Excerpt: Journey to Sebastian

Husbands shouldn’t die.
They should live long charmed lives, dotted with days and nights of hard work, steamy sex and lots of jokes. They must laugh, talk and share their innermost secrets. They also need to know how to cry a little, too. If they can’t do that, what good are they?
Clifford Reynolds did everything Maxine asked, except for the not dying part. A vice president at Chicago’s largest black-owned advertising agency, driven and brilliant, respected by the industry’s most prestigious players, Clifford captivated Maxine’s heart the first day she met him.
She was an overachiever who graduated from the doctoral program at Northwestern University’s Kellogg School when she was twenty-two, and it was her first day at Taylor, Finch and Morgan. She'd been brought on board as a senior account executive in the agency's marketing research department. She bumped into Clifford in the hallway. He was ten years her senior and well on his way to partner. Tall, dark and handsome and already outrageously wealthy, he connected with her in less than two minutes. Within three weeks, Maxine, the petite, caramel-skinned, green-eyed whiz kid, had jumped on board his bandwagon, both figuratively and literally. Neither one looked back. They fell in love hard and fast with their work, and with each other.
They did both extremely well. Right up until the day, nine years after their storybook wedding, Clifford dropped dead on the tennis court at age forty. Massive coronary, some kind of undetected value defect, she barely remembered what the doctors actually said, or the look on his mother’s face, or the way her throat ached when she tried to speak.
Three years later, she still wondered if she would lose it completely just because she could no longer hear him laugh or sing. Nor would she be able to lie down next to him in bed, sharing the Sunday Magazine from the Chicago Tribune.
Max sat in her office at Taylor, Finch, Morgan and Reynolds, staring out the window. She was on the 32nd floor overlooking the Magnificent Mile. Chicago did know how to name its streets. This one was her favorite. Appropriately designated for the magnificent amount of money a gal could spend on shoes, Jimmy Choo, bags, Gucci, and the latest Armani, whatever it was. But that wasn’t what Max was dwelling on today.
Turning back to her desk, she opened the top drawer and pulled out the six-page hand written document her grandmother's lawyer had sent her. She’d shoved it into the back behind the pens and pencils and paper clips. It was a hiding place, or maybe a self-defense tactic. Out of sight, out of mind. Besides, she didn’t want her executive assistant to find it. Not that Dolores would rifle through her things. It wasn’t her style to sneak or eavesdrop.
Max jammed her finger on the call button of the telephone system. “Dolores, can you come in here please?” She put the papers back in her the desk drawer closed it. She then grabbed the 100-page bound proposal resting on top of her desk. She’d glanced through it an hour before. “Did you see this?” She asked as Dolores walked into the office.
Dolores stopped and looked at Maxine over the rims of her style-conscious glasses hanging on the edge of her nose. A notepad in her hand, she pulled a pen from her mop of dyed blonde hair and waited.
Max waved the Trinity document in front of her face. “There are at least 10 typos and god knows how many grammatical errors in this proposal.”
“Max, it’s a draft,” Dolores said.
“A what?”
“Draft. Not ready for the client as explained to you at the meeting yesterday afternoon. Ginger said it wasn’t ready. You insisted that she give you the dirty copy. No one has had a chance to make any changes or edits since yesterday’s meeting.”
Max slammed the report down on top of her desk. “We’ve been working on this proposal for three months. It should be perfect by now.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Dolores asked softly.
Max looked up at her. “Yes, you said this is a draft?”
"That's right."
“Okay.” Max took a deep breath. “I’m saying that after three months, I should be reviewing final copy.”
"I get that Max.” Dolores sat down in the chair opposite Max's desk. “But it’s still a draft, version seven, but a draft nonetheless, and you knew that yesterday when you insisted upon getting a copy.”
Max placed her hands, palm down, on the top of the table. “So, I’m being unreasonable?”
"It’s a huge opportunity for the agency, Max,” Dolores said calmly. “We’re all under a lot of pressure. But just like you, the entire team, each and every one of us, we want it to be perfect for your presentation.”
Maxine exhaled. “After all this time, we’re only three weeks away from the biggest meeting in the agency’s history.”
“And it’s because of you Max.” Dolores reached forward and patted her hand. “You’re an outstanding leader. The youngest CEO of a major advertising agency in the country, and you are making Clifford proud, bless his soul.”
Max moved her hands into her lap. “He would be, wouldn’t he?” She half-smiled at Dolores and then remembered the hand-written pages buried in her desk. She opened the drawer slowly. “Could you get William Allen on the line?”
“William Allen?” Dolores frowned.
“Yes, he’s a lawyer in Sebastian, Ohio.”
“Your hometown?”
“No, it’s the town where my parents were born.” Maxine corrected her. “I was born here in Chicago.”
“But your grandmother still lives there, right?”
"Yes.” Maxine licked her lips. Although a great executive assistant, Dolores could get a little noisy. “His number is in Outlook. Just get him on the line, okay?”
“Is something wrong with your grandmother?”
“He sent me a new copy of what looks like her will.”
“Your Grandmother’s ill?”
“She’s eighty-five, and as fit as a Doberman,” Max said. “It’s just that she occasionally likes to change her will. It’s a thing with her.” Maxine scooted her chair away from her desk, giving her self some breathing room. “She’s always got something she wants to bother me with. This week it’s her will. Her lawyer faxed me some pages of scribble last night about who gets this and who gets that, completely ignoring the fact that we’d just gone through this exercise less than a year ago.” Still seated in her chair, Max extended her legs out in front of her and flexed her ankles up, giving her calves a good long, stretch. “So if you could get William Allen on the phone that would be great.”
“Okay,” Dolores said and stood up. “I’m also taking the proposal out of your hands. We’ll tighten it up and you’ll have it back on your desk in no time.”
“Thanks.”
Dolores turned and started toward the door.
Maxine hesitated, but then made up her mind. “Sorry about getting testy. I know the team is on top of this.”
Dolores nodded and backed out of the office, closing the door behind her.
Max eased her spine into the soft leather back of her chair. Her alone time in the office was getting less and less frequent. Since Clifford died she seized the opportunity to take over management of the firm. The other partners, older, ready to retire, had gladly let it fall into her lap. For the past three years, she’d worked day and night to keep the agency on its feet. She’d done it, too. That’s what the presentation was all about. She was finally in a position to play with the big boys. This was a serious pitch to a global consumer products company. They weren’t just giving her firm lip service. This was the real deal. It was exactly what she’d always wanted. She and Clifford had dreamed of being the controlling partners and expanding globally. The two of them had the best ideas, and the smartest strategies for their clients. It was just that neither one of them had considered something as natural as death as the biggest obstacle to keeping them from reaching their goals—together.
She pulled out the papers from the desk drawer and gave them a closer look. God, her grandmother had a way of making certain Maxine never forgot she was there. She hadn’t seen her in five years, but Maxine kept in touch. Did the best she could do with her crazy work schedule. So much to get done, and it hadn’t slowed down a bit in three years.
The phone rang and Max picked up the receiver.
“Okay Dolores, put him through.” She waited for the caller to get on. “Mr. Allen?”
“Hello Maxine. How’s my girl?”
William Allen had been her father’s best friend in Sebastian when they were young boys. She hadn’t seen him since her father’s funeral twenty years ago, but he still talked to her as if she was child.
“So what was with the emergency fax last night, Mr. Allen?” She used her most professional tone.
“Your grandmother has a change to the will.”
“Another one?” she chuckled. “I figured as much."
"Yes, there is the new will." He cleared his throat.
“Well, let’s do whatever she wants to do as long as it’s not give every penny to a bunch of homeless bums,” Maxine said, hoping the conversation wouldn’t take too long. Her grandmother didn’t have much, except for a small frame house she’d lived in with her own parents.
“This time it’s a little more complicated,” Mr. Allen said. “Not as easy as before.”
“What do you mean?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Max didn't have to think too hard about her response. Still, there was something in his tone. He sounded judgmental. She wasn’t ready for that. She had enough of her own guilt to deal with, and didn’t need to get it from her grandmother's lawyer and her dead father’s best friend, too. “It’s been five years,” she said finally.
It hadn’t been deliberate, not seeing her in so many years. It was just that time had flown. Maxine loved her Grandmother Poppy. She didn’t have any other family. Her parents were dead, and Clifford’s parents and his brothers disappeared from her life after his death. Clifford’s will had left them plenty of money, and he’d left her the business. He always knew what mattered to her most.
“So I’d say it was about time you made your way to Sebastian,” Mr. Allen was saying.
It was the trek to southeastern Ohio that was the biggest obstacle to visiting her grandmother. The nearest airport was in Youngstown, and Max didn’t fly into anything except international airports. It was a rule.
“Don’t you think you should visit?”
“Maybe for the holidays,” she muttered.
“Maxine.”
That was definitely a scolding tone.
"Mr. Allen, I'm sorry, but today’s a bitch, two conference calls they’ve told me about and then I’ve got this dinner meeting with the Marketing VP of our first tier production firms.” Her voice trailed off. It was quiet on the other end of the line now. “Mr. Allen?”
“Look young lady, I’ve known you since you were twelve years old." His voice was brusque. "You need to see her. She’s had an accident.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that right away?”
“She broke her hip six weeks ago,” he said. “It was healing just fine. She didn't want me to bother you. She knew how busy you are. But now, there seems to be a problem with her mind.”
“What are you saying?”
“The doctor is concerned.” His tone changed. It was softer. Any traces of anger had vanished. "We think she may be suffering from dementia.”
“Dementia?”
“You need to come here,” he said. “She needs to be put her in a nursing home.”
“It’s that bad?”
“She can’t stay where she’s been staying any longer,” Mr. Allen said. “And she can’t stay home alone.”
"Can't you handle making the arrangements?” she asked. "You're her lawyer."
“No,” he said. “Ohio law requires that the next of kin deal with these things in person.”
“Okay, I’ll be there at the end of the month.”
“Maxine, this needs to be finalized sooner than that,” he insisted. “Much sooner.”
“I can’t leave Chicago now.”
"Your grandmother needs you,” he said. “You’ve been the perfect post office granddaughter for years. Now it’s time for you to show up and help her make this transition. You’re the only family she has left.”
“Okay Mr. Allen,” she replied. “I’ll try to get out of here by the end of this week. But I’ve got to be able to deal with this over the weekend. Can you arrange that?”
“You need to get here before Friday,” he said. “She won’t have a place to stay after that.”
“What happened to her house?”
“She still has the house,” he said. “But she’s been staying with a friend since she broke her hip and that friend said after Friday, she’s has to move.”
“Some friend.”
“Look, this friend has been taking care of your grandmother for six weeks.” Mr. Allen didn't attempt to hide the agitation in his voice. “She’s a good friend. Her best friend.”
“Okay, okay.” Maxine looked at the calendar. It was a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of June. She glanced out the window and looked down at the people in the streets. They were wearing short-sleeve shirts, sundresses and cut-offs. Her air-conditioned offices didn’t give her any idea of the heat below. Outside, the weather was a typical hot, humid day in Chicago in June.
In Sebastian, Ohio, it would be even hotter.
Max sighed. She should be able to get a flight into Cincinnati from O’Hare first thing in the morning. Then she'd rent a car and drive the rest of the way to Sebastian. If there were no complications, no unexpected issues, she would be back in Chicago Saturday evening, giving her all day Sunday to work on the proposal for Trinity.
“Maxine?”
Mr. Allen’s voice startled her.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said. “I’ll be in Sebastian no later than tomorrow evening.”
“Should I meet you at the Toledo airport?”
“No, I’ll drive in.”
“It will be good seeing you again, Maxine,” he said. “And I know you’re grandmother will be thrilled when she learns you’re coming to town.”
“Yeah. Tell her I said I’ll see her tomorrow,” she nodded at the phone. “Goodbye.” Maxine placed the receiver in its cradle. Maybe she should bring Dolores with her. That way they could work on the presentation during down time. There was always down time in Sebastian. Even after all these years, Max knew that not much about a small town, especially this one, would ever change.