Page 84
Rhiannon nodded, tears standing in her eyes. “They’re gone.”
Amy sagged against the chair, exhausted but trembling with release. “It feels… lighter.”
Sully rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes still on the closed journal. Rhiannon began collecting candles. Amy looked toward the brightening window. The sea outside was calm, its surface opal and smooth. She thought she had heard distant laughter.
Sully stepped beside her, and his palm found hers with unconscious familiarity.
They stood for a long moment, watching the thinning mist on the pines as it curled toward the sun and disappeared.
Chapter 30
The sun rose sharp and clear for the first time in a week, washing the wet roofs a new-penny color. Sully lingered in Amy’s kitchen longer than he meant to. The light caught auburn strands in her hair and turned them to copper.
“Don’t look so smug,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re only getting a good-day kiss because you made the coffee.”
He grinned and leaned closer. “I’m pretty sure the craftsmanship deserves a bonus.”
She reached up on her tiptoes to reach his lips. Her kiss was soft, quick, tasting of toothpaste and promise.
He still wasn’t used to the word us, which was pushing at the edge of his life, but he wasn’t stepping away from it. From her.
“So,” he said. “Today’s the day for the new railing on the grand staircase. The finished piece. No one’s laid eyes on it. It might even impress you.”
“I doubt might,” she said, picking up her keys. “Only will.”
Their banter steadied him. They drove separately over the short trip but pulled onto the long estate drive almost together. Now, their separate arrivals were not to keep their relationship from prying eyes—they were long past that—but for convenience, because each would head their own way at various times during the day.
Wind moved through the trees, sliding over the grass still flattened from last week’s storm. The mansion looked brighter now, the nearly completed restoration took hold like new skin.
Inside, Sully’s crew was already uncrating the carved oak rails he’d spent months shaping in his workshop. He ran his hands over the polished surface, feeling the light hum that only wood alive with oil and labor could hold.
“Careful with her,” he told Diego. “That curve’s the tricky part—get the weight wrong, she’ll split.”
When he first encountered the rotted original staircase, his heart had sunk. It was custom work, made for the mansion from one piece of solid oak. He wasn’t sure how he could replace it, but he had tried applying his artist talents to the wood.
As he watched, his crew set the piece into place, his chest ached with pride. Few things he built would last a century, but this one might. Each baluster was hand-cut, the newel posts crowned with an inlaid compass rose of walnut and maple. The grain glowed like honey.
When Amy came out of her office into the grand foyer, she froze. “Sully,” she said, her voice full of wonder, “it’s… beautiful.”
He shrugged, but the heat crept up his neck. “It’ll pass inspection, anyway.”
“This is wonderful, so much like the house,” she said, running her fingers along the rail. “Strong and graceful.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he went with the practical. “You’ve got your marketing thing with Kaitlin?”
“Lunch meeting. Her input in exchange for a free lunch.”
He nodded. “Seems like a fair trade.”
She kissed his cheek again. “When I get back, I’m showing you the first draft of the brochure.”
“Deal,” he said.
For an hour after she left, he stayed below the grand staircase, smoothing joints, checking sight lines. Every tap of his mallet struck to the same thought—maybe, finally, all of it was coming together.
By midday, the café in town smelled of espresso and fresh pastries, the soft clatter of mug against saucer steady as a heartbeat. Amy and Kaitlin had commandeered a corner table, sketches of logos scattered between open laptops, historical timelines were scratched onto notepads.
“So, tagline options,” Kaitlin said, tapping a pen against her notebook. “One, ‘Where History Heals.’ Two, ‘Reclaiming Widow’s Point.’ Three, ‘Past to Peace.’ Thoughts?”
