A single tear spilled over her lash line and onto his hand. Kate sniffled and pulled away. “Of course. Thanks.” He started to walk out, but Kate called after him. “Matt.”
“Yes?”
“If, for some reason, we can’t keep this place—” she started.
He cut her off. “I’ll buy it. Name your price, and I’ll buy it.”
Chapter 17—Clara
“Megan?”
Her sister answered the phone just before Clara suspected she was about to be hit with a voicemail greeting.
“Hey, Clara,” Megan replied. She sounded tired. Deflated. Disappointed, even?
“Where are you? Where are Kate and Amelia?”
“We’re here. At the house.”
Clara was about to untuck herself from her car, but waited instead. “You mean the Heirloom house?”
“Yep,” Megan answered.
Muffled barks floated through the walls of her unit down to her parking space at The Bungalows. Clara had always wanted a dog. But not a dog like Dobi, insecure and anxious. Always barking. Always wondering where Amelia was, no doubt.
Dobi was like a sweeter and more neurotic version of Trudy, Nora’s late Chihuahua. Trudy, the demon pup, as Clara had nicknamed her. The white miniature beast hated everyone except Nora. It was definitely for the best that the poor thing preceded her mistress in death, because Trudy would have been the one remnant of her mother’s estate that no one would fight for. Then again, that wasn’t true. In reality, Clara would have accepted Trudy with open arms. She’d be like a little version of Nora, terrorizing the town by day and stealing table scraps at night. Though, unlike Nora, Trudy didn’t mind an extra pound here or there.
Clara forced an errant sob back down her throat.
She wasn’t sure what her next move ought to be. Ask to talk to Kate and rip into her for hanging up? Pretend nothing was happening and just show up at the house. Surprise! Face me! Face the one who was left out of the will!
Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned into her seat back, waiting.
Megan murmured something to someone in the background, and Clara could have sworn she’d overheard a man’s voice. “Who’s that?” she asked, her eyes shut in the still, warm air of her car.
Her sister came back on the line. “Matt Fiorillo. He came by to ask about the house, actually.”
“What?” Clara’s eyes shot open. “What do you mean he asked about the house?”
“He wants to put an offer in, I guess. He and Kate chatted for a while and—”
Megan’s voice was cut in half, and then Kate’s replaced it. “Clara?”
Clara scowled. “You hung up on me.”
“Listen, I’m sorry. Why don’t you come over here, okay? To the Harbor Avenue house.”
“Fine,” Clara snapped, tapping her phone off. She was about to start the engine again but guilt nagged at her, and she went inside, clipped Dobi’s leash to his collar, and led him to the courtyard instead. It was a break for both of them and a moment for Clara to compose her thoughts and think about what it was she really wanted.
Because the time had come for her to ask for it.
***
“He said he’d make an offer.” Kate avoided Clara’s gaze.
“That’s why he came over?” Amelia asked, her eyes bulging. “He didn’t want to, like, talk?”
Clara watched as Amelia and Kate exchanged an unreadable expression.
“You called me over to tell me someone wants to buy the house? Are you also going to clue me in on the secret?” Clara stood in the doorway to the kitchen as her sisters sat at the table. Only Kate offered her a supplicating look.
“What secret?” Megan asked. “There is no secret. Mom left you out of the will because she was losing it.”
“Megan,” Kate hissed.
“It’s as much as we know, actually.” Amelia straightened in her seat and ran her hands down her thighs.
Evening had set over Birch Harbor, and the lake outside the kitchen windows glimmered in the backdrop.
Clara’s stomach started cramping. “So, then what’s the plan?” she asked at last, her hands clasped tightly below her waist.
“The plan is this,” Kate answered. As she spoke, Clara detected a delicacy in her words. A hesitancy, even. “We are going—well, I am going to Michael Matuszewski’s office first thing in the morning and filing an appeal.”
A heavy sigh filled Clara’s mouth and she pushed it out, nodding in agreement. “That’s great.” Her hands relaxed and she shoved each into her back pockets and leaned against the doorframe.
“And,” Kate went on, “once we get that in place, we’ll talk to Matt again. See if he’s serious and if he can make a reasonable offer.”
“What about the other properties?” Clara asked, drawing a fingernail to her lips and chewing distractedly. “And are we positive we want to sell?”
It was Megan who answered this time. She spoke softly, warmly even. It was a breath of fresh air after what felt like ages of attitude, like a flip had switched. “Hopefully, Clara, the appeal will result in an even split. I think our goal is one of two things, and that’s why you’re here.”
Lifting an eyebrow, Clara studied each of her sisters in turn. They seemed... sad. Anxious.
“Okay?” Clara asked, feeling all of her youth at that moment. Familiar anxiety bobbed at the surface of her mind, and she thought back to Mercy Hennings. Sweet Mercy who made a special trip to turn in her paper, on the brink of tears, praying to not get marked down. On her way out, Clara had all but bumped head on into Mercy’s dad as he was searching for the front door of the building. When Clara asked him if he was dropping something off, he must have realized she suspected his delivery was meant for her.
They exchanged a quick introduction, and Clara apologized that she couldn’t chat longer, promising him an extended conference at the end of the school year. He’d thanked her profusely, and she’d felt gratified to be in the presence of a supportive parent. In fact, the whole thing had been the highlight of her day.
“We have a proposal.” Amelia cut into Clara’s reverie, and she snapped out of it, listening now with acute focus. Amelia looked at Kate, who took over.
“Originally, it appeared that we’d have to liquidate in order to split everything evenly and adhere to the demands of the estate. That, or rent out and split the income. The second option would allow you to stay on at The Bungalows.”
“Right,” Clara interjected, unsure if she was following as well as she ought to be.
“But that’s our question for you, Clara,” Megan said. “Do you want to stay on at The Bungalows? Where do you see yourself?”
Clara frowned. She’d never once considered leaving her little one-bedroom by the Birch Harbor Bridge. It was a central location, and it was... actually, no. It wasn’t quite home. She opened her mouth, about to claim that she’d love to have the house. The one in which they currently met.
But that wasn’t true either.
Clara felt a disconnect from the house on the harbor. She tolerated life in Unit 2. Being relatively asocial and particularly disinterested in the regular maintenance and management that her position as property manager demanded, Clara realized she’d been living someone else’s life for a while.
A long while.
She’d been living the life Nora had assigned her to. Keeper of her mother. Middleman to her out-of-town sisters. Single, youthful spinster whose only real escape was work, of all things.
“I don’t want The Bungalows. And I don’t want this place either,” she answered, startling herself as much as the others.
“So what do you want, Clara?” Kate asked, cocking her head.
Clara swallowed and furrowed her brows as she stared off into the inky lake in the distance, the lake she swam alone in as a girl. The lake that boasted loud tourists on their weekender Jet Skis.
She thought of school and her students. The pile of papers to be graded each night. The literature-rich l
essons she’d pored over every weekend.
Mostly, she thought of her last days with their mother and the quiet time they shared, the private moments. Tending to Nora alone was hard. But it was an experience Clara wouldn’t give up—even if she had known what she knew now, about the will. And yet, it never provided the insight that they now desperately needed to solve the puzzle. Spending day after day at the cottage—night after night for weeks and then months had resulted in nothing but exhaustion. And now, confusion.
Mustering the energy to reply, Clara gave her sisters the truth. “I have no idea what I want.”
Chapter 18—Kate
There was no returning home. Not until the estate was settled and a firm plan was in place. And, although Kate could have either stayed at the house on the harbor or the cottage, she chose to bunk up with Megan on the pull-out sofa in Clara’s bungalow.
It was like a sleepover, and the meeting they’d had the night before softened the hardship of an extended stay in town. Then again, Kate had to admit that being back in Birch Harbor was more good than bad.
They’d wrapped up their meeting at the house and stopped by Fiorillo’s for a glass of wine. Clara had asked about Matt’s connection to the restaurant, which prompted Kate, Amelia, and Megan to question the girl’s knowledge of her own town.
Unwilling to discuss Matt Fiorillo one second longer, she’d batted away the topic, explaining to Clara that the owners were his folks. End of story. Nothing to see there.
Now, they were all tucked into their respective beds, Dobi whipping through the house like a maniac as Amelia and Clara giggled in the back bedroom like little girls.
“See what I have to put up with?” Megan asked Kate once the lights were out.
Kate nodded in the darkness and turned to face her sister. “Do you miss her?” she whispered to Megan, feeling sad all of a sudden.
“Who? Mom?”
“Yeah.” Kate tried to focus on Megan’s face, tried to assess her reaction. Her features. Her expression. But it was too dark. Megan was lying on her back, staring straight ahead, unmoving, as far as Kate could tell.
“Yeah. Of course. Just because things got bad at the end doesn’t mean I don’t miss her. She’s our mom. I love her. Loved her. Love her. Jeez. How do you talk about someone who’s dead, Katie?”
Kate smiled at the nickname. No one had called her Katie in years. Decades. “I know.” She let out a sigh and shifted under the covers, mirroring Megan and facing the ceiling. The shape of a modest ceiling fan whirred above, blowing Kate’s hair in ticklish wisps across her forehead. She hunkered down deeper in the covers.
“Do you miss her?”
Kate blinked at the question. “Mom? Of course.”
“Yeah, but... your relationship was... different. We all know that. At least, Amelia and I do.”
Considering this, Kate hesitated before answering. No matter what she said in response, she would never come close to articulating her real feelings, which were as complicated as the estate itself. And even if she offered a decent response, it would result in a lifting of the floodgates. Memories from the hardest years would pour out, and Kate would get no sleep.
“I loved Mom. Always will.” It was a simple answer. It should have been enough to end the conversation that Kate regretted ever opening. But it wasn’t, and Megan pressed on.
“Did you open the letter yet?”
Kate shook her head and pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth hard, willing away the tears that had climbed up the back of her throat.
Moments passed, and the tongue trick didn’t work. She gave in to quiet crying and pressed the heels of her hands as deep into her eyes as she could bear.
The bed creaked and dipped beneath Kate’s body, and she nearly fell into the middle toward Megan, who was wiggling closer. “It’s okay,” Megan whispered, slipping her arms around Kate and squeezing her shaking, sobbing body close. “It’s okay, sis.”
***
Megan had fallen asleep somewhere around ten or eleven. Kate waited until two in the morning until she gave up on any shuteye and snuck out of bed and to her purse.
She wasn’t quite sure what she was waiting for. A moment alone? A chance to breathe? Or, most likely, courage?
As Kate pulled the envelope from her purse, her heart pounded in her chest. Her mom could have said anything. It could be an apology. It could be a chastisement. It could be nothing, even. After all, in the past couple months, Nora’s downward spiral knew no bounds. She might have repackaged her electric bill, for all Kate knew.
She glanced back to ensure Megan was still asleep, then stole away through the backdoor and onto the quaint porch. There, propping her phone like a flashlight, she studied the white envelope, trying to make sense of the past day.
But she came up empty.
Quietly and delicately, Kate slid a finger beneath the far corner of the sealed flap, tugging the glue free in a smooth drag.
The letter was not, actually, a letter.
It was not an electric bill, either.
It was the torn page of a notebook or journal of some sort—unlined, beige, its edge revealing a hasty rip rather than a clean tear.
Kate frowned, her eyes dancing back and forth to make sense of what it was Nora had seen fit to leave.
But there was no puzzle in the handwriting. No evidence of delirium. Kate could see plainly what it was.
Nora’s personal diary. No more. No less.
A single-page entry wrought by the hand of a woman who made a decision, a decision that would change everything. And there it was, in all its glory, to push Kate over the edge of grief and confusion. To surprise her.
To ruin everything.
Chapter 19—Amelia
Clara had left for work. Kate was nowhere to be found. It felt like they were back to the drawing board with plans.
That would be all well and good if Amelia didn’t need to get back to New York. She had tips to earn and, maybe, a part to prepare for. The whole estate thing was turning into a bigger project than she’d have liked.
And now, with Clara acting despondent... the immediate future did not look bright.
Megan agreed, complaining in no uncertain terms that morning over coffee.
“Do you think she wants the cottage?” Megan asked, narrowing her eyes on Amelia suspiciously.
Amelia took a sip, and it scalded her tongue. She winced. “I have no idea. I think she just wants... normalcy. Right? I mean, don’t we all?”
Megan rolled her eyes. “I don’t see normalcy in our immediate future. We’ve only just begun uncovering issues with all this.”
Amelia considered her sister’s suggestion. “What do you mean ‘all this’?”
“Mom’s estate. Clara and Kate teaming up. Our past. All of it. We don’t even know what else is going to turn up from here on out. That lawyer acted like his four leather binders would answer everything. No. Too pat. Too neat. Especially for Nora.”
A defensive prickle climbed up Amelia’s spine, though she wasn’t sure who to defend. Poor handsome Michael? The man with his life together who was just trying to do his job? Or their mom, for weaving a web of secrets and promptly dying before a final showdown. “Michael’s just trying to help,” she started, trying again on her coffee, this time with more success. “And Mom was from a different time. A different era. She didn’t live her life online for the whole world to see. Of course we have to claw through some cobwebs.” Amelia involuntarily rested her gaze on Megan’s phone.
Tucking it away into her sweater pocket, Megan answered smoothly, “I beg to differ.”
“Oh?” Amelia replied, slurping down half her mug. She was going to need at least three more pots to make it through that day. Jimmy’s insistent presence. A problem with the estate. And now Megan, dredging up old wounds.
“When a woman puts her kids to work on her income projects while she flounces about at a country club for the weekend, I think it’s safe to say she is living out loud. Or... w
as, as the case may be.”
Shaking her head, Amelia couldn’t help but grin. “Touché.”
Kate and Megan carried hard feelings over how much they had to work growing up. Amelia, however, had enjoyed it. Perhaps, she was afraid to admit she was a little more like their mother. A little more interested in a publicly glamorous life, the same kind that Nora made happen. Did she pull it off by slave-driving her daughters?
Yes.
Did Amelia mind?
No.
Work hard, play hard. It was the adage Amelia had looked forward to most about growing up. Whenever that time came.
***
“I got a text from Kate.” Megan reappeared from the bathroom, her face scrubbed clean of the usual black eyeliner and pallid setting powder. She looked, for once, alive. Vulnerable, even.
Amelia smiled at her. “What did she say?”
“She had to run an errand. Something to do with Matt.” The two grinned at each other. “She said for us to go to Michael’s office and get the ball rolling with the appeal.”
“Can we do that without her?” Amelia asked, unhooking the leash from Dobi’s collar and letting him race free throughout the small living room. She’d never seen him as energetic as he’d been in Birch Harbor. Lakeside living suited him. Even in a little bungalow.
“I don’t know, but I’m not sitting around here waiting. If we aren’t moving on this, then I’m going back home. Sarah has been texting me nonstop. Brian can’t cook to save his life, and she’s stuck there alone with him.”
“I could think of worse people to be stuck alone with,” Amelia replied, grabbing her purse off the counter.
Megan frowned. “Oh, yeah? Like Jimmy?”
A cackle erupted out of Amelia’s mouth, and she quickly quelled it, bewildered by the outburst. “Sorry. I—I have no idea where that came from.”
“I made a joke. A sort of mean joke. You laughed. That’s where it came from.”
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