed the situation with Henderson Homes through a few legislative and construction connections in California,” she said. “I got an interesting call from a legislator who represents a suburban constituency north of Los Angeles.”

“Interesting, how?”

“Representative Curtis,” a speaker-enhanced voice filled the room from the other end of the line. “Pleasure to hear from you.”

“I’m looking forward to having you break ground on your project.”

“We’re looking forward to becoming part of the landscape of your growing community.”

What the?
Will mouthed.

Meg smiled.

“Listen,” Representative Curtis said. “I called today because an associate of mine is having an issue with a builder in her legislative district and I thought you might have an answer or two that could be of some help.”

“My pleasure.”

“I’m going to pass this call over to her.”

“Hi,” Meg said. “This is Meg Pierce-Cohn. I’m a Colorado state legislator and one of the Melody Mountain Ranch homeowners saddled with a cracking foundation from your failure to follow building codes by installing proper drainage. I’ve told Representative Curtis all about your abrupt pullout from our state to avoid paying for your mistakes.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m inclined to ask the city to put a temporary hold on approval of your plans,” Representative Curtis cut in. “That way you’ll have time to make right on this situation and have some engineers, at your cost, ensure we won’t have a repeat performance of what Representative Pierce-Cohn has told me about your project back in Denver.”

T
he multipurpose room was full, but the only noise came from the rustle of paperwork.

“Please sign on the four X’s located on the first, second, fifth, and sixth pages,” the lawyer representing Henderson Homes, DBA Casa De Oro Homes L.L.C., of California, said.

Will’s arm brushed against Meg’s as he signed on the first X and handed the pen over.

She smiled.

He squeezed her elbow.

Hiding in plain view had worked well for the former Henderson Homes execs, but not as well as Meg’s connections in both government and the media. Their eagerness to stay out of the harsh glare of the local media spotlight and continue to develop in California made for a true win-win. Maryellen was granted the deed to what would have been the Melody Mountain Community Church. The Estridges were getting a brand new house. Perimeter drains were slated for immediate retrofitting, warranty repairs were already being done, and the playground would be fixed starting Monday. Best of all, in a gesture of goodwill, every affected homeowner was being issued a healthy check, the amount of which depended on the depth and breadth of their pain and suffering.

“After you’ve read each page, please also initial the bottom right-hand corner,” the lawyer said.

“I presume all repairs that haven’t already been completed are guaranteed within sixty days?” Trautman asked.

“Except for the quadrant three and four cul-de-sacs which can’t be completed until after the drainage retrofitting.”

“And the new warranty will be good for five years from today?”

“Yes,” the lawyer said.

“And how can we be sure they’ll be honored?”

“They’re backed by lien warranty against Casa De Oro Homes.”

“What if someone comes down with mold sickness as a result of the cracking we already have?” Roseanne asked.

“Covered,” the lawyer said. “Despite a lack of generally agreed-upon data on true toxicity.”

“Not going there,” she said. “What about the nondisclosure clause on the back page?”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “With your signature you are agreeing to the terms outlined, whereby you will not discuss with anyone, including the media, homeowners in unaffected areas, or prospective homeowners, the terms of this agreement or the cash settlement.”

“What do we say if someone asks about the earthmoving equipment or whatever?” someone in the back asked.

“We’ve provided an FAQ of sorts with answers we’d like you to give,” the lawyer said. “There are five other communities in Colorado who haven’t been granted the same courtesy and my clients would like it to stay that way.”

***

Tim opened the door to the art closet, pulled out the cart of champagne he’d set to chilling, popped the cork, and poured the first glass. “To Melody Mountain Ranch—Life once again in harmony with our dreams!”

The first round of
Hear! Hear!
was followed by countless toasts to perimeter drains, repair trucks, the Estridges’ new home, Maryellen’s deed for the church land, the playground he himself scheduled for repair, et cetera, et cetera. He drank to Roseanne Goldberg for her skill as a tireless watchdog, Maryellen for her attention to important detail, and to himself, as Jane Hunt so kindly put it, for his eloquence, grace, and
wartime
leadership ability.

“Thank you,” he tipped his glass in her direction, but turned his attention, and with it everyone else’s, to the Pierce-Cohns. “But I think we all realize that our lives and futures would be in a much bleaker place if it weren’t for the tireless efforts of both Meg and Will Pierce-Cohn.”

Over the thundering applause he made his way over to stand beside the two of them. “We wouldn’t be standing here right now if it weren’t for you.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

“Thank you,” Tim said,

“Which of you is officially taking over as prez?” Roseanne asked. “Because there’s something we should—”

“Talk to him,” Will said.

“You’re not going to run?” Tim focused on looking neither bristled by Roseanne’s question nor too delighted by Will’s answer.

“I have one more toast I’d like to make,” Hope’s husband said from across the room. Everyone quieted as he raised his glass. “Round about the time the Estridges are safely back in their new home, Hope and I will be having our first child.”

Will raised his glass. “I think I’ve had my fill of neighborhood affairs for a while.”

Tim gave Will a brotherly pat on the shoulder but smiled at Hope. “To neighborhood affairs.”

***

Maryellen allowed herself a glass of champagne, and then a well-deserved refill.

Her house and the playground would be restored. The deed to the land was hers, at least until she sold the property on behalf of the Harmony Hills Church. Frank’s life insurance insured her and Eva’s comfortable future.

She looked over at Hope, standing beside her beaming husband.

And Hope was officially pregnant.

Maryellen first blamed Hope for seducing Frank, subjecting her to countless hours of imaginary interrogation and non-NATO-approved coercion techniques.
When you say you don’t remember anything from the night of the potluck, what exactly don’t you remember? Where the hell don’t you remember being with my husband? Does the art supply closet ring any kind of bell?

Problem was, every time she actually spotted Hope in her open garage or at the rec center, all she saw was strain and misery where there should have been glow.

Worse, everywhere she looked, from the sunken playground, to the empty lot, to Eva’s troubled expression, all she saw was the
legacy
of misery Frank had left behind. Fallout from his need to conquer and control hovered like a gray cloud she couldn’t attribute to Hope any more than she could blame Eva for the after-effects of the hash brownies that had been accidentally passed around.

Hope claimed not to remember that evening at all.

Frank clearly had, and had gone back to the rec center to erase the evidence.

Guilt stricken, he’d taken the note from Hope’s house thinking she’d attempted suicide and worried she’d written something incriminating about him.

When nothing came of the “fall” he lied about having the note.

Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein: and he that rolleth a stone, it will return upon him.

Maybe it was the now-familiar shock, or the odd sense of justification that had led her to dip his toothbrush every so often, but she decided then and there to let Frank take it up with his maker.

Maryellen looked over at Hope, standing practically glued to Jim, and noticed her hand trembling as she raised a champagne flute of sparkling water to her lips.

If she did remember, she was suffering terribly.

And if she didn’t, wasn’t it that much worse?

***

“Interesting how you soft-pedaled Tim on the presidency issue,” Meg said. “Are you really going to let him step in?”

Will steered the minivan toward the entrance to the cul-de-sac. “If I do, will you think I’m a pussy?”

“I’d hardly categorize what you did, have been doing all along, as anything akin to being a pussy,” Meg said. “You saved the neighborhood.”

“Aw shucks,” he said, “I didn’t do it alone.”

“You certainly didn’t do it with any help from Tim.”

“He got the Errors and Omissions insurance activated.”

“After you fed him the information.”

Somehow, Trautman’s pomp-but-no-circumstance routine didn’t bother Will at all. “He kept the troops entertained while the battle surged around him.”

“By spouting rhetoric.”

“Making him perfect for the job.” Will pulled up the driveway and pushed the garage door button. “As history has shown.”

“Trautman’s a sleaze,” she said.

“Roseanne’ll keep him honest.” Will pulled in and turned off the engine.

“You know,” she said, “I overheard your comments about Hope.”

“Okay.”

Both were silent for a moment.

“Will, did anything happen between you and Hope that night?”

“No,” he said, tempted to say nothing more and enjoy the power a touch of jealousy always added. He couldn’t though, not with the worry he saw in her eyes. “Meg, I would never compromise our marriage that way.”

“You sure?”

“Can’t say I wasn’t tempted.”

“Fair enough. She is beautiful.”

“She’s not you. Us.”

Meg kissed his cheek. “Do you think anything happened between her and Tim?”

“Trautman wishes.”

She put her hand in his lap.

Will pushed the garage door remote, sat back, and let her.

H
ope felt beyond anxious as she passed the excavation equipment in front of the Estridges’ house and started up Maryellen’s front walk. She’d managed to keep a polite distance. Somehow, she’d even kept it together enough to accept a warm hug from Maryellen after Jim announced their pregnancy at the neighborhood meeting.

If only he’d kept quiet, she could have gone about finishing the last of her upcoming jobs, set up the holiday decorating in advance, and waited in peace for the relatively minor repairs on their home. Once everything was done, she’d have joined Jim in London, not returning until after the baby was born.

Fundamentally, the plan hadn’t changed, other than forcing herself to smile through all the well wishes and jarring
I knew its
. In two days, she’d still be on a plane, free of any worry, at least where the neighborhood was concerned.

Perspiration broke out at the nape of her neck.

All she had to do was get through the tea she couldn’t decline with Maryellen.

The front door opened before she could put her finger to the bell.

“Welcome,” Maryellen said.

Hope smiled through pure, sick dread. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“I wanted to have the chance to say a proper good-bye before you leave.”