The Light of Hidden Flowers by Jennifer Handford Read Free Book Online Page B

said, “a 403(b) foundation that works to improve the lives of marginalized children in Third World countries. I focus on issues of sanitation and infrastructure.”
    “That’s fascinating,” I said. “I have to admit that I looked you up and read all about the work you had done in India. I think that’s admirable and so brave. How did you get involved?”
    Mrs. Longworth pointed to her brown-faced granddaughter, Emma. “Emma was adopted from there,” she said. “She lost most of her family due to poor sanitation.”
    “That’s terrible,” I said. “But it’s wonderful that you’re so involved in helping others.”
    Mrs. Longworth beamed. “Those are my goals: the granddaughters, North Carolina, charity.” She sat stick-straight in her chair, folded her hands atop her stack of papers, and looked across at her husband. “Tell them, Charles. Tell them your goals.”
    Mr. Longworth hesitated—fidgeted in his chair, turned his Montblanc open and closed—clearly uncomfortable with our style of money management. His desires were private, and vocalizing them was like inviting us into his bedroom.
    “Think of it from a business standpoint,” Dad said. “If we were sitting here five years from now, what would you like to look back on in order to say, ‘That’s been a good five years.’”
    Slowly, Mr. Longworth warmed, and when Dad was responsive to his every disclosure, he began to soften. By the end of the meeting, Mr. Longworth had morphed into a retiree who liked to golf, who wanted to spend time with his two sons, to whom he hadn’t always been the most demonstrative father. “I was a bit distant, if you know what I mean,” he said, his voice catching. “They’re good sons, though. They’ve turned out good. Despite me.”
    “I’m sure you did just fine,” Dad said.
    “I’ve worked hard,” Mr. Longworth said. “Damn hard. I worked long hours, at the expense of my family. But I’ve also been a lucky son of a bitch. My business—wires, technology—it was the right place at the right time. I acknowledge that I had the goods that were needed. Another place, another time—things would’ve been different.”
    Charles wasn’t nearly the pompous, self-serving guy he presented to us at our first meeting. He saw himself as fortunate, comprehended that he had a responsibility to give back, to pass along his good fortune. Dad had exposed the better person inside Mr. Longworth, and now that momentum was building. By the time Mr. and Mrs. Longworth were ready to leave our offices, they were holding hands and Mrs. Longworth was glowing. How many years, I wondered, had it been since he’d held her hand?
    As we stood in the hallway saying our good-byes, Mrs. Longworth admired a piece of artwork hanging on our wall. “What a beautiful painting,” she said, pointing to the coral sunset descending on the ocean. “Reminds me of North Carolina.”
    “Beautiful place, North Carolina,” Dad said. “Have you spent much time there?”
    My stomach knotted. The Longworths’ eyes begged for explanation. There was no way Dad had just said that. We needed a “Rewind” button to bring us back ten seconds.
    “You’re thinking of Myrtle Beach, Dad,” I said, clutching his bicep with considerable force. “This painting was from Myrtle Beach. The Longworths have a house in North Carolina, right?” I forced my face to remain calm as I squeezed Dad’s arm even harder. He would find nail marks on his skin later.
    “Of course!” Dad said. “Sorry! I was looking at the painting and thinking South Carolina. My buddy who lives in Myrtle Beach painted this. He’s a watercolorist in his retirement.”
    The Longworths softened a bit, but I could still see Mr. Longworth no doubt wondering if he’d just turned over his $10 million to a guy who couldn’t remember basic facts. When the Longworths left, I pulled Dad into his office, closed the door, and said, “Dad, are you okay? You forgot they had a house in