“I don’t know. Maybe?” My admission surprises me. “I mean, no. I don’t think so. I’m just curious.”
“Good,” Jill says, her face stony. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
I stare at her. “What doesthatmean?”
Jill suddenly leans toward me, jabbing her sunglasses up into her hair so that I have a full view of her bloodshot, watery eyes. “It means don’t get your hopes up!” she says, practically shouting. She glances over her shoulder and then turns back to me.
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she says, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s just that there is no job. There aren’t any jobs! There isn’t even going to be an Oceanview Home.”
“Jill,” I say, my chest suddenly tight. “What are you talking about? What is going on?”
She studies me for a minute. Then she leans toward me.
“Donovan,” she says, “is selling the home.”
My heart plummets. “What? No. He can’t.”
“He can and he is. The cost of running the home is astronomical, and apparently his father made every bad financial decision he could possibly make before his death. And either way, Donovan doesn’t even believe that the home should be a residence for seniors anymore. The liability of an old building, the sprawling grounds—he’ll go on and on with his reasons if you let him.” She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “A development group is purchasing the estate and turning it into a luxury golf resort—”
“A golf resort?” I repeat loudly.
“Shh!” Jill snaps. Then her shoulders sag. “Actually what do I care if everyone knows? I’m tired of keeping that man’s secret.”
I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me. “But what about everyone who lives here? I thought Donovan was sprucing everything up for a spring party, the kind that Marjorie says they used to have here every year.”
Jill chokes out a laugh. “A spring party? Is that what he told you?”
Of course he didn’t tell me that. What hedidtell me was that he was adept at streamlining businesses, laying people off, and finding ways to make companies profitable. How had I ever convinced myself that he was going to throw a party here? That a party could possibly be what a man like Donovan Pike had his sights set on?
“No. I guess I just hoped…” I trail off, too embarrassed to list everything for which I’d hoped—that the home would grow ever more cheerful, that there would be a spring party, and, apparently, that I might possibly, maybe, stay on as the home’s gardener on a permanent basis.
Jill looks as though she feels sorry for me. “I know, Lucy,” she says. “Believe me, I know. I’ve fought Donovan tooth and nail on this, and he hates me for it. If it wouldn’t make things at the home deteriorate even further, he would have fired me months ago.”
I think about the tension that sparks between them, the way she seems to seethe with resentment whenever he is mentioned. I wondered if there were romantic feelings involved, but this is so much more complicated, so much worse.
“The home and the gardens will become a luxury boutique hotel, but it’s the ocean view that the developers want, more thananything,” Jill says, sounding exhausted, all emotion wrung from her voice. “Well, the views and the ocean-side acreage beyond the walls. They have some fancy golf course designer lined up for the project. Donovan is sure it will be the next Pebble Beach.”
I can’t stop thinking of the residents—Fitz first, inexplicably, and then Marjorie and Cynthia and Adele and Vikram and Louis and everyone else. And everyone who works at the home—Jill and Mario and Isobel and Eva and Noreen and Vince. What will happen to them all?
“And everyone who lives here…?” I ask.
Jill sighs. “They’ll be given notice in enough time to make other arrangements. Donovan has promised that much. But the truth is that there is nowhere around here that compares to the Oceanview Home. That’s a massive understatement, of course. There’s nowhere like this anywhere, and some of the residents have paid relatively little to live here, just as Agatha Pike wanted all those years ago.” Her shoulders slump. “That sliding scale is just one of the reasons that Donovan feels he’s been pushed into a corner and must close the home.”
Something snags in my thoughts. “Didn’t you say that Agatha Pike had a clause in her will about the home always remaining a place for seniors?”
Jill shakes her head. “She requested that herfriendsbe permitted to go on living here, but all of her contemporaries died long ago. It was her son and grandson who decided the property should continue on as a home for seniors. Donovan’s the owner now, and he can do with it what he pleases.”
“But can someone really just swoop in and tear this all down tomake way for a golf course? Doesn’t the home have historical significance?” I hear the desperate pitch of my voice.
“I suppose that’s the one small bit of good news,” Jill says. “The exterior of the home and the walled gardens will remain as they are. Updates will be made to the home’s interior to justify charging one thousand dollars per night, but otherwise the changes will mostly happen beyond the walls, in the meadows and woods around the home, and between the home and the ocean. That’s where the golf course will go. The gardens, you’ll be happy to know, will stay. That’s why Donovan hired you. He understands just how special they are. Restoring them will drive up the price of the estate, and help the developers see what a uniquely attractive property this is. It will make,” she says, her voice dripping with bitterness, “an extraordinary hotel.”
I lean toward her. “If they haven’t agreed on a price, it’s not over. There’s a chance of stopping the sale.”
Jill smiles sadly. “It’s as good as done, Lucy. I’m working hard to make my peace with it, and I’m sorry to say that you should, too. The developer has made his intentions clear. It’s only Donovan holding up the deal, waiting until the grounds are in order in the hope of squeezing a bit more money out of them. He’s very savvy, I’ll give him that. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Everything will be finalized on the first of May. That’s when Donovan and the developers and I imagine an entire herd of lawyers will descend on the property.”
I look into the sunken garden, heartbroken for this place and these people I have somehow fallen in love with in such a short amount of time. The reflecting pool shines golden with the settingsun. How could anyone look out at this view and not feel moved, not feel some of that beauty weave its way through them, spreading its light? It’s bittersweet to know that these gardens will remain. I’m glad for this, of course… but it’s hard to imagine that future hotel guests are going to appreciate, toneed, them the way that the home’s residents do.
“I can’t believe everyone will have to leave,” I say.
