Page 119 of Perfect Pursuit

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Some days, I imagine happiness within larger families can best be portrayed by an episode of Game of Thrones.

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

“I don’t know what to do!” I shout at my niece.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?” Why is it that I’ve never realized her voice can be exceptionally grating when my niece, who has perfect pitch, shrieks? “It’s been a week, Uncle E. What have you done?”

I rattle off the list. “I’ve sent her flowers. I’ve sent her meals. I tried to email her…”

Austyn has the audacity to laugh at me. “Yeah. She’s no longer checking that email address.”

“Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?” I growl.

That’s when Austyn loses her absolute shit. “Because you’re supposed to know her, Ethan. What do you think matters to Fallon right now? What is making her heart tick, even just a little?”

And just like that, I know what I need to do to show her she’s on my mind.

“Mr. Kensington,” Dr. Clarabel Lam shakes her head remorsefully. “You know I can’t discuss a former patient with you unless permitted to by the next of kin.”

“I knew Helen Brookes, and I’m in love with her daughter. I would just like information on where I, and potentially my family, can best do good in her memory.”

“Oh. I see. Would you give me a moment?”

“Of course.” I stand uncomfortably in one of the family rooms in Seven Virtues Hospital, remembering the last time I was here. When Fallon had wrapped her arms around me. Comforting me.

Offering me peace and shelter against my fears.

“Who did that for you, witch?” I murmur.

Just as the question comes out, the door opens and Dr. Lam reenters with a man dressed in a suit clutching a tablet. “Mr. Kensington, this is Horace Edith. He is in charge of philanthropy and planned giving at Seven Virtues. He can answer any questions you may have in honoring the late Mrs. Brookes.”

I tip my head in thanks before holding out my hand to the man. I shake his hand and find it to be soft in mine. His voice is just as diminutive. “How much were you thinking to donate, Mr. Kensington?”

I jerk my head to the side. “How much does it take to get one of those hunks of stone?”

His eyes light with greedy excitement. “About ten million dollars.”

Mine bug out. While I would love to give that kind of donation to honor Helen, I might have to kidnap my brother-in-law and his buddy Brendan Blake to sing a tribute concert for the sole purpose to do so. “What will fifty K get me?” I don’t mind cashing out one of my CDs to do this. I want to make certain that Fallon knows there is nothing I won’t do to make up for the harm I’ve done to her at such a precarious time.

“Why don’t I show you?” He flips open his tablet and shows me the honor wall of clouds that decorate the waiting area. “Each one is personally engraved with whatever the family wishes.”

I nod. “Yeah, this works.”

“Excellent.” He types away for a few minutes, asking me pertinent billing questions. When it comes time for the engraving, he prompts me by saying, “Many of our generous donors use scripture verses…”

“No. It needs to be more meaningful than that.” I shift my weight before I give him the details.

“Excellent. And this donation is anonymous, you said? We’re just to notify Ms. Brookes when it’s mounted?”

“That’s correct.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

We’re coming up on the season where every charity miraculously finds money to send you a fifty-two-page, glossy catalog explaining why you should donate money to them instead of buying your family gifts.

Listen, if you need that last minute tax donation, Send Me An Angel can always use funding. I can vouch for the board, personally. And they won’t send you a catalog to recycle.

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