The Female Descendant: The Women of Lakeshore Drive, #3

By Sheryl Fawcett

Unearthing the part of her life unknown to another living soul may be the only chance to end her torment.

Suzanne has been hiding from a forty-three year old secret. Patchwork dreams and horrendous nightmares drive her into the open where her inheritance, family legacy, and emotional stability are ar risk.

She struggles with the decision of finding the one woman who might give her peace, or lay claim to what Suzanne has spent her life protecting. Her lawyer advises her not to do it. Her friends, Carrie and Glenda, say go for it, and they stand by ready to help.

There are some things a woman must do alone to find resolution-- and happiness.

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In "The Women of Lakeshore Drive" series, each of the three baby boomers makes a long journey from love to misery to reality. Their relationship has rescued the friends from despair. Their next destination is new love. This is the third and final book of the series. While reading all three enhances the experience, each book is a complete stand-alone story that may be read and enjoyed by itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sheryl Fawcett
• Release date: Dec 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781507070130

Book preview

A Note From the Author

This is the third book in a series in which each book is a stand-alone read.

Suzanne, Glenda, and Carrie met their husbands in college and, after long marriages, were left alone. They were wealthy, but money doesn’t block the pain of loss. In Book 1, the three neighbors formed a close bond of friendship that became the central pillar of their healing.

In Book 2, they embarked on a South Pacific cruise to avoid facing the holidays in their empty homes. They did more than escape though. They discovered life wasn’t over for them as women, and they returned home with a fresh lease on life.

That’s really all a reader just discovering The Women of Lakeshore Drive series needs to know to enjoy reading Book 3.

If you want to learn more, read on. Otherwise, jump forward to the first chapter.

Suzanne’s financial guru husband was greedy, greedy for power as much as money. He masterminded a Ponzi scheme that cost investors tens of millions of dollars. The judge sentenced him to what, at his age, amounted to a life sentence in federal prison for his crimes. She moved halfway across the country to a city where her face hadn’t been in all the newspapers. Yet something else than the husband’s crimes lay hidden in her memories.

Glenda was divorced. She had been married to a man with a wandering eye. After their children were grown and gone from home, she grew weary of struggling to keep their failing marriage together. When he embarrassed her by openly carrying on his latest affair in front of fellow country club members, she divorced him. He married his bombshell mistress but, needless to say, that didn’t last long. There was no way Glenda was going to take him back even when her adult children pressured her to do so.

Carrie was the one with the perfect marriage. Then her happiness was shattered when her husband suffered a massive heart attack in the middle of the night. Now she, too, was alone, but her friends were there for her. She used her own experience and her faith to help a widower she met on the cruise ship dig his way out of a dark hole.

Book 3, the final book of this series, opens with Suzanne on an airplane.

San Francisco

Suzanne Henderson had buckled her seat belt across her tweed pants, but hadn’t pulled it snug. Stretching out her long legs as far as possible in the tight confines of the ER4, she kicked over the handbag she had stowed under the seat in front of her. She leaned down to set it upright and her iPad slipped sideways off her lap onto the floor. She sighed, unbuckled the belt, and bent down to quickly retrieve it before the regular boarding passengers stepped on it.

The passenger coming down the narrow aisle carried an overstuffed duffel bag in front of her, thrusting its weight forward with the thigh of her left leg. A massive shoulder purse hung over her right shoulder, bouncing against her hip with each step. Her right hand clasped a super-sized Starbucks coffee and the pinched top of a pastry sack. The duffel bag thumped Suzanne’s head bringing the woman to a quick halt. Her purse strap slid down her arm and smacked the cardboard coffee container. Hot coffee squirted out the drink opening onto the back of the woman’s wrist and she let loose with a string of expletives. She dropped the duffel and hiked the purse strap back up onto her shoulder, all the time glaring at Suzanne without a word of apology. She picked up her duffel, gave Suzanne one last nasty look and blurted out a single word, Bitch! before proceeding toward the back of the plane.

With a sugary voice, Suzanne said to her back, I’m so sorry I found it necessary to rescue my iPad from you trampling on it.

She straightened up in her seat and snapped the seat belt buckle back in place. The gentleman across the aisle flashed a smile of consolation. She smiled back and shook her head.

Remembering the Starbucks container she asked him, You didn’t get any of that coffee on you, did you?

No, I lucked out. He chuckled and turned his attention back to his newspaper.

The small commuter jet was all economy seating. For some insane reason she was flying south to Dallas for a flight to San Francisco. Unfortunately, the major hub network often took her to Dallas, a city she would rather avoid. She was already looking forward to the creature comforts of first class on the second leg of her trip, especially after this brief encounter with Miss Congeniality!

Her mind drifted back to the late sixties when she was a student at George Washington University. Airline travel was totally different then: a wide aisle, plush seats, plenty of leg room, and pampered service no matter where you were sitting. You could arrive at the airport and check your luggage without waiting in long lines before walking directly to the gate. Mom and Dad would accompany her and hug her good-bye just before she climbed the steps to the plane. There were no security lines or X-ray of carry-on bags, no taking off shoes and feeling you were being practically strip-searched. She regularly flew between home in San Francisco and Washington D.C., although she didn’t make any of those trips during the second semester of her sophomore year.

Stop, she ordered herself and redirected her thoughts back to air travel in the sixties. It was another time and the world had changed since then, more than ever after September 11, 2001. That Tuesday was the day that not only changed air travel but changed life in the United States as she knew it. It also marked the beginning of a total change in her personal life, a change that would take over a year to reveal itself and several years to reach its pinnacle.

The plane lurched as it was pushed away from the gate, interrupting her thoughts. The crackly sound system kicked in as the usual safety procedures were reviewed. She pulled her belt snug and double checked her phone and iPad were off. She absent-mindedly watched the terminal building disappear as the plane moved onto the taxiway. With no long lines awaiting take-off, the commuter jet was airborne within minutes. She glanced out the window again as the plane banked over the Des Moines skyline. It wasn’t an overly huge skyline compared to larger metropolitan areas, but it was one she now knew well and, in the last two and a half years, had come to feel like home.

It wasn’t long until the flight attendant handed her a cup of tea that she set on the lowered table alongside her iPad, a spreadsheet open on its screen. She had studied the data well, but the visual numbers helped her focus on decisions she would make. She weighed dollars available against proven results, and planned to award the next round of grants accordingly. After going through several years of low earnings, she was glad for better returns over the last fourteen months. The foundation was able to do so much more now. She believed her mother would have been pleased with how her only child was running things. She reflected back on her grandparents’ lives and hoped her grandmother would also have been pleased. Grandma had been an independent thinker which was intriguing considering not only the culture of that era but also the fact that her husband’s work was responsible for their personal great wealth. She enabled, no, she insisted on, her daughter and granddaughter obtaining the proper education to carry on their tremendous responsibility. As she often did, Suzanne wondered what possessed her grandmother to incorporate the rule that the trustee of the Davidson Family Foundation must be her direct female descendant.

That’s going to be a problem someday, she mused, as she had several times recently. She and Al never had children, so there wasn’t a female descendant to fill her shoes. Not really, anyway. No, she said out loud, You’re not going down that path again! She quickly glanced around. Either no one heard her over the cabin noise or no one thought it odd for a passenger to be talking to herself. Now in controlled silence, I’ve trained my brain not to go to that part of my life. Today, twice in one flight? How did that happen?

Leaving the plane at DFW, she headed for the Admirals Club lounge. She wasn’t a snob, by any means, but she did enjoy the privilege of the lounge’s relaxing atmosphere during layovers. Setting her briefcase beside an armchair with an ottoman, she walked over to the beverage bar for a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She reached for a chocolate chip cookie, but hesitated, knowing she didn’t need the extra calories.

A man’s voice behind her said, Oh, go ahead. You deserve some self-indulgence after the way your trip began.

She spun around toward the voice and saw the man who had just missed being splattered with coffee on the plane. Well, hello. I didn’t expect to see you again. You’re right, I do deserve it. She grinned impishly and picked up a cookie. More seriously, she added, I’m glad none of that coffee spilled on you. Judging from her reaction, it must have been pretty hot.

And I’m glad she didn’t clobber you with that duffel bag again. I was afraid she might go into full attack mode. They both laughed. He continued, So, where are you headed this morning?

Her natural self-protection mechanism engaged, and she almost ignored his question. Telling herself she was being rather silly she answered, San Francisco. And you?

New Orleans for two days, back here for a meeting in Dallas, and then on to The Big Apple. That’s where I live, and work. I’m one of those hated Wall Street guys. Her expressionless mask appeared when she heard Wall Street. He explained, I was in Iowa on business.

Her defense shield was now deployed. She nodded acknowledgment and politely broke off the conversation by turning away and returning to her chair. To her horror, he followed and sat down beside her. She quickly set down her coffee and reopened the spreadsheet she had been reviewing on the plane. She stared at it but was seeing nothing. Maybe I’m overreacting, she thinks. After all, Wall Street guy covers a lot of job descriptions. He probably never heard of Alford Henderson.

By the way, who won? he asked.

What?

On the plane, about the time we started our descent. She looked confused. He explained, You were arguing with yourself, countering that you weren’t going down a certain path again. I just wondered who won, you or the voice in your head?

That’s a private matter between me and my head, she answered sharply. Feeling her chest tighten, she turned her attention to the spreadsheet, clearly ending their conversation. After a few minutes, he stood up and moved across the room to sit in front of a television tuned to CNBC.

She pulled up her San Francisco schedule on her iPad screen. Nothing was on the agenda for that evening. Mr. Brandenburg, her financial adviser, would have a car waiting for her at the airport. He had offered to take her to dinner, but she had declined. She loved San Francisco and rather enjoyed some time alone to soak up its ambiance. She planned to head down to the wharf area tonight for fresh seafood and a breath of salt air.

Tomorrow was packed with a series of meetings with money managers analyzing the Trust’s quarterly financial reports. Over a working lunch in the firm’s conference room she and investment gurus would consult on future investment options and growth projections. Many people in her position would leave this to the experts. After all, that is why they’re paid those high fees. But she, as her mother and grandmother before her, maintained a hands-on role.

In the afternoon would be a private meeting with Mr. Brandenburg. He had been her personal financial adviser since long before her parents’ passing, and remained so throughout her marriage to Al. Thank goodness for that!

At the end of the fully scheduled day, she’d have just enough time to return to the hotel and change for dinner with the Wilkinson’s at their stately Knob Hill home. While Mr. Wilkinson was the Davidson Family Foundation attorney, their relationship was far more than a business one. Walter and Mary were old family friends. Ordinarily, she would have a morning meeting with him and fly out in the afternoon. For this trip, though, he had asked her to schedule a full day. So, she’d be staying over an extra night and catching the next morning’s flight back to Des Moines.

It was time to make her trek to the gate. Getting ready to leave the Admirals Club, she noticed Wall Street guy watching her from a chair near the exit. He stood as she approached, Have a nice flight. Watch out for travelers carrying hot coffee and big duffels.

She nodded and forced a pleasant tone, Thank you, I will, and the same to you. She hurried off along G Concourse to Gate 12, confident she would never see him again.

~~~

Four hours later she lifted her bag off the carousel and extended the leather wrapped handle, securing her briefcase across the top. As she walked through the massive revolving glass exit door, she squinted in the bright afternoon sun at the waiting line of vehicles. A silver limo inched forward and stopped across from the exit door. Jonathan, Mr. Brandenburg’s personal driver, stepped out and walked directly to her.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Henderson, it’s so nice to see you again. Did you have a nice flight?

Hello, Jonathan. Yes, the flight was fine. She saw no need to mention the incident with the obnoxious woman passenger or her uneasiness with Wall Street guy. He opened the rear door of the limo and waited until she was seated before closing it. He stowed her luggage in the trunk and returned to his seat behind the wheel. Thank you for meeting me. It’s nice not to hassle with cabs. You make the trip to the hotel much more pleasant. She would thank Mr. Brandenburg tomorrow, as usual, but she liked to acknowledge Jonathan’s attentiveness. He would be insulted by a tip, but it pleased him when his efforts were recognized.

He eased the limo into traffic. She liked Jonathan and asked about his family as he drove. His wife and children were well. His oldest son was graduating from high school this year and had earned a scholarship to Berkeley. He expressed a bit of concern about how liberal that university was and she chuckled. He told her to enjoy today’s warm sunshine because more seasonal weather was forecast for the rest of the week. She assured him she had remembered to pack an umbrella. Before long he pulled up to the curb at the Westin St. Francis on Union Square. The doorman instantly opened her door and Jonathan retrieved her luggage from the trunk. He handed her the briefcase, which he knew from past experience she preferred to carry herself, and allowed the doorman to take the larger bag for delivery to her room.

Thank you again, Jonathan, and don’t worry too much about that son of yours. He’ll be just fine. There’s room in this world for both conservatives and liberals, you know. She winked at him. He shook his head and laughed in spite of himself. She loved to crack his professional demeanor.

The familiar lobby of the St Francis welcomed her with soft music to soothe the soul and the distinctive aroma that seemed to whisper Westin. Light from the crystal chandeliers reflected off the polished marble floor. She glanced at the big grandfather clock suspended from the ceiling and noted the time, 3:10. Jonathan made good time coming in from the airport. As usual, the St Francis felt like sort of a homecoming. To her it symbolized the San Francisco of her youth. After checking in, she was escorted to her suite in the historic Landmark section. She preferred the original hotel over the newer Towers addition. There was something about the high ceilings, crown molding, and chandeliers that evoked memories of the home where she grew up, and in turn, evoked comforting memories of her parents.

The bellman turned on the lights, placed her bag on a rack, and selected the big band music from the fifties that the hotel knew she enjoyed. She was still reminiscing over her parents and her childhood as she hung clothes in the closet. She could almost sense Mama reaching around her pushing the hangers farther apart. ‘Suzanne, your clothes will be wrinkled if they’re smooshed together.’ Her mother said ‘smoosh’ a lot. When she was very little, Mama would tuck her into bed at night with the words, ‘I’ll smoosh you with hugs and kisses so you can dream about hugs and kisses all night long.’ She wondered if it was a real word; she ought to look it up sometime. The melody of Could I Have This Waltz was now floating through the air and she found herself singing along. Daddy used to pick her up in his arms and waltz across the room with her until they both were laughing. He still waltzed with her when she was older, even after she grew taller than him. She danced to a couple bars of the song with a smile on her face before stopping mid-step. He waltzed with her for the last time the morning after Mama’s funeral, only this time with tears instead of laughter. She hadn’t known that forty-eight hours later he’d be dead, too.

She shook off the sadness and allowed herself to bask in the knowledge of how fortunate she was. She had wonderful parents. They loved her unconditionally, but they also taught her to be the kind of person others could love, too. They gave her everything of a material nature, but they also gave her a sense of decency, self-respect, and a belief she had a purpose in life. They taught her to be self-reliant, but to know one doesn’t go through life alone, that one must be tolerant and understanding and caring toward others. She was an only child and she knew she was precious to them, and she loved them right back with all her heart. They kept that beautiful relationship even after she went off to college at George Washington University and stayed out east when she married. It was the way it was supposed to be, parents who loved their child and made certain the child knew she was loved, yet were willing to let her go to become her own person. Letting her go, she said out loud. Isn’t that a mother’s most loving act?

She went to the window and gazed down on Union Square. The city by the bay was full of memories, but she really had no ties here. Mr. Brandenburg and Jonathan, and even the Wilkinson’s, were so attentive, but that was their job, wasn’t it? Would they even care if they weren’t very well paid? Her childhood friends had moved away, either geographically or emotionally. The family home had been sold years ago. No, I don’t have roots here, she told herself. I don’t have family here. In fact, I don’t have family anywhere unless you count a divorced husband in a Texas prison and... There it is again. Why am I thinking about her so much today?

In the bathroom, having drawn a hot bubble bath, she emptied her mind into the rising steam and soaked away the past before slipping back into her casual travel clothes and comfortable walking shoes. Tonight is all mine, she reminded herself as she exited the hotel and headed for the cable car stop, consciously leaving the ghosts of her childhood behind.

The sounds of San Francisco invaded her being during her ride down the hills to the waterfront. The gong of the streetcar bell, sidewalk vendors hawking their wares, honking car horns, the cacophony of multi-lingual chatter, the distant klaxon of a ship in the harbor, all comprised a world from her past, a world she still loved, a world to which she was now only a visitor.

She strolled the length of Pier 39 inhaling the wafting smells of hot dogs, sweet cotton candy, Chinese food, greasy fish and chips, all intermingling in her nose and permeating the sensory lobe of her brain. She bought a small bag of popcorn and found a bench where she sat for a while. She tasted a few kernels and scattered a few to share with the seagull at her feet. At once there was another, then another, until a dozen or so seagulls converged on the potential feast. She tossed a handful of popcorn to her right, then a handful to her left, and laughed as her little flock hopped back and forth, nudging one another out of the way. A brazen gull alit on the arm of the bench, extending his neck toward the little white sack. Oh, no, you don’t, she admonished him and waved her arm so that he glided down to join the others on the concrete. She stood up and upended the sack swinging her arm in a sweeping arc. She dropped it into a trash barrel and meandered up the pier.

The sun dropped low in the sky, its orange glow leading her along the Embarcadero toward Alioto’s. The Alioto family was preparing their Sicilian influenced seafood dishes before her parents even met. She had been looking forward to Rose’s crab cioppino for days now.

She was seated at a little table tucked in the corner where she could see the fishing boats moored below. Dining alone had been difficult for her after Al was arrested. She always feared running into someone who recognized her, feared the confrontation that might result. With a dinner companion you could engage yourself in conversation and not look as if you are ignoring someone, but alone it wasn’t so easy. For a time, she always carried a book and isolated herself buried in its pages. She may as well have been eating take-out at home. She had since learned the art of savoring the total experience, the view, the charm of the restaurant, the food and drink, as well as her own company. A change of geography had helped the process along.

The waiter handed her a menu, poured ice water, and asked if she cared for a cocktail. No, just wine with dinner. He inquired about an appetizer and again she declined. He nodded and informed her he’d return shortly for her order. She smiled in acknowledgment, placed the menu on the corner of the table, and gazed out over the water. After several minutes, he was back asking if everything was all right. She pulled her eyes away from the window, Yes, of course. I love this place. Then, realizing the question was more than rhetorical, Why do you ask?

I noticed you haven’t opened your menu. I thought perhaps the table wasn’t to your liking or, perhaps, you changed your mind about a cocktail.

The table is perfect. I was just enjoying the view. As for the menu, I already know what I want, so I don’t need to confuse myself with all the other wonderful choices.

You’ve been here before, then.

Oh, yes, many times, less often in recent years.

Well, what is your pleasure this evening?

She ordered the cioppino, starting with an Alioto salad. As for the wine, surprise me with a nice pairing for the stew, maybe a zin or pinot noir? By the glass, though, I can’t drink a whole bottle by myself.

As she sopped up the last of the broth with the crusty bread, the waiter returned with dessert recommendations. She was too full to consider even the fruit sorbetto. I’d like a cup of decaf coffee, black, please. I’ve been traveling all day so I will pass on dessert.

When he placed her coffee in front of her, he observed, You mentioned you’ve dined here often in the past, and today you’ve been traveling. I take it you used to live in San Francisco but now are back for a visit.

That’s right. You’re a good listener. I come here several times a year on business. She smiled at him. You know how Tony Bennett sang about leaving his heart in San Francisco? Well, a little piece of mine is right here at Alioto’s. This was one of my parents’ favorite places.

Fifteen minutes later she took one more deep breath of salt air and stepped into a taxi. The hour was still early Pacific Time but growing late by Central Time. She needed a good night’s rest to have a clear head for the next day’s finance meetings.

Two Days Later

Suzanne stretched her arms over her head, inhaled deeply, extended the stretch through her spine and pushed her legs to their full length, tightening the tops of her thighs and pointing her toes hard. Ouch! she yelled, simultaneously bending one knee to her chest and grabbing her right foot. She bent her ankle up and massaged the arch and ball of her foot until she worked out the cramp. She rolled over onto her side and wrapped her arms around the big fluffy pillow in