“Is it as challenging as everyone claims it is?”
“No. I love having my niece here—not that I see her that often. After school she’s either playing her flute in the band or practicing with her friend. In the evenings, she spends most of her time upstairs doing homework. I don’t remember being that disciplined when I was her age.”
“Maybe it’s not that she’s so disciplined. Maybe she’s avoiding you.”
“Hey! I’m not that uncool.”
“The fact that you’d say uncool shows just how uncool you are,” Lauren kidded her. “But I didn’t mean that. I meant maybe you never see her because she doesn’t want to be seen… Have you considered she might be hiding something?”
No, I only think that way about my cousin. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, it could be anything. When my niece started withdrawing from my brother and his wife, they thought it was typical teenage behavior, but it turned out she was pregnant. And my coworker just found out her kid’s addicted to dexies—”
“Dexies? I don’t know what they are but I can assure you my niece isn’t addicted to them,” Zoey interrupted. “And there is no way she’s pregnant.” She’d just begun feeling more confident that Gabi seemed to be doing well and Lauren’s remarks were discouraging. “Just because she made one mistake in California doesn’t mean she’s continuing down the wrong path.”
“That’s true,” Lauren acknowledged. “But even if she were struggling, I wouldn’t judge her—or you. I’m not judging my brother’s family, either. I’m just saying it’s different from when we were young. Kids are dealing with all kinds of stuff we never had to face. You wouldn’t be the first parent who found out her child was keeping something serious from her.”
“Yeah, well, Gabi’s not keeping anything serious from me and I’m not a parent.”
“Actually, Zo, right now you kind of are.”
“But no pressure, right?”
After their phone call ended, Zoey helped her aunt prepare supper. As usual, Gabi was eating at Amy’s house—an occurrence that now gave Zoey pause. She’d been trying not to be overly restrictive about her niece’s schedule because she knew Gabi had been burdened by Scott and Kathleen’s problems this past year. Zoey remembered what that felt like from when she was a teenager and her own parents were at each other’s throats all the time. So she’d wanted her niece to enjoy the freedom of being away from that. The freedom of being young. But after talking to Lauren, Zoey wondered if she should be limiting how much time Gabi spent at her friend’s house. She decided to have a heart-to-heart with Gabi when they had a little time alone, just to make sure everything was okay with her.
“Still no word from the library?” her aunt asked as they sat down in the formal dining room to begin their meal. Ivy preferred they eat in there these days, even when it was just the two of them.
“Not yet, but that’s okay. It’s better not to hear anything than to have them confirm they’ve rejected me as a candidate.” Zoey hoped she sounded convincing. Mark had been calling their aunt every day since Monday’s miscommunication and each time she got off the phone Ivy remarked about how worried she was about him. Zoey didn’t want her aunt fretting about her, too.
“I see,” she replied, absently poking at her potato.
Halfway through her meal, Zoey noticed her aunt had hardly touched hers. “Is the fish too dry?” she asked. The new oven was much more efficient than the old oven and Zoey had overcooked the first few meals she’d made in it.
“No, it’s fine.” Ivy set down her fork. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about. I’ve hesitated to bring it up, but it’s been eating at me for days and I can’t keep it to myself any longer. Mark tried to tell me way back when, but I didn’t want to accept it. I wanted everything to stay as it was.”
Oh, no! Zoey pressed her napkin to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Mark did it—he wore Aunt Ivy down. She dropped her hand flat against the table, steeling herself for her aunt to tell her she was moving into an assisted living facility. “You didn’t want to accept what?”
“I loved my sister-in-law, but now that she’s gone…” Ivy bit her bottom lip and shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.
Zoey waited a moment before prompting, “Now that she’s gone, you want to…”
“To make another change,” Ivy confirmed. “And I hope you won’t be too disappointed in me.”
No, but I am furious at Mark. Zoey took a sip of ice water to dilute the bitter taste in her mouth before she could say, “Aunt Ivy, it’s your life and your house—so as long as it’s your choice, I’ll support whatever you do.”
“Oh, I am so relieved to hear that.” Blinking away her tears, she patted Zoey’s hand. “Because now that the new range is installed, it makes the rest of the kitchen look so… It’s unsightly by comparison. I don’t even like to dine in there any longer. I feel terrible saying that because I know how much thought Sylvia put into designing the room. But I think if we’d had to replace the stove while she was here and she saw how mismatched the new one was with everything else, she’d want to make additional updates, too. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do,” Zoey agreed matter-of-factly even though she could hardly contain her glee that she’d been wrong that her aunt had given in to Mark about moving. And they could get Ivy involved with the minutiae of planning the remodel just as Ivy had involved Sylvia after her son, Marcus Jr., moved to Boston. “What would you like to change? The cupboards? The countertops? The fridge?”
“All of it. Everything but the kitchen sink, as the saying goes.” Ivy chortled. “Although, I’d change that, too, if I could.”
“You can, Aunt Ivy. I’ll show you some examples of sinks online. This will be fun!”
“We’ll have to get the Armstrong boy to do the work. I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”
“The Armstrong boy?” Zoey teased, “You mean Aidan?”
“Right. Aidan,” her aunt answered sincerely. “He’s such a fine craftsman.”
Zoey was gripped by momentary apprehension. Had Ivy been calling Nick the Armstrong boy because she couldn’t keep him and his son straight in her mind? It’s no big deal, she convinced herself. They look like twins. I used to get Erik’s sisters’ names mixed up, too. I’m overthinking it because of Mark’s comments.
Then it occurred to her that Mark would have a conniption if he knew Ivy was going forward with the remodel without his input. But with any luck, by the time he visited Hope Haven next, the remodel would be completed and it would be too late for him to try to interfere.
On Sunday, Nick presented Ivy with a tall bottle in a wine tote. It turned out to be gourmet extra-virgin olive oil from Sicily. Although the teenagers were still outside, he confided softly, “I would have brought wine but… I didn’t know if that would be appropriate.” Zoey wasn’t sure what he meant by that but she figured it had something to do with Aidan’s stepfather being an alcoholic.
“It’s a lovely gift, Nicholas. Thank you,” Ivy said and Zoey was relieved to notice she had no difficulty with his name.
Then he handed Zoey a plain white paper bag. She peeked inside: it contained a quart of choco-cran ice cream. Before she could thank him, Aidan came in with the other kids. “Hello, Mrs. Cartwright. Hi Zoey. Special delivery.” He held up another white bag. It held a second quart but this time it was strawberry ice cream.
Zoey couldn’t stop smiling; not only did Nick remember her favorite flavor, but somehow he knew and remembered her aunt’s, as well. How could I have ever thought he and Mark were two of a kind? she asked herself. Mark doesn’t even remember the name of Aunt Ivy’s heart condition.
Gabi came downstairs just then and introduced Amy and Connor, who had gotten a ride with Nick and Aidan. It took a second for Zoey to recognize Connor as the boy who gave her niece a tour on the first day of school. He seemed self-conscious, as if he couldn’t decide where to stand and he kept pushing his glasses up on his nose. By
contrast, Amy made herself right at home, plunking into a chair, cuddling Moby to her chest and blathering merrily to whoever made eye contact with her, including the cat. Connor chuckled at everything she said, so Zoey couldn’t tell whether he was interested in or going out with her, or if he was just nervous.
After serving cold drinks, Ivy chased everyone except for Zoey out of the kitchen so they could put the finishing touches on supper. Aidan had brought the croquet set down from the attic while he was waiting for his father to return on the day Zoey injured herself, so Gabi and Amy challenged Aidan and Connor to a game and Nick watched them play until Zoey summoned them back inside.
In-between lively conversation and good-natured banter, the seven of them polished off both pans of lasagna; to Ivy’s delight even Gabi had a second helping. Whether it was because she was enjoying all the youthful energy in the house, because Nick had been so thoughtful or because her aunt seemed more vivacious than she’d been all week, Zoey didn’t want the festive occasion to end and their guests to leave.
So she was glad that when they finished eating, Amy asked if the teenagers could go up on the widow’s walk. Ivy told them they were welcome to, but Gabi hesitated. “Let’s go to the beach instead.”
“Why don’t you want to go to the widow’s walk? Are you worried because I told you I saw a couple of gigantic spiders in the attic the other day?” Aidan heckled her.
“Spiders?” Connor ran his palm over the back of his head as if he was smoothing down a cowlick. “I’m not going up there.”
“What’s the matter? You afraid they might build a nest in your hair?” Aidan razzed him.
“I’m not afraid,” Amy boasted. “I’ll go with you, Aidan.”
“I’m not afraid, either,” Gabi scoffed. “You sure you don’t want to come, Connor?”
“No. I mean yeah. I don’t want to go. Spiders freak me out,” he admitted, which, in an ironic way, struck Zoey as a brave thing to do.
While the other three went up to the roof, Connor remained in the dining room with the adults. Beneath the table, he jiggled his leg so fiercely that Zoey felt queasy from the vibrations. In an attempt to quell his anxiety and simultaneously get more information about her niece’s social life, she asked, “How do you and Gabi know each other, Connor?”
As soon as she asked it, Zoey recognized it was a stupid question since obviously they knew each other from going to the same high school on a small island, but she was new to this kind of parental detective work.
“Yeah, so.” Connor adjusted his glasses on his nose. “She’s in group with me.”
Zoey didn’t know whether that meant a group chat or if that was what high school home room was called now or what. “Oh, right, group. That’s…” she left her voice drift off, hoping he’d fill in the blank so she wouldn’t seem so out of touch.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays after school. Sometimes on Saturday morning, too, but that’s rare. No one wants to get up that early.”
Oh, this must have something to do with band practice, Zoey realized. Gabi had mentioned the band teacher occasionally divided them into groups accordingly to their abilities. “What instrument do you play?”
Connor abruptly pushed his chair back. “’Scuse me. I’m going to see if I can spot them on the roof.”
“Be careful,” Nick warned. “Knowing Aidan, he brought water balloons with him.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
After the door slammed behind Connor, Zoey told Nick about Ivy’s plan to remodel the rest of the kitchen and asked if he could take on the project. After deciding that Nick could start as soon as possible, in-between his other jobs—which pleased Zoey, as it would give Mark less time to find out and interfere—she left Nick and her aunt chatting about colors and design as she took care of the dishes.
When the teenagers returned from the widow’s walk and announced they were going to Rose Beach, the adults settled down with ice cream and the cribbage board. But after just one game, Ivy declared, “It’s almost time for the sun to set. If you hurry, you kids can watch it from the widow’s walk.”
Subtle, Zoey thought, but for once she didn’t mind her aunt’s efforts to push her and Nick together. He seemed game, too, saying, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
He followed her up the stairs and once they reached the landing in the attic, Zoey started toward the foldable ladder in the ceiling between the two chimneys. But Nick veered toward Sylvia’s trunks on the side of the room. He pushed on the plywood in several places, presumably to test Aidan’s handiwork in securing it to the joists.
Then he crouched down, running his hand over the solid floor. “Do you know what it is?”
“Dust? Some kind of pollen?”
Nick chuckled. “No. Come here, look. I’m almost positive this is the house’s original flooring—it’s probably close to two hundred years old.”
He explained that in the early 1800s, builders often used very long, wide-plank boards—up to 14 or 16 feet long and 18 to 24 inches wide—because they covered more space and needed fewer joints and fasteners. Since attic flooring wasn’t treaded on as frequently as the flooring in the rest of the house, some of the original saw marks hadn’t been worn away. Nick pointed to what looked like dark, thin stripes running across the width of the boards. “See?”
“Yeah, well if you were two hundred years old, you’d have a few flaws, too.”
“These aren’t considered flaws—they’re considered a rare find. Some people go out in search of old attics and barns so they can reclaim wood like this and use it in remodels or for other purposes.”
“Oh. You’re not going to suggest that Aunt Ivy puts this in the kitchen, are you? She’s open to some superficial changes, but it would unsettle her if you started ripping up the floors.”
“No, I wasn’t thinking of that at all. The floor in the kitchen looks like it’s pretty old, too, which is why I steered her away from covering it with tile. It’s been stripped and painted over a few times, but it’s still very valuable and with a little gentle sanding, I think it’ll look amazing. But this—this is really something.”
Just don’t tell Mark about it or he’ll try to auction it online or something—if he hasn’t already, Zoey thought. “We’d better get going or we’ll miss the show,” she said, gesturing to the hatchway.
She climbed the ladder first, emerging onto the platform, which was bordered by a low, white balustrade made of square-top wooden spindles. Moments later, Nick joined her. Facing the back yard, he rotated slowly, clearly awestruck by the sweeping view of the island and seascape: the lowland behind Ivy’s place, with its mix of quaint cottages and expansive summer homes, as charming as dollhouses. The neat, verdant lawns eventually gave way to hills scattered with pitch pines and junipers. A long stripe of blond dunes stretched beneath a wider stripe of the ocean, which in this light appeared royal blue. And all of it capped by a pastel sky—so much sky!
The scenery was similar to the left and right, with landmarks from the neighboring towns which made up Hope Haven—including Port Newcomb’s ferry dock and the boardwalk in Lucinda’s Hamlet—as well as marshlands, streams and kettle ponds. In the direction of the front yard was the bay, its water a glimmering mirror; its harbor, lighthouse and jetty, a postcard.
“I’ve worked on a lot of houses and I’ve seen a lot of incredible views, but this perspective beats them all,” Nick commented.
“Yeah. It’s hard to choose which way to look because there’s so much beauty in every direction and I don’t want to miss any of it.”
But since they’d come to see the sun set, they faced west. Ivy was right: they arrived just in time. The sky over the bay was streaked with enough clouds to emphasize the dramatic hues—orange and yellow, pink and purple—without obscuring the golden sun as it dipped closer and closer to the horizon.
They were both quiet, squinting toward the horizon as the disc appeared to slip behind the bay. When it did, they automatically applauded; a popular Dune Island
tradition. But Zoey continued to watch the setting. She’d always liked the after-effects of the sunset as much as the sunset itself, especially at low tide, when long rows of shallow pools reflected the pink sky and contrasted with intermittent strips of damp, dark sand. And because she didn’t know when she’d have the opportunity to chat with Nick alone again, this evening she particularly wanted to linger in the dusky glow.
“I’m glad you’re going to work on Aunt Ivy’s kitchen. She’s really excited about it and it will be nice to see you around,” she hinted.
“Yeah, I’m glad, too. I wish I could do the entire project right away, but like I said, I’ve got to work straight out for the next couple of weeks and it will have to fit in around that. It was a slow winter, and right now the island is inundated with seasonal carpenters. They come here to work for guys who’ve been in business here a lot longer than I have. So I can’t afford to turn down any projects. Especially since I, uh, I’ve got a, a kind of major debt I need to repay ASAP.”
Ordinarily, Zoey would have considered it prying to ask about his finances, even if he was the one to bring it up. But he seemed so nervous that it made her uneasy, too. “Like, what, a gambling debt?” she questioned, only half-joking.
“No. Nothing like that.” He hesitated before explaining that Aidan’s situation at home with his stepfather had contributed to the teenager failing some of his classes at school and getting into some major arguments with his friends. Nick felt like his son needed counseling and more support than he knew how to give him, so he’d encouraged Aidan to go to a type of treatment center for children of alcoholics. “The program wasn’t covered by insurance so I had to pay out-of-pocket. I’d do it again in a heartbeat because it was a huge help to him, but it was also super expensive.”
Touched that he’d confided in her, Zoey shared a little about Gabi’s situation, too. And she asked Nick to tell her more about his family, his home and growing up on Dune Island. He said he had two sisters and his parents were married for forty-three years before his mother passed away. His father died two years after that.
Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner Page 17
