“Who will get the house?” a redhead with his back to Zoey asked. He was the one who’d been talking about going to the golf club earlier.
“You’re looking at him.” As Ivy’s oldest blood relative, her great-nephew Mark was next in line to inherit the estate, in accordance with the will Ivy’s father had drawn up years ago that ensured the house would always stay within the family.
“You going to sell it or move here and live in it yourself?”
“Unfortunately, it has to remain in the family, otherwise I’d sell it in a heartbeat and retire tomorrow,” Mark answered, rubbing his thumb and fingers together to indicate how wealthy he’d be.
Although Ivy’s house wasn’t nearly as grand as the other homes—some were mansions, really—overlooking the harbor, the land it was situated on was worth a mint. Last in a row of residences built on the southern end of the village’s one-sided Main Street, Ivy’s was the highest on the hill and it afforded the best vantage points. From the front was a panoramic view of the harbor and bay. From the back, it looked out over a shallow valley of modest cottages interspersed among sprawling summer residences, and four miles beyond that, the glittering open ocean.
But it was the widow’s walk on top of the house that offered an unparalleled perspective. Accessed through a trapdoor in the attic, the balustraded, open-air platform provided a three hundred and sixty degree vista of awe-inspiring beauty; the whole of Dune Island and its surrounding waters. So Mark was right; he could have earned a bundle one day if he were permitted to sell his inheritance. Fortunately, he wasn’t.
“There’s no way I’m relocating from Boston to Benjamin’s Manor,” he continued, referring to the quaint, historic fishing village, one of the five towns on Dune Island that collectively comprised Hope Haven. “I plan to lease this place out to corporations for executive retreats. Obviously, I’ll have to make major renovations first, but the investment will pay for itself in no time. Especially if Ivy goes before summer begins.”
Zoey couldn’t quite believe how openly callous Mark was being about their great-aunt’s future death. Just as she got close enough to ask him to kindly lower his voice, a tall, dark-haired man facing in her direction greeted her with a cordial hello. The other men immediately whipped their heads around to see who had come up behind them. The tall guy nudged his way through them until he stood directly in front of her, blocking everyone else from her range of view.
“We haven’t met… I’m Nick.”
Momentarily sidetracked from her mission, Zoey reflexively shook his hand.Nick who, from where?she wondered as she peered into his hooded, deep-blue eyes. She noticed that his heavy brows, like his hair, were flecked with gray and she guessed he was about the same age as her cousin. Another pal from high school? Mark liked to be considered the best-looking person in the room, and this guy was a lot more attractive than he was. Which meant if they were friends, there must have been something about him that was useful to Mark. That was just the way he operated.
Zoey was about to let go of his hand when he leaned forward, bringing his mouth nearly level with her left ear, and softly said, “Your aunt Sylvia spoke very fondly of you. It was clear how special you were to her. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Thank you.Two words. She had been saying those two words all afternoon. Allweek. It was all she needed to say now, too. But as Nick’s cool, strong hand enveloped her sweaty one and his condolence resonated deep within her heart, Zoey was tongue-tied.Aunt Sylvia was very special to me, too, she replied silently. She could feel herself faltering, emotionally and physically. Dipping her chin, she inadvertently pressed her forehead against his chest. Nick must have thought she wanted a hug because he lifted his other hand and patted her back. To Zoey’s dismay, his unexpected gesture caused a smattering of tears to bounce down her cheeks.Oh, please, not now,she thought, panicking.Not here. Not in front ofthem.
She jerked her head upright and pulled her hand from his to whisk her face dry with her fingertips. Nick quickly dropped his arms to his sides and she noticed several wet circles darkening his gray tie. Embarrassed, she stepped around him and addressed her cousin as neutrally as she could manage through more tears that were still threatening to fall.
“Could you please lower your voice so Aunt Ivy doesn’t hear you talking about that?”
The redhead who had been questioning Mark about the house kicked at a pebble and the other two guys studied the labels on their beer bottles. At least they had the good sense to act chagrined. Unlike Mark, who took a long, slow pull from his drink and then crudely smacked his lips.
“So Ivy doesn’t hear us talking aboutwhat?”
The year he turned sixteen, Mark started referring to and addressing their great-aunt by her first name, as if they were peers, instead of calling her Aunt Ivy. Now that he was forty-one, it didn’t seem quite as disrespectful, but it still grated on Zoey’s nerves whenever he said it—an annoyance which probably had more to do with his superiority complex than with whether or not he used the title,aunt.
“About her…” Even though they were at a funeral reception, it seemed strangely inappropriate to use the word “death,” so Zoey repeated Mark’s euphemism. “About hergoing.What if one of the windows had been open?”
The rest of the men were furtively dispersing, but Mark stood his ground, wearing an amused expression. “If one of the windows had been open, I wouldn’t have had to come outside in eighty-five-degree weather to cool off.”
Eight months of the year, Sylvia or Ivy complained about how cold they were. They didn’t turn the heat down until the end of April and didn’t put window screens in until late May. So even though today was unseasonably warm, the windows remained shut. But that wasn’t Zoey’s point and Mark knew it.
“Someone could have opened the back door and Aunt Ivy could have heard you.”
“So what? I’ve already spoken to her about it.”
Zoey struggled to keep her volume low. “You talked to Aunt Ivy about herdying?”
“Dying?” Mark guffawed. “Who mentioned anything about her dying? I said she would probably begoingsoon.” Mark looked at Zoey as if shewere the one who had zero sensitivity. She felt foolish for misinterpreting his comments but his response begged another question.
“Goingwheresoon?”
“To an assisted living facility. I think it would be advantageous for her.”
Zoey was taken aback; her aunt had never mentioned anything about moving anywhere, especially not to an assisted living facility.“How would it be advantageous? She loves this house and she’s managing fine on her own. When I’m not here, Carla comes twice a week to clean and Aunt Ivy still enjoys cooking for herself. And the cardiologist said her heart condition is treatable with medication.”
Now it was Mark’s turn to look puzzled. “Ivy has a heart condition?”
Me and my big mouth.“Yeah, she has occasional chest pain. It’s called angina. But Dr. Laurent said she’s in good health for someone who’s eighty-seven, especially considering her medical history.”
Ivy had had non-Hodgkin lymphoma when she was in her early sixties. It recurred twice, but she’d been cancer-free since she turned seventy. And until she was eighty, she routinely walked two miles a day. She also watched her weight, never smoked and rarely drank. It was only during the past five or six years that she’d slowed down a little—but she was nowhere nearstopping.
