Page 24 of The Light Year (Stardust Beach #6)
barbie
. . .
The holidays are hard for anyone who has lost a loved one, but for Barbie, Christmas is always missing something with her mother gone.
The tree is twinkling, the kids are excited, and the music puts her in the right spirit, but Barbie’s mother had always been the one to make the magic happen.
She’d planned dinners and made sure that cookies and treats came out of the giant house’s kitchen as if on a conveyer belt, which Barbie took full advantage of.
Huck is old enough for Barbie to take the boys to see Santa Claus, and she’s looking forward to doing that at the holiday party that NASA is throwing for families.
Todd is feeling almost entirely better than he had immediately after his return from space, which is an immense relief, as his stress over potentially needing surgery had grown.
Barbie realized while he was off work to recuperate that the version of Todd who wasn’t involved in work and at NASA was an unsettled, unfocused version of her husband.
She isn’t eager to revisit that again—ever.
And while the silent struggle between Barbie and her father and brother rages on, she’s keeping herself busy with volunteering alongside Carrie, and making her own plans for how a foundation might integrate into her new community.
Finding a lawyer who can help her has proven to be easy enough, and she’s currently sitting in the lobby of her attorney’s office in Cocoa Beach, waiting for him to usher her in.
At her feet, Barbie has a few bags of Christmas toys and gifts that she’s purchased for the boys, who are playing at Carrie’s house while she’s talking to the lawyer, and she glances into the bag now, pleased that she’s found Troll Dolls for Heath and Henry, who have come home from school talking of nothing else since a friend got one for his birthday.
“Mrs. Roman?” a young attorney in a navy-blue suit stands in the doorway smiling at her. Barbie looks up, surprised; she’d expected to be led in by a secretary, but Jasper Wilkins, Esquire stands there before her, smiling at Barbie and her bags of toys. “Would you like a hand with all of that?”
Barbie blushes. She should have dropped her things off in the trunk of her car, but she’s parked a couple of blocks away and thought she might just shop her way to the lawyer’s office—which it seems is just what she’s done.
She laughs and hands two bags to Mr. Wilkins. “Thank you so much,” she says, taking three more bags in her hands and putting her purse over her arm.
They walk down the hall to a closed office and Barbie sets all of her bags near the chair before sinking into it.
“Let’s cut right to the chase, since you’re paying me by the hour,” Jasper Wilkins says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting behind a large, polished wood desk. “I understand you want to discuss an inheritance that’s being questioned, right?”
Barbie crosses her feet at the ankles and straightens her spine.
She knows that she’s right in wanting what she wants here, and that what she’s planning on doing with the money from her mother is a good and positive thing, but it’s also clear that the road ahead of her is littered with landmines and hidden obstacles, and she wants Jasper Wilkins to understand this from the outset.
“So,” Barbie says, folding her hands in her lap.
“I inherited a sum of money from my late mother when I turned thirty a few weeks ago, and my father has decided that, without my consent, he’s going to take control of the funds.
” She holds up a hand before Mr. Wilkins can ask questions.
Barbie wants to get the whole story out.
“My father is Senator George Mackey from Connecticut, and he and my brother, Theodore, are planning on using the funds to start a foundation that will, in their words, ‘benefit young people who want to go into politics.’” Barbie stops and inhales sharply as she stifles an eye-roll, then surges on.
“My intention was to start my own foundation called the Marion Foundation, in honor of my mother, Marion Mackey, and to use the funds to assist community organizations and to better the lives of my less fortunate neighbors.”
“That sounds like a very impressive goal, Mrs. Roman,” Jasper Wilkins says, picking up a pencil and scrawling something on the notepad on his desk. “Senator Mackey, you say?”
“Yes,” Barbie confirms. “And I know there has to be a way to stop them. I don’t want my inheritance to be used so that some kid who went to Princeton can get into politics more easily. That’s not what my mother would have wanted, either.”
“I see.” Jasper Wilkins puts the pencil down and looks at her seriously. “First, can we assume that there is a will?”
“Yes,” Barbie says. “I think so.”
Mr. Wilkins nods gravely. “You’ve never seen it?”
Barbie shakes her head slowly. “No… I guess I haven’t.
I’ve just always known that she left money for me and for my brother to receive on our thirtieth birthdays.
Ted got his a few years ago, and now it’s my turn.
” For the first time, Barbie considers something: “Do you think that there’s some provision in the will that my father has to approve whatever we do with the funds? ”
Jasper Wilkins sits back in his leather chair and puts both elbows on the armrests. Behind him, a large window looks out at the parking lot, which is filled with shiny cars and palm trees sprouting from grassy medians.
“I think that’s possible,” Mr. Wilkins says.
“Certainly. But if she’d wanted you both to wait until you turned thirty, then it’s unlikely she would have added a stipulation like that.
However,” he says gently, lowering his head like he’s worried that Barbie might get angry and throw something at him.
“There might be enough fight in him that he’s willing to drag this through the courts and slow things down indefinitely.
I mean, a woman can’t even open a bank account without a co-signer, Mrs. Roman, so it’s possible a judge and jury might agree with the idea that you need a man to oversee your expenditures and plans for this money. ”
The attorney looks at her apologetically, and Barbie fumes. She very nearly stands up from her chair and paces the room, but instead she makes her hands into fists and pounds her own thighs. “No,” she says adamantly.
Jasper Wilkins raises his eyebrows. “No?” he repeats.
“Okay, yes, I understand women aren’t allowed to have their own bank accounts—or even their own brains—but that shouldn’t apply here, Mr. Wilkins. That money is mine,” Barbie says angrily, jabbing a finger at the giant wooden desk, “and I have plans that my mother would wholeheartedly approve of.”
He looks even more sad as she says this.
“Barbara—may I call you that?” Barbie nods; she hardly cares what he calls her as she’s being told that she’s incapable of inheriting and managing her own money.
“Unfortunately, your mother is not here to confirm her intentions, so all we can do is speculate at this point.”
Barbie feels the words like a knife in her belly, and she sinks back in her chair, deflated. “I know,” she says softly. “I know she’s not here.”
When Barbie leaves Jasper Wilkins’ office, it’s with a clutch of bags in each hand, and a frown on her face.
She’s not defeated yet, but she’s frustrated.
Mr. Wilkins has promised to get in touch with Senator Mackey’s attorney and request a copy of the will and the inheritance paperwork, but with each passing day, it’s feeling more and more like Barbie will have to smile cheerfully for the cameras as she fronts some dumb foundation that funds golf lessons for young fraternity boys who want to improve their games so they can hobnob better with other politicians. And that depresses her deeply.
Even the oversized bells and candy canes made of tinsel that hang from every lamppost on the main street don’t cheer her up.
As Barbie loads presents into the trunk of her car, rather than thinking about how happy her boys will be to open them on Christmas morning, all she can think about is how disappointed her mother would be if she were alive to see this sad spectacle between her husband and children.
She drives home in silence, not even bothering to turn on the radio.
The next evening is the community holiday party at The First Baptist Church of the Gospel.
Barbie has worked all afternoon decorating the room where the children play during services, and she’s thrilled now to walk down the aisle in the church’s nave, taking in the greenery that she and Carrie have gotten as donations from a florist in Stardust Beach, and the way the tall pillar candles flicker on the altar.
It’s all so beautiful and peaceful, and Barbie slides onto a pew in the silence, taking a moment for herself.
From the kitchen in the distance, she can hear people talking happily and prepping food, but this time is hers, and she closes her eyes and says a silent prayer of gratitude for being welcomed into this community of people the way that she has.
“Mind if I join you?”
Barbie’s eyes fly open in surprise; it’s Father Watkins’ son, Sam. He stands a respectful distance away from Barbie, hands clasped in front of him. He’s dressed in sharply creased black slacks, and a white shirt with a tie.
“Yes, please,” Barbie says, sliding over in the pew. “Of course.”
Sam sits and they both face forward, eyes cast towards the giant wooden cross that hangs over the pulpit. The candles flicker and dance, warming the space with their glow.
“This is beautiful,” Sam says. Barbie turns her head and looks at him to see the way his eyes sparkle with gratitude. “Seeing everyone pull together for an event always touches my heart,” he says, looking right at her and not even trying to hide the tears of joy in his eyes.
“I feel really lucky to be here.” Barbie puts both hands between her knees and looks down at her lap. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome here, and I have been. You have such a lovely church, and such generous and kind parishioners.”
“They are lambs of God,” Sam says with a firm nod. “All of them. Hard-working, good-hearted people who are humble and filled with the spirit.”
“I can see that.”
Sam frowns slightly, looking somehow confused and amused at the same time. “But let me ask you, why did you think you wouldn’t be welcome here?” He gives her a long look. “Is it because of the color of your skin?”
Barbie’s cheeks flame hotly; she nods.
“I’m an outsider,” she says. “I don’t come to your church on Sundays, and I don’t know anyone here but Carrie.”
“You didn’t ,” he says, scooting an inch or two closer to her on the wooden pew. “But you do know us now.”
“That’s true,” Barbie says. From the kitchen, they hear Eartha’s big, loud, joyous laughter erupt and echo throughout the church.
Sam tips his head toward the laughter. “Miss Eartha has welcomed you with open arms, and if Eartha says you’re one of us,” he says, lowering his chin, “then you’re one of us.”
Barbie smiles at him warmly. “I appreciate that, Sam.” Without thinking, she puts her hand on top of his as they sit there in the pew, the only people in the nave, with just candlelight and the smell of pine and greenery all around them.
For a moment, Sam holds her gaze and leaves his hand beneath hers.
In his eyes, Barbie sees desire and passion—though she knows it’s not for her.
Sam’s entire being radiates with the desire to help others, and every time she’s in his presence, she can feel him burning with a passion for service and communion.
In the same way her own brother has been following in her father’s footsteps, she can easily see Sam following in the big footsteps that Father Watkins has made here amongst their friends and neighbors.
“I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had, but I’m still working on it,” Barbie says as she slides her hand off of his and holds both hands in her lap again. “Do you think I could come back and meet with you after the holidays if it all comes together?”
“You can come back anytime, Barbara,” Sam says with a kind smile. “And I hope you will. You and your family are always invited to join us here, and I’d love to hear what ideas you have.”
Barbie is about to say more, but Carrie comes through the swinging doors at the end of the aisle then, wearing a wreath around her neck and holding a long string of tinsel over both shoulders as it streams down her arms and drags on the floor behind her.
“Barbie?” she calls out. “Oh, sorry.”
Barbie stands up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. “No, please don’t be. Sam and I were just talking about some ideas I have. What do you need?”
Carrie looks mildly frazzled. “I wanted to decorate the front door of the church,” she says. “But I need a ladder and a few more hands.”
Sam jumps up and claps his hands together. “I’ll get the ladder, and I’ll bring more hands. Let’s get this party started.”
Barbie stands in the nave for another long minute after Carrie and Sam have exited through the swinging doors, and she looks up at the wooden cross and at the stained-glass windows that depict the Virgin Mary with her hands pressed together in prayer.
It’s as peaceful as she’s felt in weeks, and Barbie closes her eyes one more time, breathing it all in.
When she opens her eyes, she is indeed ready to get this party started, and so she makes her way to the kitchen, ready to roll up her sleeves yet again and do whatever Miss Eartha asks her to do.