Maybe, Jake thought as he looked at his front window, I need more male friends. He reflected on this for a moment, and then amended it to, Or at least fewer female friends.
A moment later Nancy Miller blew through his front door. “Hi, hi,” she said, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. “Mom said you were okay with the pickleball thing. Now we have to decide what court configuration you want.” She held up four sketches, fanned out like a giant poker hand. “Given the size of our tennis court, we could do one, two, three, or four pickleball courts.”
“Umm…” he said.
Nancy grinned. “You don’t care, do you?” He shook his head, and she went on, “Then we’ll do two. One would be dumb because, part of the reason pickleball was invented was to get more use out of court space. Four would mean a whole lot of people could play at once, which would annoy you. Three is… well, just kinda dumb. So two it is. I’ll email you this.”
She took her phone out of her jeans pocket and her thumbs flew. “You’ll tell them? Some people at church are organizing things for this summer and I’d like to include pickleball.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll forward it later today.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll text you later to remind you. Please do it?”
“Of course, Nancy.”
She laughed and gave him a one-armed hug. “Thanks. Also…” Her face corkscrewed. “Please don’t be insulted, because I don’t mean it that way. You’ve been totally faithful and good to me, and you’re smart as all get out. The best steward ever…”
Her voice trailed off, and Jake said, “But?”
Nodding, she said, “You don’t have a succession plan.” She held up a hand. “I understand — of course I do! Better than anybody. And I’m sure it will work out…”
Again Jake prompted, “But?”
“I’ve been talking with Keith Shaw — I mean, that’s not important, I know you don’t totally trust Keith…”
“Our problem was in fourth grade, Nanc. I’ve kinda moved on.”
She nodded. “I just mean it’s not just Keith…” She closed her eyes and said, “I’m thinking I should diversify my investments. Move some money outside.” She opened her eyes and searched his face. “Please don’t be insulted. It’s just… if you got hit by a bus tomorrow —”
“Not all that likely in Punxsy.”
“Well, no, but… I mean, I hope you live until you’re a hundred and fifty, I really do, but statistically…”
“You’re likely to outlive me. You’re younger, and women live longer,” he said.
“Yes. And, well… What if I don’t have access to my money when you’re gone?”
“Right. You’re being sensible. I’m not insulted. I should have thought of it, suggested it. They’re really good at managing money, of course, and you won’t do as well outside, but you’re right. You should diversify.” He stood, looking thoughtful, and then nodded again. “What are you thinking?”
“Well Keith…” She gulped. “I mean, I was thinking… maybe move a couple hundred thousand?”
He walked to a roll-top desk and extracted a manila folder. “Your investments currently total just over nineteen million —”
“What?” It was a gasp. “I thought I had, like, four hundred K.”
“I told you you’d never have to worry about money, Nancy,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes, and I’ve always believed you. I just didn’t know I was going to be rich.”
“Well, there you go.” He looked uncomfortable. “You might want to, um, be a little careful who you tell. You know all the stories about lottery winners being miserable when their relatives descend upon them.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not really sure who I’d tell anyway. Just you, I suppose.”
He grinned. “I guess you don’t scrutinize the reports they give you every month.”
She put a hand up to rub his bicep. “No. I always just trusted my steward.” She drew a deep breath, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Zowie. Maybe I was happier not knowing. What do you think I should do?”
Don’t tell Keith, he thought. He said, “It might be good to — initially, I mean — stick to your original thought, move, say, a quarter million.” He looked down at the report in the folder. “I’ll ask them for suggestions, but that shouldn’t disrupt their investment strategy. So move that for now, see how it goes, how you feel.” He smiled. “I’m feeling pretty healthy, and other than school buses the only bus in town is that old one the CMA church uses, and Fred’s a good driver. I think you have time.”
Still gripping his arm, she kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Jake. Are you sure you don’t want to marry me? Turns out I’m rich.”
“Nanc —”
“Kidding, kidding, relax.” She stepped toward the door. “Can you have them put that into my savings account at Farmers and Miners and let me know? And I’ll talk… I mean, I’ll work out exactly what I want to do with it.”
“Sure thing. Probably take a day or two.”
She smiled, and then was gone.
Frickin’ Keith Shaw, he thought.