No two sunsets were alike, and none of them ever disappointed. From blazing orange to silky pinks to vivid purples, the colors that imbued the bay and sky were breathtaking. Salty breezes and sea-spray roses perfumed the air, and when the tide was in, the water faintly rippled againstthe shore. “This is nothing short of glorious,” Lydia had uttered on more than one occasion.
Caitlin loved the scenery, too, but what had made those evenings even more special were the one-on-one discussions she had with her aunt. Rather, Caitlin mostly talked, and Lydia mostly listened. Unlike the teenager’s parents, who worked long hours and rarely engaged in conversation with her, Caitlin’s aunt always demonstrated an interest in whatever she was saying. It didn’t matter whether Caitlin was confiding how she felt about a boy, describing a view she’d seen, or simply sharing a silly anecdote about a guest; Lydia genuinely seemed to care about her thoughts and feelings, and the details of her life. Often, the pair would linger on the stairs and chat until stars speckled the sky and Lydia’s joints were so stiff from sitting in the same position that Caitlin would have to help her to her feet.
“Watching the sunset is worth the effort of trekking out to the dune, but the return trip is getting harder,” she said one evening as she limped through the woods toward the cottage, leaning on Caitlin’s shoulder for support. “I appreciate how fortunate we are to own property on Dune Island, and I try not to be greedy, but I admit, sometimes I envy those people who have a water view from their houses.”
“Maybe Uncle Albert could cut down some of these trees, so you’d be able to see the bay from the porch.”
“We can’t—our property only extends from the cottages to the edge of the woods. The town owns the rest of the land. Besides, I wouldn’t want to destroy the fragile dune environment, just for my convenience and pleasure.”
“Well, since you and Uncle Albert are going to renovate the cottage before you retire here anyway, you should add a second story to it,” suggested Caitlin. “Then you could watch the sun set from the upstairs window.”
“Unfortunately, there are zoning regulations on this street that prohibit anyone from adding height to the existing buildings,” Lydia started to explain, but then she abruptly stopped walking, and she pulled Caitlin to a halt, too. “But there’s nothing to prohibit us from modifying the upper level of thewindmill!”
That’s how the idea of converting the loft into a sitting room was born. From then on, whenever Lydia discussed her vision for making the cottage a cozier, more inviting retirement residence, installing a big picture window in the windmill loft was at the top of her wish list.
“I’ll be able to sit up there and knit or do my word puzzles and look out on the water to watch your uncle Albert fishing from his little skiff. We’ll haul a love seat up there and a small coffee table, too, so when you visit us at Thanksgiving, we’ll have a place to set our cookies and hot chocolate,” she told her niece. “And we’ll be able to see the sun setting without even leaving home… What could be more luxurious?”
Recalling Lydia’s daydream now, Caitlin suddenly felt sad that it had never come to pass while her aunt and uncle were alive.
I really should have a better attitude about making it happen now, she scolded herself.I should look at it as a privilege to honor Aunt Lydia’s wishes, instead of focusing on how upsetting it is to return to the island.
Yet the closer she came to Lucinda’s Hamlet, the more anxious she felt. And when she pulled into the driveway and caught her first glimpse of the familiar cottages and windmill, Caitlin was so overwhelmed by memories aboutthe incidentwith Nicolethat it took all her willpower not to shift into reverse and drive straight back to the ferry dock.
THREE
MID-AUGUST, TWENTY YEARS EARLIER
On Saturday morning, Lydia and Caitlin rose before sunrise to bake windmill-shaped sugar cookies so they could give the departing guests a sweet sendoff, and the arriving guests a warm welcome.
“It’s not seven o’clock and it’s already as hot as blazes in here,” Albert good-naturedly grumbled when he shuffled into the small kitchen, which retained the heat from the oven for hours. “Why do you need to serve homemade cookies?”
Lydia gave his shoulder a love tap and said, “You know why, Bertie. The previous owners did it, so it’s become part of the tradition of staying at The Windmill Cottages. The guests expect it.”
Then she handed him a warm cookie, and Caitlin fondly noticed how quickly he gobbled it down. Later, he enjoyed a second—or was it a third?—with his coffee, and when his wife and niece finally sat down for a quick breakfast, they both ate a cookie, too. Despite Albert complaining about the heat, and even though Lydia insisted she could handle the baking on her own, Caitlin wouldn’t have missed this hectic Saturday morning ritual for the world.
“How adorable,” remarked Pam McDougal, a newly arriving guest, when Lydia offered her and her daughter one of the signature treats at check-in shortly after 2:00 p.m. “Nicole and I don’t eat carbs, but I’ll take one for my husband. He’s waiting in the driveway.”
“Ieat carbs. Ilovecarbs,” Pam’s slender, dark-haired daughter emphatically contradicted, shooting her mother a defiant look and grabbing two cookies from the plate.
Her mother ignored her. “My husband and I are newlyweds, so we’re here on a sort of honeymoon. A ‘family-moon,’ as he likes to call it, since Nicole’s here with us, too,” she explained, and Caitlin couldn’t blame Nicole for rolling her eyes. “We had planned to spend two weeks in Benjamin’s Manor—my husband’s an avid golfer—but our reservation fell through and unfortunately, we couldn’t find any other vacancies at short notice. That’s how we wound up here.”
It almost sounded as if the woman was embarrassed to be staying in Lucy’s Ham instead of Benjamin’s Manor, or as if she found it necessary to mention that The Windmill Cottages weren’t her first choice. Caitlin wished her aunt would’ve pointed out how lucky Pam was that a long-standing guest suddenly had to cancel their reservation due to a work conflict; otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a vacancy at The Windmill Cottages, either.
But Lydia just said, “Congratulations on your marriage. We’re very glad you’re staying with us. You’ll find it’s only a short drive to the golf club in Benjamin’s Manor, and Lucinda’s Hamlet has a popular course right up the road, too.”
“Or Bob could just play mini-golf and afterward the three of us could stroll hand-in-hand down the boardwalk, eating cotton candy,” Nicole suggested. “Although that’s not carb-free, is it?”
Again ignoring her daughter’s snarky comments, Pam remarked to Lydia, “I hope our cottage has a water view.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t quite see the water from any of the cottages here, including mine. The scrub oaks and pitch pines might be sparse and stubby, but there’s just enough of them to block the view.” Lydia pointed to the ceiling and added, “There’s a peek-a-boo water view from the window in the storage loft. You’re welcome to go up and take a look, but you’ll have to navigate around the paper goods and cleaning supplies. It’s easier to walk the short distance through the woods—there’s a panoramic view from the stairs leading down to the beach.”
Her remarks sufficiently appeased Pam, but Nicole’s eyes lit up at the mention of the loft. “Ooh,I’dlove to take a look from upstairs, please, Mrs. Walker,” she politely requested.
“Sure,” agreed Lydia. “Caitlin can take you up there. But you girls be careful, those stairs are steep.”
“Don’t worry. Nicole’s very nimble,” said Pam. “She attends LaRue Performing Arts High School. She’s a dancer—she’s been studying ballet since she was three.”
“But now I’m studyingacting,” her daughter emphatically declared, and it was obvious that her preference was a point of contention between them.
