Page 66 of Just for Tonight

I cannot sleep.

There is nothing like having someone else want what you were previously certain you didn’t want to change your view. Hmm. Mr. Collins said something along those lines, which isn’t the most reassuring thought I could have had.

It doesn’t help that my condo is filled with the detritus from my father’s office. I don’t have a dining room table. I use that space for my weights instead. Right now, a big empty table would be an asset. I’ve been sorting my stacks again, but this time, they’re on the kitchen counter and lined up across my leather couch. They’re on my coffee table. They’re on the windowsills. I feel as if my home as well as my life have been invaded by my father and I don’t like it.

I wish I was with Mackenzie.

I know that’s stupid, but I can’t stop wishing it anyway.

I should have nicked the pillow from the townhouse, the one that smelled of her perfume.

I have a restless night, replaying Mackenzie’s words and the sound of her voice. She sounded sleepy and that made the conversation feel intimate. Was she in bed? What does she wear to bed? I could picture her sleeping nude, or in an old T-shirt, or in every kind of feminine lingerie.

Aside from those fantasies, I do think about her advice. I realize that Candace must be terrified by the implications of my father’s death and I know I haven’t helped. I write a whole script in my head, type it out in the morning, then end up ad-libbing it anyway when I call.

Candace is not thrilled to hear from me, but she listens. That tells me Mackenzie was right that my stepmother is without allies in this battle – in addition to not having a map or any idea what she should do.

“I’ll come down and go to the bank with you,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s the branch in Havelock, right? Can you make an appointment for late Friday morning?”

“What should I wear?” Candace asks before I even think of that.

“Well, you need to look businesslike, but not too official.”

“My stylist laid out a black suit for me for the funeral, but I have the same one in navy, as well. She said closed toe pumps and light stockings, gloves and a hat.”

The last thing I’m thinking about is whether she should wear a hat or not, but maybe we’re each bringing our expertise to the situation.

“I don’t think you need the gloves and hat, but that suit sounds like a good choice.” I’m flying without instruments here, because I can’t imagine what kind of suit she has. “Do you know the bank manager?”

“Mr. Innes. Yes. He’s very pleasant. He always gave Patrick a Christmas present. He’d call and I’d go and have a coffee with him and pick it up each year.”

“Okay, that’s good. It’s easier to do business with people you know already. Can you make the appointment with him?”

“What do I say?”

“That we need to make arrangements for your financial future.”

I hear her writing that down. There’s a long pause before she finally speaks. “Is it going to be awful, Jacob?”

“No, but it’s not going to be a celebration either. We’ll open a bank account for you and transfer some money to it from the estate, then ask for a credit card in your own name. You don’t have a job or a credit rating, but I think they’ll approve you for one.”

“Oh, good!”

“It will have a low threshold, Candace. Maybe only five hundred dollars.”

“Per transaction?”

“Per month. And you can’t exceed that. You need to use the card and pay the balance on time every month to build their trust in you.”

“Five hundred dollars.” She’s incredulous.

“A lot of people do this when they’re eighteen or so. I did.”

“I never had my own bank account,” she confesses. “Mine was joint with my father until I married Keith, then our accounts were joint. We were still finalizing the divorce when I met your father.”

“And you became joint on his accounts.”

“He was so generous, Jake. He made it so easy for me. Patrick told me not to worry, that I never had to worry…” She starts to cry and I almost squirm. “I miss him so much,” she adds then chokes a little.