“What good will that do us?”
“Because we could tell Mark.And then he’d back off about Aunt Ivy moving because he’d know he’s not going to inherit her house.”
“But what if that makes him so angry that he tells Aunt Ivy to spite us?”
“He wouldn’t do that because he’d be too worried if she found out he wasn’t her blood relative, she’d cut off the financial help he’s getting from her now.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I have my sources. So what do you think of my rationale? Genius, isn’t it?”
“In theory, yes. In reality, no. Aunt Ivy’s thrilled that she’s on speaking terms with Mr. Witherell again. We don’t want to risk alienating him by bringing up a subject like that,” Zoey added emphatically, “So the answer is stillno, you are not permitted to talk to him about this. Understand?”
Gabi huffed a sigh and rose from the sofa. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she agreed, saluting before she went upstairs for the night.
Within the hour, Zoey was in bed, too. As she watched the curtains billow and flatten in the breeze, she wondered if Ivy was having trouble sleeping tonight, as well. It had seemed so strange not to walk her up the stairs before bedtime, as was their routine. Down the hall, a door squeaked; Moby was inspecting Sylvia’s room, as washisroutine.Does he miss her still?she wondered.I do.
A few tears moistened her cheeks as she thought of how gentle her great-aunt had been. Zoey remembered that when Sylvia braided her hair for her when she was a little girl, she was so afraid of pulling it that she never wove it tight enough. The braid would come undone as soon as Zoey walked across the room. Or when she’d fill the tub for Zoey’s bath, the water was always tepid because she didn’t want to burn her skin.Aunt Sylvia was probably so careful not to hurt anyone else because of the abuseshesuffered when she was young, she hypothesized.
Forbeing such a demure, tenderhearted woman, she sure had a bully for a grandson.As Zoey reflected on her cousin’s aggressive, selfish behavior, the knot in her stomach tightened. She had the sinking feeling that today represented a major turning point in his quest to push Ivy out of her house. Just like when she was a girl, Zoey found herself wishing her aunt would finally put her foot down and say enough was enough.
Out of the blue, Zoey remembered the one time she’d heard her other great-aunt utter those words: it was on the last day of her life. Sylvia had been so dozy that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. So she’d mistakenly thought she was talking to Ivy, not to Zoey, when she’d mumbled,That boy can only take so much… Enough is enough.
At the time, Zoey assumed Sylvia had been expressing her concern that Mark would crumble under the stress of his divorce. But now she was gripped with a possibility she’d never considered: had her aunt meant ‘take’ literally? Had she been trying to convince Ivy not to keep spoiling Mark? Was she saying he’d already gotten enough from them—that he shouldn’t take more?
As overheated as Zoey felt, the noisy waves were disturbing her thoughts and she got up to close the windows. She wracked her brain to recollect what else Sylvia had said about her grandson that day. The phrases, “It’s not fair,” and “Mark doesn’t deserve this,” popped into her mind.
Wait a second!Zoey’s pulse pounded in her ears like the ocean. WasIvy’s housewhat Sylvia was referring to when she said, “Mark doesn’t deserve this”?
Her mind frenetically jumped from one supposition to the next:ifSylvia didn’t believe Mark deserved to inherit Ivy’s house, it had to be because she knew that he wasn’t a Winslow. And the only irrefutable way she would have known that wasifshe was sure that her husband Marcus Sr. wasn’t Marcus Jr.’s father. Andifthat were the case, then the gossip Gabi heard about Mr. Witherell being Mark’s grandfather seemed a lot more plausible.
Furthermore,ifSylvia really was confessing the secret that she had kept to herself for sixty-some years—a secret that reflected poorly on her and would have wounded her beloved sister-in-law—then it must have been extremely important to her that Mark not inherit the house.
And finally,ifthat were true, Zoey had a responsibility—an obligation to her great-aunt’s dying intention—to set the record straight about Mark not being a Winslow. Or at least, to investigate the possibility further.
Dizzy, she sat down on the bed and tried to figure out what to do with this new information.It’s not even new information,she thought.It’s just a different way of considering my last conversation with Aunt Sylvia.If she was going to try to use Marcus Jr.’s paternity to prevent Mark from disturbing Ivy’s final years and trying to take over her house, she needed evidence, concrete evidence, that he wasn’t a Winslow. The only place she could imagine finding that kind of evidence was among Sylvia’s belongings. She had already straightened her trunks, but it was worth taking a closer look.
Zoey tiptoed up the attic stairs so she wouldn’t wake her niece. For the next hour and a half, she sorted through every single item in her aunt’s two trunks, scrutinizing them for any link, however tenuous, between Sylvia and Mr. Witherell. She even read the articles printed on the sheets of newspaper the figurines were wrapped in, hoping for a clue, but she still couldn’t find anything to connect them.
Next, she went downstairs to her aunt’s room. Several weeks ago, after Mark had finished rummaging through Sylvia’s closet and dresser drawers, leaving them in a mess, Zoey had come in to refold and rehang everything. Sylvia had always been fastidious about her clothing and Zoey hadn’t wanted Ivy see it in such disarray. So she’d already given the room a once-over, but she conducted a more thorough examination now, turning the pockets of Sylvia’s clothes inside-out, flipping through the Bible on her nightstand and even checking beneath the bed and mattress. Again, she came up empty-handed.
Deflated, she crept back to her room and fell into bed. She recognized that her only other option was to discuss the matter with Mr. Witherell. The very thing she’d forbidden Gabi to do because she didn’t want to run the risk of Ivy finding out about their discussion. Nor did she want to offend Mr. Witherell or make him feel uncomfortable, especially if she was wrong. How would she even begin a conversation like that?Desperate times call for desperate measures,she told herself. But was shethatdesperate?
She was too dazed to decide. Maybe tomorrow after Ivy and Mark returned, she’d have a better sense of whether it was imperative to discuss the subject with Mr. Witherell. After all, it was a remote possibility her aunt would have such an unpleasant experience at the facility that it would permanently sour her to the idea of assisted living. Or maybe tomorrow Zoey would come up with a new, easier way to prove Marcus Jr.’s paternity. But for now, she was just going to have to sleep on it.
* * *
After Gabi left for school in the morning, Zoey decided she’d take a run and then go shopping so she could make a special meal for Ivy’s homecoming, since Mark had texted her that they’d arrive around supper time. Thinking back to the day she’d crossed paths with Phineas in the rain, she timed her route so she’d see him in the same neighborhood again. She figured she should start engaging him in small talk so that if they ended up having a longer conversation, it wouldn’t be quite as awkward. But when she didn’t spot him, she ran the same course, in reverse. Still no sign. Feeling a mix of disappointment and relief, she gave up and went home.
Motivated by her aunt’s return, as well as by the anticipation of seeing Nick that afternoon, Zoey sped through all the shopping, cleaning and baking. After showering, she even had enough time to blow-dry her hair rather than pulling it up into a damp ponytail. And by the time Nick arrived to remove the tiles from the backsplash, she’d also applied a coat of mascara and put on a sundress instead of her usual T-shirt and shorts.
He checked the bathroom floor and the wall and ceiling in the best room before coming into the kitchen. “So far, so good,” he reported.
Zoey extended a plate to him. She knew he was on a tight schedule but she’d been looking forward to chatting with him all morning. “Would you like a muffin before you start working? They’re chocolate ricotta.”
Nick took one. “Smells delicious.”
“I hope it is. I’m not half as good of a baker as my aunt but I thought I’d try a new recipe, since it’s a special occasion.”
