Eileen Berger - A Family For Andi

Andi stayed in public schools, but they remained good friends. Even while he was at Yale and she at Michigan State, they had long conversations on the phone and were often together during holiday and summer breaks.

But then, on his twenty-first birthday, he came into that inheritance from his paternal grandmother—and things were never the same. “Jon would be alive today if it weren’t for all that money!” Andi had cried out as she sat with Dad in his den. “He had no conception of what to do with it—what he should do with it.”

“You must admit that most of his folks’ decisions have been good ones, Andi. The academy. Yale…”

“But he’d never handled money— much money. Whatever he wanted, he bought—the sailboat, the sports car, everything. And he was so generous and loving, always doing for others…”

Tears filled her eyes, remembering the plane he’d chartered to take twenty-seven friends to Paris last fall, to help celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday. And the diamond necklace he had insisted that she accept last Christmas. “And that led to disaster when his new ‘friends’ proved only too eager to help spend his wealth.”

Her father leaned back, raising the footrest of his cordovan leather recliner. His glance circled the big room, with its thousands of books, and all those snapshots of Andi, showing her eyes, fair coloring and regular features to be much like his own, though more feminine. “You’re convinced twenty-one’s too young for that much responsibility?”

“If a person hasn’t had experience with money, any age may be ‘too young.’ I appreciate your insisting that I learn about finance and investing—but Jon’s inability to handle it makes me concerned about our Pennsylvania cousins. I don’t want others destroyed by receiving large amounts.”

She leaned forward to look into his clear dark blue eyes. “I know we’ve discussed giving a sizable amount up front, with the rest in trust funds, but if they should be mean-spirited people whose love of money hurts them or others, even that’s no favor.”

She knew her father was a soft touch, and some found it easy to take advantage of his generosity. She almost reminded him about Mother’s only cousin, Lynne. They’d helped her out of two major jams—if they hadn’t, she’d have been in jail for years. But they made it clear that second time that there’d be no more money from them, ever.

Jon’s being killed was almost too painful to think about. Andi had known the inevitability of Mother’s death from cancer while she was a junior in college—but not Jon!

Dad had not been thrilled at the possibility of having Jon as a son-in-law, but he grieved with—or for—her. She noticed he’d made changes in his own life since then—losing that extra twenty pounds, cutting out smoking, watching what he ate, and exercising regularly.

She understood his urgency when speaking of updating his will, of making all those changes. “I’m glad you’re setting up the Barker Foundation, Dad,” she assured him, “and I’m all for the endowments to our alma maters and gifts to other schools and charities. But I’m concerned about your leaving so much to The Cousins.” She’d never thought of them as individuals, with personalities. “What effect might sudden wealth have on them?”

He pursed his lips. “Would you feel better if I hired a private detective? There’s a good one I’ve used.”

“I hope you didn’t have him checking on my friends.” It was a statement, not a question, and he neither denied nor confirmed it. Actually, she’d prefer not knowing if he’d investigated Jon. Or others. “Perhaps he could get basic information, since all we know is names.”

“I do know more than that, though nothing about what makes them tick, or how they handle finances.” He rubbed his square jaw with his palm. “We don’t have many to check, since my family wasn’t very prolific. Including us.”

She reached from her high-backed chair to place a hand on his forearm. “At least you had me.”

“Impossible to forget we were blessed with the best.” Smiling, he covered her hand with his. “As you know, I’m Katherine’s only child, and MaryJean is the only cousin in my generation—though she’s about fifteen years older.

“Her father, Michael, and my mother were brother and sister, but had no real relationship—not even letters back and forth, or phone calls. I never met him nor his daughter, but did learn that Mary Jean’s husband, Philip McHenry, died some years ago, leaving his wife and three grown children, who’d be your second cousins.

“They all live in or near Sylvan Falls…”

As they were finishing dinner a week later, Dad handed her a thick folder. Pushing aside her half-eaten strawberry sherbet, she riffled through the annotated sheets containing information on the McHenrys. “You’ve read all this?”

“Just skimmed. It arrived just before this morning’s staff meeting, and I had appointments all day.”

Until recently she’d been unaware of how demanding his schedule was, and how thoroughly he knew the workings of each department in the electronics company he’d founded. Now that she was here, learning the business, she had a new appreciation of both his leadership ability and acumen.

She’d agreed that she must become familiar with the work and staff of each section, but the experience was challenging. As “the boss’s kid,” she’d found herself pampered, ignored or fawned over—all of which she detested.

“Dad, I want to leave for a while.…”

“That’s not a good idea, Andi. Neither for the de-partment’s sake nor for yours.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

The right corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You could find you enjoy freedom more than on-the-job training.”

“I do enjoy what I’m doing, and know how necessary it is if I’m to become your assistant.” And I think you’re at least partly teasing, she thought. “You certainly guessed this wouldn’t satisfy my curiosity. Actually, it whets my desire for personal contact.” She tapped one sheet with a forefinger. “It says here that Mary Jean runs a bed-and-breakfast. If I’m lucky, perhaps I can stay there.”

“Nobody there probably knows I exist,” she said after they’d discussed a number of things that would have to be arranged, “but, just in case, I’ll need an assumed name, address and other identification.”

He looked at her over his glasses. “You’ve given this appreciable thought.”

“Yes. I have.” There must be no slipups, nothing carelessly left undone. “By the time I finish my time in Accounts Receivable, I hope to come up with a good reason for being there—and a way to stretch my time till I get all the information I want.”

So here she was, on a beautiful, hot Saturday, the tenth of June, driving around a curve, looking down on the Norman Rockwell-like town of Sylvan Falls. Since there was little traffic, Andi proceeded slowly enough to take in the regular grid of tree-lined streets.

Turning right onto Main Street, she glanced at the dashboard clock—5:23. All right. The garage was supposed to be here on North Main, and they’d probably not check her car till Monday.

Uneven numbers on the left side…500 block, 400s. Ah, there it was: McHenry Auto!

She paused for two northbound vehicles before crossing over into the lot where row after row of new and used cars, vans and trucks stood parked to her right. With little space for parking, she stopped beside a sporty, brightly polished new red pickup, satisfied that no one could mistake her dusty, purchased-for- this-trip, six-year-old vehicle as being offered for sale.

One of the three huge rolling doors along the side of the building was open and clearly marked, but she decided to enter through the glassed-in showroom facing the street. A bell jangled as she opened the door, and a loud buzzer sounded beyond the rear wall. She glanced around, smiling, already conscious of differences between Chicago and this small town.