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“I’m so sorry.”
“As for it being a shock? With his lifestyle, I can’t say anyone should have been surprised. I suspect he would’ve been the most taken aback. He truly believed he could buy his health as long as he had the right doctors. His heart, apparently, disagreed. Shame it happened while he was away. Mrs. Power … she’s never been the same. And Mr. Will, still a boy, really … being the one to find him. I believe he died a little that day, too. He adored his father. We all did.”
Dawes and I sit in silence for several city blocks.
“Will worries that he’s going to die within the next two years, like all the Will Powers before him. He thinks he’s cursed by his name. What do you think?”
Dawes laughs again. “Have you ever listened to Mr. Will’s podcast?”
“Every single episode.”
“As have I. Did you know the quotes he loves to repeat were, for the most part, written by hisgreat-grandfather?”
“No. I always assumed they were Will’s.”
“Well, some are, to be sure. But the one I’m thinking of is something Mr. Power told me he got from his father, who got it from his. ‘Your task is to design your destiny, for destiny is not fate. Fate and failure are friendly bedfellows. But your destiny is your noble course.’ Do you remember that one?”
“Honestly, just the first half.”
“It’s certainly not the place for an old man who’s kept on salary for little reason other than loyalty to speak his opinion, but it’s not often I’m asked for mine anymore, and since you asked about a curse on the name Will Power, I’ll tell you what I think.”
“Should I call Will so he can hear, too, or would you prefer to tell me privately?” I ask.
“This is no secret. I’ve already told Mr. Will my thoughts on the matter. Unsolicited.” He laughs again. “Mr. Will has accepted fate as his destiny.”
We stop at a red light and Dawes turns his body to face me. “The curse he carries is one of loyalty to a name, not the name itself. Both are things he could have changed. But he’s had no reason to do so. Until … maybe now?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
The drive to the British Properties is direct and so pretty. The fall colors bring me joy.
Mr. Bernard has been inviting Dawes in for coffee for the last three weeks while I work my magic with his wife’s plants. The men are almost the same age and knew, or knew of, many of the same people from back in the day when these septuagenarians were young.
Since convincing Will to take a week and sneak off to a B and B in a little village in the mountains is proving a hard sell, I asked him to come by today to see the greenhouse so he’d have a better understanding of the power of immersing himself in living, breathing, relaxation-inducing nourishment.
After hand-shaking and other pleasantries, I set my plan in motion.
“Mr. Bernard, can we bring your front-hall chair into the greenhouse, please?”
Mr. Bernard had already agreed, and I’ve cleared a perfect spot in the corner farthest from the chatty older men since I don’t want their reminiscing to distract Will, but I couldn’t very well ask Mr. Bernard to have his afternoon coffee elsewhere.
“As long as that strapping young man carries it,” he says. “Got his mother’s good looks, didn’t he?”
“And his father’s pigheadedness,” Dawes adds.
“I prefer perseverance,” Will calls over his shoulder, heading into the house to get the chair. “And I do have the power to fire you, you know.”
Dawes winks at me. “He has the power, but refuses to use it.”
Will carries the chair into the greenhouse and stops by Mr. Bernard and Dawes. “I promise you’re on my list. But HR will allow me only one dismissal per pay period. And there are bigger pains in my ass than you, dear Dawes. So I guess we’re stuck with each other for a couple more years.”
“As long as I can continue to drive this delightful young lady around, I’m happy to tolerate your obstinance, Mr. Will.”
Will follows me to the back of the greenhouse. I point to where I’d like him to put it down.
“And I’m just supposed to sit here and … what, exactly?”
“Meditate. Nap. Talk to me. Help me. I’ll be right here repotting the plants on that table. Want to get your hands dirty?”
