all matters relating to the weekend cottage so they both didn’t have to drive out to Long Island whenever papers needed to be signed for anything regarding the house or property.
The cottage they’d owned for twenty years was nothing lavish or fancy, but it was on a lovely piece of property with a stream running through a wooded area and a short walk to the beach. It was going to be their retirement home, a place to go when Walker could scale back his practice, relax, take more time to do the things he loved: cook, read, garden. After The Nest became Jack’s favorite expression. After The Nest, they’d winterize the cottage, renovate and expand the kitchen, buy a car, maybe add a guest room; the list went on and on. Walker used to gently mock Jack. After The Nest, world peace! he’d say. After The Nest, the lame will walk and the blind will see! Walker was dismissive of The Nest. He’d spent too many hours with clients who showed up at his door outraged because something they thought they’d inherit didn’t materialize. Walker didn’t believe in inheritances, which he thought were nothing more than a gamble, and a shortcut; Walker didn’t believe in shortcuts or gambling.
The entire time (all of ten days) that Arthur was processing the loan, Jack expected somebody to stop him. But no. It had proved frighteningly easy to tap into the property’s equity. Whenever he voiced a hesitation, everyone—from Arthur to the bank manager who handed him a credit line of $250,000—told him how smart he was being, how wise it was to consolidate his debts and take advantage of the low-interest payments. Jack told himself he’d only spend a little, just what he needed. But every year he needed more, and some years he used the funds to upgrade the retail space and attempt to lure in more customers. Better lighting. Fresh paint. A new computer invoicing and inventory system. He told himself they were capital investments. Who wanted to shop at a pricey store that didn’t have fresh flowers on display? An espresso machine up front? His initial fear about using the card waned because he’d be able to pay it off after The Nest. He’d have to confess his scheme then, but Walter always told Jack the money from The Nest was his, a gift from his father to do with as he liked. So when he did confess, the loan would be paid, there’d still be ample money left, and the weekend cottage would be safe. If it wasn’t? Walker would never forgive him.
“Extension?” Arthur had said a few days ago, frowning. He gave a long, low whistle and shook his head a little. Jack’s fingers went numb; his heart pounded so hard he was sure if he looked down he could see it through his shirt. “That, my friend, is an impossibility.” He hit every syllable of impossibility to stress his refusal. “We set up the loan in 2007,” Arthur said, squinting at the paperwork in front of him. “Another place, another time. Pre-recession. I couldn’t get you this kind of loan now, never mind an extension. I see a few late payments and—” He shrugged. “Is this really a problem? Are you in some real trouble here?”
“No trouble. Just exploring options.” Jack wasn’t going to confide in Arthur who had a big mouth. He’d spent the last few nights tossing and turning and silently rehearsing his plea to Leo for immediate help. He climbed Stephanie’s stoop and rang the bell a few times. Timidly at first and then with more duration and persistence. He knocked. Nothing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Leo’s cell. No answer. He wanted to call the house phone but realized he didn’t have Stephanie’s number. He descended the stoop and backed up onto the sidewalk, trying to get another look at the upper floor where he was sure he’d seen a light. He imagined Leo inside, watching him, smug and safe behind the still curtain. At the garden level, Jack spotted someone tall and male moving about inside. Leo! Jack let himself through the gate at the sidewalk. He walked up to the street-level window and rapped, hard and insistent. He peered through, hands cupped around eyes, nose pressed to the glass that slightly fogged from his breath.
The face that appeared on the other side of the window was twisted with indignation and sitting above a policeman’s navy uniform