The Inn at Summer Island

by Rachel Magee

  “That’s actually what I’m here to talk about today. And it looks like my meeting just showed up.”

  “Well, I’ll let y’all get to it.” Bonnie slid the plate across the counter. “This one is on the house. Welcome to Summer Island, dear.”

  After the welcome she’d had so far, the sentiment warmed her heart. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Bonnie patted her hand. “We’ll catch up later.” Then she turned to the man walking up to the counter. “Morning, George. You must thank your wife for those tamales she brought over last week. They were divine.”

  George nodded amicably. “I’ll let Paula know you enjoyed them. She and her sister are talking about making another batch this weekend. I’m trying to persuade her to make some of her signature strawberry ones this time.”

  Millie carried her breakfast treats over to her table while the other two chatted for a second, then George Rodriguez joined her.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” He shook her hand before he sat in the chair across from her. “Thanks for agreeing to move our appointment from the office to the café this morning. I thought you might like a chance to experience Beach Front Drive on your first day in town.”

  Millie took a sip of her sweet coffee and glanced out the window at the charming storefronts lining the town’s main street. “It’s so unique. I can’t wait to check out some of the shops.”

  “Summer Island has a reputation for being a quaint beach town perfect for a relaxing getaway.” He set his briefcase on the table in front of him and flipped the top open. “Your aunt’s inn had a lot to do with starting that reputation. She offered beachside luxury with a small-town feel that helped put this town on the map.”

  “It seems the luxury part might have taken a hit in recent years.”

  George removed a neat stack of crisp folders from his briefcase before he closed it and set it on the floor next to him. “True. Mildred was a sweet lady, but she didn’t always know when to ask for help. The inn was far too much responsibility for her in the later years. She stopped being able to care for guests and the estate long before she stopped being able to care for herself.”

  The familiar pang of regret seared her heart. Maybe Mildred should’ve called to ask for help, but Millie should’ve checked on her. If she had come for a visit, like she always promised she would, things could’ve been different.

  “It is what it is,” George said, as if reading her thoughts. “Our job now is to make sure all the paperwork is in order so you can move forward.”

  Millie nodded and took another sip of her mocha, hoping the smooth chocolate flavor would carry away some of her lingering regret.

  George laid out two identical folders next to each other and opened both to the first page. “You signed most of the paperwork I had sent to you in Chicago. One final signature here will make the transaction complete.”

  She signed both pages.

  George stacked one of the folders in front of himself and handed the other to Millie. “Congratulations. You’re now the full owner of Seascape. Our next item of business is to talk about what you want to do with it.”

  He removed a single sheet of paper from the leather portfolio in front of him and slid it across the table. “Unfortunately, the house itself isn’t worth anything. Anyone who bought it would most likely tear it down. However, the land is quite valuable. This is the value of the property according to tax appraisals.”

  Millie skimmed through the legal jargon and the lines of specs until she got to a big number at the bottom of the page. She read it and then reread it, making sure she’d counted the right number of digits.

  She pointed to the number and looked up at George. “It’s worth that?”

  George nodded. “Being directly on the ocean with protected land on one side makes it quite rare and highly desired. This is only the tax appraisal. Like I mentioned before, you’ve already received offers on it. One in particular is especially interesting. I know you said you weren’t interested in selling, but you’d be remiss if you didn’t at least consider it.” He slid another formal-looking document in front of her and pointed to the number in the middle of the page.

  George must’ve thought interesting was a synonym for shocking, because that’s what the number in front of her was. “The tax appraisal was over a million dollars less than that.”

  “That’s not uncommon. Often there’s a discrepancy in the numbers, especially for a unique property like this one.”

  Millie stared at the number again. She could’ve worked fifty years at the job she just quit and still wouldn’t have made as much as this one sale would bring in. Of course, it wouldn’t be enough to make her a trust-fund baby, but it would be enough to make her financially secure. Perhaps even comfortable, something she’d never known.

  But just the thought of selling wrapped around her chest like a giant band, making it hard to breathe.

  She shook her head and slid the paper back across the table, letting her eyes linger on the massive number. “I can’t. It’s been in our family since the 1950s. It was…”

  Seascape and the two acres of oceanfront land it sat on was the only property any Leclair had ever owned. And now she was the only Leclair left. She wasn’t just trading security for a dream; she was holding on to what was left of her family’s legacy. If she sold their land, their legacy, to the highest bidder, then what was left? How long would it be before any trace of her family would vanish?

  “Sell Seascape? Of course you can’t sell it.” Bonnie appeared and set a cup of black coffee on the table next to George. “That place is an iconic part of this town.”

  George gave her a warning look, and Bonnie held her hands up, backing away slowly. “I’m not meddling. I’m simply stating facts.” She winked at Millie.

  “She’s right.” Confidence surged through her. “I can’t sell it.”

  George waited until Bonnie was out of earshot then heaved a sigh. “I had a feeling you would say that.” He pulled another sheet of paper from his fancy leather-bound folder and slid it across the table. “I also took the liberty of mapping out the estate’s current finances, so you’d know the fiscal state of the property.”

  The paper in front of her appeared to be some sort of spreadsheet with invisible lines dividing the big legal words on the left and the row of numbers on the right. She massaged her temples as she stared at the sheet, simultaneously trying to make sense of the numbers and push away the sinking feeling they caused as they dramatically shrank as they went down the page.

  He pulled a pen from his pocket and pointed to the numbers starting at the top. “We use the tax-appraised value of the estate instead of the market value, because that’s the number used for inheritance taxes, estimated here.”

  He pointed to the next number which made Millie swallow hard. It was big. Bigger than her annual salary.

  “We discussed that at our initial teleconference. You have more than enough liquid funds in your estate account to pay this. That balance is here.”

  He pointed to a different number and Millie breathed a sigh of relief that it was bigger than her proposed tax bill. So far, she was still in the black.

  “Of course, there’s no lean against the property, but you will still be responsible for property tax and insurance.” He paused and looked over his glasses at her. “With the risk of storms on the coast, it’s a bit costly. However, it is something you will want to keep.”

  Hurricanes. Right. Millie was so excited to escape shoveling snow she hadn’t even considered the kind of weather that caused problems here.

  “You’ll find that annual total here.” George circled another number. “And when both inheritance tax and annual property taxes along with insurances are subtracted, this is the remaining total.”

  He circled the smallest number at the bottom of the page.

  “Oh.”<
br />
  It was still a positive number, which was good. She wouldn’t have to dip into her personal bank account to pay the debts already owed, which was even better. But there was barely enough to live on for the two months she’d estimated it would take her to get the inn reopened.

  She’d also been hoping to use the money from the estate to renovate the house. Her aunt hadn’t done much with the place in the past few years, and being the responsible adult she was, Millie had made out a budget based on the money she thought there was left and the remodels she assumed she needed to make.

  The problem was the work needed was far more extensive than she’d imagined, and after all the extra expenses she hadn’t thought of, the amount left in the trust wasn’t enough.

  “Well…I guess I’ll have to work with that.” Millie smiled at George and took a sip of her coffee. So there wasn’t enough in the bank to do everything she wanted. She’d been singing that particular song her entire life. It didn’t make her dream of reopening Seascape impossible. It just made the process a little more complicated. But, like her dad had always said, all good stories had complications. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be worth retelling.

  Unfortunately, the dwindling bank account wasn’t the only complication in this story so far.

  “I had a talk with one of my neighbors yesterday,” she said. “He seemed to think Seascape couldn’t be reopened because of some HOA rule. That can’t be right, can it? Seascape Inn has been there longer than any of the other houses in the neighborhood.”

  George pulled a file folder from the bottom and opened it, removing the top document. “I looked into that like you asked. I made a copy of the particular rule that will affect you.”

  He handed her the stapled group of pages. She had to flip three pages until she found the highlighted section. Millie read it, trying to weed through the hereinafters and whereases to find the meat of the rule.

  “Basically,” George interrupted. “Article 11b says all commercial deals are prohibited on these properties. Article 11c goes on to directly prohibit hotel accommodations, which it defines as accepting payment for lodging for a single night up to 364 days.”

  The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened, making her regret eating her croissant so quickly. “So what does that mean for the inn?”

  “Unfortunately, the wording here is quite binding. The legal team that put this together was very thorough. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fight it. In fact, in my personal opinion, you should fight it.”

  Millie nibbled on her lip, commanding the welling tears to stay behind her lids. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do in this situation, but she was positive crying wasn’t it. “I don’t have the first idea of how to do that.”

  George nodded, a warm glint shining in his sage eyes. “I contacted the HOA and their next general meeting is tomorrow night. Their bylaws also state that all grievances and formal complaints have to be presented in person by the resident.” He closed the folder in front of him and passed it across the table to her. “However, I made a few notes of arguments I might make if I found myself in a similar situation.”

  Millie opened the folder and skimmed the top page. It had dates, times, and locations of all the meetings she would need to attend as well as arguments for each of the rules. Of course, this was just an outline and she would still have to do a lot of work to make the arguments her own, but at least she was pointed in the right direction. The iron knot in her shoulders started to release a bit.

  She closed her folder and rested her hand on top. “Thank you,” she said. “This means a lot.”

  George placed his remaining neat stack of folders into his briefcase and closed the lid.

  “All you need is a solid case backed in evidence and a lot of passion.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin before he stood. “Nothing is impossible. There are simply some tasks that require more effort than others.”

  The familiar words warmed Millie’s heart and made her smile. “Aunt Mildred used to say that.”

  George nodded. “Her wisdom shaped a lot of lives around here. Once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Guilt, sadness, and a whole lot of other feelings she couldn’t quite identify pulsed through her, bringing a fresh round of tears to her eyes. She tried to utter the words “thank you” but they got clogged in her throat.

  George seemed to interpret what she wanted to say and picked up his briefcase in preparation to leave. He stopped when he got next to her and laid a weathered hand on her shoulder. “I’ll keep working on this problem.” He crossed the shop and the bell above the door jingled as he exited.

  Millie took another sip of her coffee and stared at the file folders in front of her, trying to decide where to start. It was like looking at a Jeopardy board full of topics she had absolutely no knowledge of. In her mind, moving down here and taking over her aunt’s business wasn’t going to have as many hoops to jump through.

  “I’ll take Financial Woes for a thousand, Alex,” she said to herself as she lifted the center folder and flipped it open. She’d just settled into her chair to try to get a better grasp on all the numbers in front of her when Bonnie reappeared to clear the abandoned dishes from the table.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation about the HOA rules. If you ask me, it’s ridiculous. Mildred’s inn has been renting rooms since before this town was even a town. To outlaw it now would be a travesty.”

  Millie couldn’t help her smile. “Thanks. It means a lot to know I have people on my side.”

  Bonnie gave her hand a gentle squeeze then released it. “If you don’t mind me asking, which neighbor was it that told you about this new rule?”

  “Braxton Channing.” Millie wanted to add “you know, the former golf star,” but thought better of it.

  There might’ve been a time when Millie had a small crush on America’s favorite golfer. With that smile of his, who could blame her? She wouldn’t admit it if asked, but she watched him more than once on a late-night show and read a few articles about him in a gossip magazine. That funny, charismatic guy who took the media by storm barely resembled the stiff and serious man she’d met the day before.

  Bonnie pursed her lips. “Ahhh. Sweet Braxton. He’s gotten progressively pricklier over the past few years.” She picked up the dishes she had stacked. “But don’t be fooled. Underneath all that pain, he has a good heart.”

  “Pain. What pain?”

  Bonnie looked surprised. “I only assumed you knew. Most people know about Braxton’s story. You know who he is, right?”

  Millie nodded. “America’s Favorite Golfer. Or at least he was until he left.”

  Bonnie nodded. “I’m not sure there was anyone who ever loved the game more than he did. And I’m not sure anyone played it more successfully, until that night.” Sadness swept over her features and she lowered her head. “He hasn’t been the same since.”

  It was on the tip of Millie’s tongue to ask what happened when they were interrupted by the jingle of the door. Bonnie’s attention turned to the delivery man struggling to get through the door with a stack of unwieldy boxes on a dolly.

  “Oh my goodness, Seth. Let me help you with those.” Bonnie rushed over, chattering in her cheerful voice the whole time.

  Millie picked up her mug in both hands and settled back in her chair, mentally compiling her to-do list. At the top of it was find out exactly what happened to her overly serious, formerly famous neighbor, Braxton Channing. Right after she figured out how to get the electricity turned on in her house and memorized what George recommended she say at the HOA board meeting, of course.

  Chapter Three

  Millie arrived at the Oceanside Estates HOA meeting ten minutes before it started.

  Her hair was still wet because, regardless of how much she pleaded with the electric company, they swore it was impossible to restore electrici
ty to the property until the following day. Luckily the hot water heater was gas operated, so her shower was at least pleasant. But she had grossly underestimated the amount of time it took for her hair to air-dry in this southern humidity. The Lowcountry climate was going to take a little getting used to.

  Millie followed the signs through the golf course’s clubhouse until she found the room she was looking for. It was smaller than she’d imagined, with a long boardroom-style table taking up most of it. Of course, she didn’t expect the board members to be wearing white wigs and dressed in black robes, because imagining this to be like English Parliament would have been foolish, right? But a group of people dressed in shorts and fancy flip-flops chatting over a charcuterie board was as far from anything she’d imagined as possible. If it wasn’t for the sign on the door, she would’ve thought she was in the wrong place.

  After a couple of questioning stares were thrown in her direction, she drew in a deep breath and stepped into the room. If she was going to be the shot-caller in her new life, she’d have to be willing to fight for things from time to time. She just wished she didn’t have to be so alone while she did it.

  She flipped open the leather-bound folder she was holding and glanced at her notes. According to the information George had given her, she had to register her official complaint on the docket before the meeting started. But where in this room of cozy friends and casual conversation did she find the docket?

  A woman about her age in a brightly colored sundress and the most fabulous wedges Millie had ever seen came up to her. “You look like you could use some help. Can I point you in the right direction?”

  “I could use a lot of help, actually. I just moved here and this is my first time at one of these things. I need to sign the docket but I’m not even sure what that is.”

  The stranger brightened. “Well, you’re in luck. The secretary has the docket and I happen to be the secretary. I’m Sophia Gonzaga.”

  “Sophia? Are you the one who makes the chocolates?”