“Mine also. It’s not an issue to spring on Maris over the telephone.” He took a sip of his single-malt scotch. As he returned the tumbler to the end table, he noticed the wedding reception photograph of them. He touched the silver frame wistfully and smiled fondly. “Maris thinks first with her heart, then with her head.” His gaze moving back to Daniel, he added, “You know that. You’ve lived with her longer than I have.”
“She’s not a child.”
“True. She’s a woman, and her instincts and reactions are purely feminine. They’re endearing. They make her the lovely person she is. But they don’t always serve her well professionally. Remember how emotionally she reacted last week when she learned of my meeting with WorldView? I predict her reaction to this document would be even more irrational.”
For several moments he stared at the document that now lay on the coffee table between them. “If I know my wife, she would panic. She would think that we’re shielding her from something ugly. She would leap to an erroneous conclusion. You have terminal cancer. You need a heart transplant. You… well, you get my drift. God knows what she would imagine, and we would have a hell of a time dispelling her worst fears.”
He shook his head and laughed softly. “Last week she accused us of leaving her out of the loop and needlessly protecting her from an unpleasant situation. If—”
“If I sign that document without discussing it with her first, she’ll be furious with us.”
“No doubt. I guess it comes down to choosing when we want to have a scene like the one we had last week. Before or after the document is in place. If it’s before, her response time will be protracted. She’ll put you through a battery of physical exams before she’s satisfied that you’re not at death’s door.
“If it’s after the document is signed,” he continued, “her reaction time will be abbreviated. Which, personally, I think is our best option. We all have better things to do with our time and energy.” He paused to take a few puffs on his cigar. “I’m thinking of Maris, too, Daniel. I’m trying to spare her from having to make a difficult decision. She cannot bring herself to accept some of life’s inescapable certainties.”
“Like my mortality.”
Noah nodded solemnly. “Or even the possibility of reduced capacity. She is in complete denial on the subject. You’ve always been her hero. She would look upon this document as a betrayal of that image. She might even feel that by executing a power-of-attorney document like this, we’re tempting fate. That as soon as she signs it, you’ll be stricken with a debilitating malady.”
He paused strategically and pretended to consider his wife’s behavior. “In all honesty, I doubt Maris would sign it at all unless you had signed it first. That would ease her mind. Relieve her conscience and her sense of responsibility.”
Daniel picked up the document with one hand and tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip with the other. “I’m not a moron, Noah.”
Noah’s breath caught in his throat.
“I see the validity of such a document.”
He expelled that anxious breath slowly and tried to sound
perfectly composed as he said, “Apparently so did Howard. He authored it.”
“Which puzzles me. Howard knew that a similar document is already in place, along with my will and other personal documents. Mr. Stern drew them up years ago, but Howard had copies in his files.”
“As Howard explained it to me, those documents were outdated.”
And now came the tricky part. Up to this point, he had counted on it being an exercise in persuasion. His arguments were sound, and, as Daniel had noted, not without validity. Now, however, he must do some fancy footwork and one misstep could trip him up.
With calculated casualness, he rolled the ash off the tip of his cigar into a pewter ashtray. “I think Howard realized how obsolete that previous power-of-attorney document was. He brought it to my attention first, instead of bringing it up with Maris, for the reasons we’ve cited tonight. He didn’t want to upset her.”
“Why didn’t he bring it to my attention?”
“For the same reason, Daniel.” He averted his gaze as though it pained him to say what he was compelled to say. “Howard was worried what your reaction would be. He didn’t want you to think that he thought you were no longer capable of making these kinds of decisions for yourself.”
“We were better friends than that,” Daniel snapped. “For God’s sake, we’d been confiding candidly in each other for decades. I had joked with him about the foibles of growing old.”
“This goes beyond complaining about a few aches and pains. Howard was sensitive to the delicate nature of this document.” Noah raised his hand when he saw that Daniel was about to interrupt. “I’m only telling you what he told me. He was afraid you would take umbrage.”
“That I’d shoot the messenger?”
Noah shrugged as though to say, Something like that. “It’s such a personal, private matter, Howard thought it might be better if someone in the family were to bring it to your attention.”
Daniel harrumphed and took a sip of port. He flipped through the document again. He paused to reread a particular clause, and even before he said anything, Noah knew which clause had snagged his attention.
“Until Maris signs this—”
“I would have full power of attorney. I know. I spotted that flaw, too.”
“Why would Howard construct the document this way, when he knew it would go expressly against my wishes? Not that I mistrust you, Noah, but Maris is Matherly Press, and vice versa. There will never be a decision made or acted upon without her involvement and approval.”