Unspoken (28 page)

She wrapped her arms around the pillow. “I’m glad we got all the legal paperwork signed. But I’m sorry I asked that we do it at the church after the ceremony. It wasn’t the appropriate place or time.”

“The venue was fine, because it reflected reality. There was eight billion resting on you as soon as you signed that marriage license. If we’d had a car wreck on the way home . . . Signing the succession documents shifted the mood, but both of us were already feeling the weight of reality. To have not done those documents when we did would have been irresponsible. We got twenty minutes of a nice ceremony, and then got handed the world we’re going to have to live in. I’d say it was appropriate.”

“We’re going to wake up with the responsibility of it.”

Bryce nodded. “A few days from now it’s going to get easier to breathe. It’s not right now. I didn’t expect to feel such a weight.”

“Do you think we somehow bypassed the fun moment, the
Oh my, we’re rich, really, really rich
moment forever?”

He smiled. “We did skip it. I think we’ll learn to enjoy what we can do with the money when enough time has passed, when we get over the fact we’re both staggeringly afraid of how much it is.”

“I had a hard time deciding if a dollar was too much to pay for a soda yesterday. I just stood there looking at the selections, a twenty-dollar bill in my hand, and couldn’t figure it out. Ellie finally put the twenty back in my purse, bought us a fountain drink to share, and then told me I’m supposed to call her when my brain freezes. I laughed and mentioned I’d forget that too if my brain froze.” Charlotte held up her hand to show him her palm. “She wrote down her number. I’ve been afraid to wash it off because I might need it.”

Bryce held out his hand. “Let me see.”

She got up from her chair and came over to show him the neat numbers written on her palm. He picked up his pen and added his number beneath Ellie’s. He curled her fingers across them. “A promise. You’ll always be able to reach at least one of us.”

Her hand quivered in his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m turning in for the night. I don’t set an alarm, so you’ll see me whenever.”

“Sleep well, Charlotte.”

“I’ll try.”

The house was quiet. Forty-two minutes after she left his room, Bryce heard her up again, heard the locks on her door pushed.

He tugged over a pillow and rested his arms across it. He had expected she would have trouble sleeping, this first time in his house, their house now. It still hurt to hear it.

H
e had a wife.

Bryce rested his hands across his chest as he looked at the ceiling and pondered that new reality. He had a wife who was currently treading lightly down the hall toward the stairs. He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t six a.m. yet.

He was awake, she was on the way downstairs, but he didn’t push back the covers to get up himself. A month from now he would have it figured out, how best to handle the mornings with her—whether she enjoyed company or needed her space, if she was a cheerful morning person or needed the silence and a cup of coffee.

He didn’t think she was up early today because she was a morning person; he was pretty sure she was up because she hadn’t been able to sleep. A new house, new room, a wedding ring on her finger, the inheritance weighing on her—he didn’t have to wonder if she was feeling the stress of the changes. He’d stay out of her way for a while, let her have the peace and quiet of having the house to herself a bit. The calmer today flowed, the better it would be.

They were worth eight billion seven hundred million. The fact of it sat so heavy on his chest it took his breath away. It was more daunting than the reality of being married. He thought he could be a good husband. He wasn’t nearly so sure he could
make good giving decisions after the first five hundred million. Getting this right was going to matter. He didn’t want her to ever regret her decision to marry him.

He turned his wedding ring with the pressure of his thumb. He’d watched his dad, and had a good role model for being a good husband. How these first few days together went were going to matter more than the months that would come after them. This relationship would form a strong footing right out of the gate, or it would struggle to find its balance for months. Today mattered. Each day of this week would be important.

He needed to help her get her studio together today. Most of the furnishings—the chairs, tables, shelving, drafting table—were now in the sunroom that would be her new studio. But having the pieces there was not the same as having the room arranged. Bryce remembered what John had said—she got stressed, she worked. So having the studio together, a comfortable place to work on her art, was a high priority.

Another priority for today was to choose a comfortable chair to drag into this bedroom, find another one for his office downstairs. He’d known Charlotte for over a year, and the three times she had dropped bombshells on him were late nights while driving, and late on their wedding day. He got the pattern of it.

He felt a deep sadness for what she had told him, but he had grabbed the significance of the conversation. If he wanted Charlotte to be willing to talk with him about hard things, he’d best give her a safe place to curl up, and encourage her to talk with him, preferably at night.

He wanted to understand his wife. If he wanted inside her head, into the things she’d never talked about, he needed to create the environment for it. Simple things to start with, such as how the day had been, but create the habit of it. And patience. He thought she’d tell him one day, at least pieces of it, if he was careful to hear what she was risking.

She’d given him eight billion dollars and asked him to give it away. He was going to give her back something as valuable. He was going to help her heal. Her relationship with God, the memories she never talked about. If it took decades, he was going to help her heal in every way he possibly could.

He’d learn how to be a good husband—not just in general, but a good husband to Charlotte. He’d figure out a plan for the giving, he’d find the places which both needed the money and would spend it wisely. What he wasn’t going to do was fail.

Charlotte was having scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, and reading his paper.

“Good morning.” Bryce tousled her still-damp hair as he passed and fixed himself a matching plate.

“I made the coffee too strong, so you might want to dilute it down before it crosses your eyes,” Charlotte cautioned, “or better yet, throw it out and make new.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He took a sip and decided it wouldn’t kill him.

“Ellie is coming over about ten to talk about the financial details, although I can push that back if you would prefer later in the day.”

“Ten is fine.” He settled in to enjoy breakfast. He offered her half his toast and slid over the strawberry jelly.

He read the paper with her, passing back and forth sections, while he ate. “Where do you normally start reading the paper?”

“The comics.”

He lowered the page he held. “Really?”

“The rest is typically bad news.”

“I see your point.” He finished the sports section. “I’m going to attempt teriyaki chicken for dinner tonight unless you have a different preference.”

“I’ve heard it’s a favorite of yours. You know, I could probably do some of the cooking.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“Occasionally.”

“Then when you’re in the mood, the kitchen is yours. But otherwise, assume I’ll handle dinner. I rather enjoy cooking for you. I also know nearly every restaurant in the city that delivers.”

“I like that idea. Grabbing a sandwich to eat at the desk works fine for lunch if my work is going well.”

“I’m the same, and I’m not one to quibble if we eat dinner at six p.m. or ten p.m.” He set aside the paper, content he’d seen the highlights. He glanced at the time. He’d normally be leaving for Bishop Chicago right now, in a suit, his briefcase packed. It felt odd to simply be sitting here in jeans and a T-shirt. He got up to get the coffee. “More?”

“Please.”

He refilled hers, and she wrapped both hands around the mug. “Most mornings I’d go watch the dogs run around, or sketch the sunrise, or toss stuff in the truck and go to work. I didn’t sit. I was only reading the paper today because it was there on the front step.”

He smiled. “I was thinking something similar. I don’t think breakfast is going to be our favorite meal.” He stirred sugar into his coffee to get the extra kick. “You’ve been finished with Graham Enterprises for . . . what, about a week? Responsibility levels have drastically dropped. In about ten days you’re going to be wondering why you didn’t stop work months ago. But the transition is no doubt going to feel like a crash.”

She finished the last bite of toast, reached for a napkin. “It already does. You’re going to eventually feel it too with Bishop Chicago off your daily schedule.”

“I’m feeling it. I miss the suit and tie, the cuff links, the briefcase. The business of it.”

She rested her chin on her hand. “I like you in a suit and tie. And you’re still going to the office, the commute is just measured in feet, not miles.”

“I should go change?”

She smiled. “Why not? You’ll feel more like yourself.” She pushed back her chair. “I’m going to go tackle the studio, get the supplies in the perfect place, get the right location for the drafting board figured out, put together my idea board, think some about starting an ambitious sketch.” She picked up her breakfast dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

He brought his plates to the dishwasher. “What’s an ambitious sketch?”

“Something that takes a few hundred hours to draw, with layers of color, and intricately shaded figures. Think of drawing a horse and cowboy in the middle of a rodeo, or drawing a plane full of people, or trying to capture New York looking out a high-rise window during a rainstorm.”

“You’ll start work on an ambitious sketch so you won’t be bored, so you’ll remember why you chose art over keeping Graham Enterprises.”

She rested her hand on his arm. “You’re a smart man, Bryce Bishop.”

“I am.” He leaned forward and softly kissed her cheek. “Go to work, Mrs. Bishop.”

She grinned. “Yeah.” She selected an apple out of the fruit bowl and went through to her new studio. He heard her push open the French doors to the outdoors and smiled, glad she’d have sunshine and outdoors as part of her new studio. He considered for a moment, then went upstairs to change into a suit and tie. She was right. He liked looking like the businessman he was.

Bryce answered the back door when the doorbell rang at ten a.m. “Come on in, Ellie. Charlotte’s in her studio tacking up photos on a corkboard.”

Ellie set the box she carried on the kitchen table. “She’s working on her idea board? Already?”

“She was bored.”

Ellie thought about that for a moment, and laughed. “I actually believe that.”

Bryce tipped his head to indicate the studio, and Ellie walked through to the sunroom to see what was going on.

Bryce finished fixing new coffee, remembered Ellie preferred a vanilla-flavored coffee with a touch of cream. Laughter from the studio made him pause. It was a wonderful sound. Charlotte didn’t laugh nearly enough.

Charlotte came into the kitchen with Ellie. “I’ve recruited Ellie to help me choose a theme for this ambitious sketch. It has to be something that when you hear the word or phrase, you think
perfect
.”

He handed them both coffee mugs. “Tell me about others you’ve done.”

“
The Moon
was incredible. That one took you several weeks,” Ellie offered.

Charlotte tugged out a chair at the table. “It was the most ambitious black-and-white drawing I’ve ever attempted. I like
School of Fish
for what it represented, the coral was beautiful. But technically it was pretty boring.”

“
Lava Flows
from Hawaii still gets the most serious raves from viewers.”

“That one I am rather proud of. Fire is hard to get right. And the shades of color in molten rock—that was sophisticated shading.”

“So you’re looking for a place,” Bryce said, joining them at the table.

“Not necessarily. Just something that is bold when looked at in detail.”

“Snowflakes.”

Charlotte shook her head. “White is nearly impossible to draw well. The paper is the white, and you’re drawing the place that is not your subject. It makes my eyes go batty.”

Bryce ran back through his memory for conversations lately with people who traveled, looking for an emotional connection to a subject. “The Great Plains, as seen from the air,” he offered. “Ann describes that as her favorite vista. The patchwork of fields and rivers and pastures that stretch for miles against a skyline that also stretches without interruption.”

Ellie stopped unpacking her box and looked at Charlotte. “Yes.”

Charlotte looked back at Bryce. “Does she have pictures?”

“Pictures, video. She’ll take you up for a firsthand view from the air if you like.”

“Still photos are better for seeing what it could be as two dimensions. That’s worth a call to Ann, and a look at some pictures.”

“It could work,” Ellie agreed.

Bryce picked up his coffee. “Now that I’ve given you that one, let me change my mind and give you another one. Glacier
.
Ice melting from a glacier and pouring down the crevices to the sea. The cold, blue shades of thick ice against the vivid blue of the ocean and the bright blue of a sunny sky . . .”

Charlotte started to smile as he gave his description. “One color pallet and scale. A really good idea. Cold is something fascinating to capture on paper, and technically little of it would actually be white.” She looked to Ellie.

“Scaling it would be a challenge. You want the hardness of hundred-year-old ice, the grandeur of it. But pulling back from the surface to show you the size of the glacier costs you the details.”

“It’s worth some layouts. Two good ideas in twenty minutes. Very nice, Bryce.” Charlotte was writing both down. “I’ll develop a bunch of options for these and see what else we can come up with in the next few days.” She looked over and caught his gaze. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He smiled, understanding why work mattered like it did to her. “I’m good for ideas. Just don’t ask me to draw them.”

She held his gaze, nodded to Ellie, and he caught the signal. Charlotte would like not to be leading this next conversation.

“Ellie, Charlotte said you’re better at explaining the financial details than she is, so I appreciate you coming over. What did you bring?” Bryce asked.