Don't Save It All For Christmas Day
"Is she going to chase us out?" Taylor asked as he helped pitch the old hay to the side of the barn. Although the pitchfork was taller than him, he wielded it like a pro. Even though it was bone-chilling cold, he didn't mind being outdoors and doing hard work.
"Is who?"
"Sara's granddaughter."
"I don't think so," John replied but he wasn't sure. All night he had tossed and turned, replaying their conversation in the kitchen. He could still hear the emotion in her voice, yet he couldn't understand why she was being so bull-headed about letting the house go.
"It doesn't mean anything to her, does it?"
"I don't know, sport." John tried to concentrate on the task, but his thoughts were anywhere but in the barn.
"Can you fight her?"
"Probably not." What was left to fight for? Sara was gone, the house was almost gone, and then Taylor would be as good as gone. And when all was said and done, Joss would be gone, too, never to come back.
"But possession is nine-tenths of the law," Taylor retorted. Impressed, John leaned against the pitchfork and grinned.
"What do you know about that?"
Taylor shrugged. "I read it in a book last night. It's true. We have 'squatting rights'."
"It's 'squatter's rights'," John corrected. "But I know what you mean. We have that on our side, but when the will is read, it may not matter." He didn't have the heart to tell Taylor that the nine-tenths law was not a law but a logical use of force passed down through the ages. It wasn't a guarantee.
"When's that going to happen?"
"I don't know." At that exact moment John's phone rang. Startled by the unexpectedness of the call, he answered it. "John Reese."
"Hello, Mr. Reese. My name is Harold Finch. I am the estate lawyer for Sara Carter. I have all of the paperwork ready if you and Ms. Carter would like to come to my office." Distinct, precise tone. John thought he might like him already.
"Okay. When would be a good time?"
"I'm free for the rest of the day."
John looked down at his watch. "Two o'clock?"
"That would be fine, Mr. Reese. Please bring Taylor with you, and I will alert my receptionist of the appointment."
"Thank you Mr. Finch." John disconnected the call. "Well, what do you know...?" he muttered to himself.
Taylor looked up with wide eyes. "Is that about the will?"
John let out a heavy breath. "It sure was. We need to be there by two. Which means we need to shower and change into something more suitable." He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. "Tell you what, why don't you run inside and get ready, and I will finish up out here, okay?"
"Do you want me to tell her?"
"Tell me what?" Joss asked from the front door of the barn.
John took the tool from Taylor's hands. "Run along." Without further urging, Taylor sped out of the barn toward the house. Bear followed close at his feet.
"What was that about?" Joss wondered.
"The lawyer called about Sara's will. Seems he wants to read it today."
"You don't say."
"We need to be there at two."
Joss gave him a disapproving look. "Dressed like that?"
"I wouldn't be caught dead wearing my best outfit to such an important meeting," John mocked. "I thought I'd wear a suit."
"Wow. Sara did manage to cultivate you and tame your neanderthal ways," Joss chided without much feeling.
"Miracles happen."
"What do you expect?" Joss carefully asked to change the subject.
"Hard to tell. Sara was an enigma when it came to certain areas of her life."
The slight jab wasn't lost on Joss. "She never mentioned anything about...anything?"
"Other than wanting to see you again; how you were faring; and wanting us to be happy...? No."
"Oh."
"How's your cat?"
"I don't know. I haven't called Sameen."
"Sameen?"
"My receptionist—best friend. She's taking care of my place until I get back."
"Well, the phones are working. Give her a call," John suggested. "I have to get back inside. We have three hours to get ready and make it to Erie." Without another word, he turned on his heel and followed the path back to the house.
"At least it's eight in the morning in L.A." Joss shivered as a blast of cold air swept over her. "And probably eighty degrees, too."
******
At precisely two o'clock, the trio walked into the expensive office suite of Ingram & Finch. The waiting area was warm and inviting, yet intimidating at the same time. Expensive paintings hung on the walls, and, although John was not expert in art deco, he would bet the farm that it was an original copy of Rodin's "The Kiss" sitting in the corner. Even the furniture was of Italian design.
The petite redhead sitting at the polished oak desk, looked up. Her smile was broad and welcoming.
"You must be Mr. Finch's two o'clock appointment. I'll let him know you're here." Lifting the receiver, she punched a button. "Mr. Finch, they're here." A pause. "I'll send them in." She set the receiver down. "Follow me."
She led the way toward the closed door, knocked lightly, then turned the knob.
"Truce until we know the results?" John muttered low under his breath for only Joss's ears.
"Agreed."
"He's ready to see you." She opened the door wide for the trio to walk inside. She closed the door.
Taylor looked around at the expensively designed office with large windows and the latest technology on the massive desk. On the walls hung framed pictures of all eight wonders of the world, with personal pictures darted in between. The carpet was plush and soft and helped set the mood.
"Mr. Reese. Ms. Carter," Harold Finch greeted as he stood up. Not too tall, hair cropped short, he was a slender man of average looks, and the large round frame glasses seemed to big for his face. But his suit was expensive and well tailored—even the creases were perfect, and his shoes were polished to a high gloss. He demeanor may have shouted meek, but his handshake indicated that there was power lying just below the surface.
"And you must be Taylor. Would any of you like something to drink?" Harold offered.
"We're fine, thank you," Joss declined.
"Can I have a Coke?" Taylor shyly asked.
"Yes, you may." Harold walked over to the corner and opened the well-concealed fridge. He extracted the soda can and handed it to Taylor.
"Thank you." Taylor popped the top and took a sip.
Harold stood behind the desk. "Please have a seat," he offered with a gesture toward the expensive leather chairs lined in front of the mahogany desk. He waited for everyone to settle in. "I'm sure you are all anxious to find out what Sara Carter's intentions were, I assume?" He sat down and opened a couple of folders. "Your grandmother was a wonderful woman."
"Thank you," Joss murmured.
"She had specific intentions for her possessions—mainly the house. She wanted someone who could love it and cherish it the way she had." Harold pulled out Sara's Last Will & Testament. Clearing his throat, he read the words aloud: "'I, Sara Margaret Carter, do hereby declare that I am of sound mind and this is my last will and testament.'" Harold's eyes skipped over the page. "She bequeathed certain monies and objet d'arts to friends and her alma mater."
"Sounds like Sara," John said with a knowing smile.
"What about the house?" Joss interrupted.
"To my adopted great-grand-godson Taylor, I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars to be held in trust until he reaches the age of twenty-five. I appoint John Benjamin Reese to be the executor of said trust. However, should he be unable to perform those duties, my granddaughter, Jocelyn Margaret Carter is to assume the responsibility."
Wide-eyed at the windfall, Taylor whispered, "Ten-thousand dollars?!"
"Can't touch it until you're twenty-five, sport," John gently reminded.
Harold continued, "'To my granddaughter, Jocelyn Margaret Carter, I leave my love and forgiveness." He flicked his gaze upward at Joss's flummoxed look. "'To John Benjamin Reese, I leave my thanks and love."
"What about the house?" Joss repeated. Had they really braved a blizzard and driven across ice-covered roads to hear about inheriting love and thanks?
"The house... yes. 'I leave my home, the house that has been in my family for a hundred years, to Jocelyn Margaret Carter...'" Harold read. He watched as victory lit up her eyes. "And to John Benjamin Reese," he finished.
"What?!" Joss exclaimed. There had to be some mistake, right? This couldn't be happening.
"Looks like we both get it."
"There must be some mistake. He's not even family."
"Family is more than blood."
"There is more," Harold interrupted the heated discussion developing. "'I know that there will be questions, but I have faith in Joss and John to work things out. I made many mistakes, but I am trying to do right and rectify them. That is why I am leaving the house to both of them. If they want to sell, they must contact the other first before the sale is final. However, there is a caveat.'"
"Caveat? Oh, this has to be good," scoffed Joss.
"'All parties must live together until Christmas...'"
"Christmas?!" Joss and John exclaimed together in surprise. They looked at each other, then at Harold.
"'...if at that time they have not settled their differences, the land and house will be donated to the preservation society.'"
"Preservation society?" Joss echoed. "What is going on?"
"Sara wants us to meet half-way."
"Half-way? I have a job I need to get back to," Joss stated hotly. "I have responsibilities."
"And you have them here, too."
"This coming from a guy who doesn't have a job." Joss crossed her arms over her chest.
"Low blow, Joss."
Harold held up his hand. "If I may interrupt. Ms. Carter, I hope you don't mind, but I took it upon myself to look into your employment history."
"Nothing surprises me anymore," she groused.
"And I noticed that you have more than a month of vacation on the books."
"What?"
"I contacted your employer—a one Alonzo Quinn—and informed him that due to a personal family matter, you would need to take that vacation time."
Joss gave a short laugh. "I have a serious closing on a deal that I need to finish."
"It closed." Harold handed over the folder with the documents. Joss took the folder but she didn't open it.
"It...closed?"
"Your presentation was superb. In fact, the seller and buyer negotiated on the same day you flew out here, and the groundbreaking begins the day after Christmas," Harold said with a smile.
"I..." Joss couldn't find the right words to say anything.
"It's only thirty days," John tried to reason.
"Thirty two," Harold piped up. He was watching with intense interest at the bickering pair sitting across from him. He still had his reservations as to where they fit in Sara's plan, but she had paid him handsomely, and he owed her to see everything to the end.
"You're saying that for thirty two days I'm going to be stuck in the house with him?" Joss sputtered in disbelief. It was as though all of her bad luck was finally coming back to haunt. There had to be a way out of this, and quick.
"You could forfeit," Harold offered the out, "that's an option."
"Then what happens?" Joss asked.
Harold shrugged. "Well, we just move everything up by thirty two days. The house gets turned over and you get to go back to L.A."
Joss wrung her hands. It was so tempting to turn around and walk away without a backwards glance. She could shake off the last ten days and get on with her life as though nothing ever happened. She could say good-bye to little Joss Carter forever. However...
He walked back into her life for a reason. There was still a score to settle with him, and to leave—no matter how it devastated him—would still cause her to lose. No, she was stronger and her hurt was too deep. She would show him that crossing Jocelyn Carter was the worst move ever. Then she would get the house, clear the land, and go back to L.A. with a clean conscience. Maybe it wasn't her smartest move, but it would be worth it to wipe that smirk off of John Reese's face.
Joss uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter in the chair. Throwing a side-ways glance at her rival, she pasted on her most professional smile—the one that stood in front of CEOs and told them what they didn't want to hear but still got her what she was bargaining for.
"I'll take the deal, Mr. Finch. Just remember to draw up the paperwork for me to sign because in thirty two days the house will be mine."
Impressed, Harold raised his eyebrow. "Mr. Reese?"
His smirk turned into a grin. "You got yourself a deal, Joss."
Then they shook on it.