Page 9 of Wildwood

This information feels slightly jarring. Wildwood was such a big part of our childhood. It can’t be possible that none of us would want it.

“So some period of time would need to pass for another relative to come forward to make a claim,” Mr. Warnick continues. “But if no suitable heir is found, then it would eventually go to the state, and they could liquidate it and retain the profits.”

Liquidate it? I’m not entirely sure what that would entail, but I have a flash of large property developers descending on Wildwood, razing the landscape, filling it with soulless developments. The image makes my insides cold. No. I cannot let that happen. This place is too special.

“What’s the house worth?” Topher asks the question and I feel a stab of embarrassment, which is quickly replaced by curiosity.

“Online estimates are that the house and the land are worth five million dollars. Though you’d obviously want to consult a real estate agent for the most accurate current value.”

I literally stop in my tracks. Five million dollars?? I have never imagined I would inherit much of anything. I think again of Main Street, with its picture-perfect historic buildings, its nice cars, its quiet luxury.

Mr. Warnick gives me a small smile, misunderstanding my silence. “I know it must be overwhelming to inherit something of this scale. Your uncle must have loved you very much.”

But that’s not why I’m speechless. I don’t think Uncle Ezra left me Wildwood out of love. Frankly, I’m not sure exactly why he left it to me. I’m speechless because the unfairness of the situation, the fact that all those years ago, Wildwood went to Ezra and not Mathilde and the implications that had for their offspring, suddenly hits me in the face.

Is that it, Gran? I think. Is that why you hated it in the end?

Chapter 6

“What do you want to do about dinner?” Topher asks as we pull out of the driveway, and I sneak one last longing glance at Wildwood.

“Whatever you feel like. We can stop somewhere on the way home or get takeout once we are back.”

“Let’s stop along the way. I’m famished.”

We drive in relative quiet for a while, Topher seemingly absorbed in the landscape. He points out a nice view here or there and comments again on the quaintness of the town. We pass a farm, with a herd of brown cows standing in clusters, tails flicking.

“What kind do you think they are?” he asks, squinting out the window.

I have no fucking idea. “Um. I don’t know. Jersey?”

“No, I think they are Guernsey.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. “Are you deliberately messing with me?”

“No!” He laughs. “Guernsey is a real breed! They have similar coloring to Jersey.”

“Oh my god, stop!” I half shout, half laugh. “I don’t want to talk about cows. What did you think of the house?” As soon as the question’s out, I wish I hadn’t asked it. What if he doesn’t like it?

He hesitates a moment, considering. “It’s certainly beautiful and I can see you have an attachment to it.”

I feel myself deflate. “But?”

“But it’s going to require a ton of work. The exterior is peeling, the floors need to be redone, the kitchen needs remodeling, and we haven’t even checked the plumbing or the electric . . .” He puffs his cheeks out and shakes his head.

I don’t say anything but stare out the window, knowing that if I talk now, I will sound like a child. Naive and pleading.

“Oh my god and can you imagine the taxes on a property that size?”

He chuckles at this, and I grind my teeth together, each argument against Wildwood feeling like an actual slice through my skin.

“Do you not agree?” He glances over at me, sounding a little exasperated.

“Yes, fine,” I snap, then force myself to take a steadying breath. “You are right. It does need a lot of work. But we would have money from the sale of our condo and we wouldn’t have mortgage payments. Plus, we’d eventually inherit his investments. Mr. Warnick said that’s roughly a couple hundred thousand right there. And it’s only for a year. We could just try it out and if it’s a disaster, we move back to Cambridge.”

He’s nodding to himself, considering.

“We don’t have to decide anything now,” I continue. “But can we keep it on the table?”