by Mari Labbee
She didn’t ask who “we” was. She waited a moment before asking, “How much?” The sound of her voice, steady and strong, surprised her. She sounded confident, but she didn’t feel it.
“Well,” he continued, “after deducting what I paid the contractor and the down payment, and it turns out there are more expenses related to…”
What was he talking about?
“What!” she yelled.
Winnie and Pooh, startled, stared up at her, ears up, heads cocked to one side—the same side.
“I’m the one who paid to get the construction loan and the down payment. All the expenses were very clear. There should be no surprises there. I paid all the up-front costs, as I arranged for them. And if you remember, we had agreed that improvements would be agreed to by both of us and—”
He interrupted her and began itemizing expenses she hadn’t ever heard of. She didn’t know what he was trying to pull, but there was no way he’d get away with it. She was livid. It occurred to her he might be trying to bring her portion of the value down through made-up expenses. It also occurred to her that he might be trying to wear her down so she’d throw her hands up and just basically walk away, selling it to him for whatever he would give her. Her hands felt hot, almost as hot as the ear she was holding the cell phone up to.
“Let’s not let the past affect our friendship,” he said. “I would have thought you’d want me to buy you out, but we need to be fair,” he said, sounding meek.
He didn’t have a meek bone in his body; she knew that now. Suddenly she remembered something and almost laughed aloud, but she let him continue before speaking.
“You know, all that is perfectly fine with me,” she said calmly. “I’ll have an appraiser over there by the end of the week.”
“Great, that’ll be our starting point. We can deduct the unforeseen expenses from whatever figure the appraisal comes in at.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I was thinking more like fifty-fifty of whatever the appraisal comes in at plus the down payment I fronted. Let’s just split the difference.” She waited.
“Come on, Sabrina, there is no way we’re just going to split this fifty-fifty. I’ve put up…” She let him go on.
What she had just remembered a moment earlier was that he had insisted they take title to the townhouse in a way that would allow one of them to sell his or her share without the other’s consent. He had given her the leverage she needed. The townhouse was his baby. He’d worked shoulder to shoulder with the architect he had driven crazy with all changes he wanted to make. He picked out the impractical white pine flooring, and even though they had shopped for the furniture together—who was she kidding—the purchases were all his. His taste ran to sharp angles, and whenever she pointed to a comfortable slip-covered chair, he had scrunched up his face in what she had thought at the time was the cutest way. No, he wouldn’t want to share it.
She interrupted him. “Well, Ryan, what do you propose we do about this?”
“You could take my offer. It’s a fair one, and this will all be over quickly.”
She would have laughed if she weren’t so angry. Her voice dropped an octave.
“Either you buy me out at fifty percent of the appraisal, or we sell it or…” She paused for full impact. “I sell my interest in it, and you end up co-owning with a stranger.”
There was complete silence on the other end. Then after almost a minute, he responded.
“You know, technically, you’ll need a court action and…”
Ah, he had spoken to lawyers. Well, that made sense; there were plenty in the family. He droned on with the big lawyer words, trying to intimidate her.
“Call me when you’re ready to buy me out,” she said and ended the call.
She was proud of herself. She had managed to sound confident, but her hands were still shaking. When she first heard his voice, she had felt a momentary glimmer of hope that he might be calling to…if not reconcile, at least apologize. How could that be? Why would she even want that? But this call made it very clear that he had moved past whatever she thought they had. So that was it. Despite that truth, her heart still felt broken. She felt the warmth of tears threaten, and she quickly drew in a deep breath to fight them. Winnie and Pooh instinctively drew near.
“So what do you guys think?” she asked them. “Should I try to win him back?” They looked up at her; she could have sworn they smiled. “Nah, I didn’t think so, either. Let’s go to the doggie bakery and get you guys some cookies.”
At the mention of cookies, a word they knew well, they jumped up with tails wagging in unison. This made her smile.
Once Ryan realized she was quite serious about selling her interest, he’d come to his senses and actually become quite civil. There was some back-and-forth between them or, rather, their real-estate agents and lawyers. He had proposed paying her back slowly. A payment plan? That left her scratching her head, considering who he was. What she had learned then was that he was actually on a short leash, living strictly on what his trust fund allowed and no more. There was no way he could get his hands on a big chunk of money unless his father or uncle gave it to him, and it seemed one of them had finally agreed to that. And that was a little bit sad, she thought. So much made sense now. That’s why he had to come into the company from the bottom. He had to prove himself to them, and maybe marriage was part of that. No wonder she was the one who had to come up with the big down payment. Now she had become an immovable force; it was all over rather quickly after that.
With all the drama behind her, she’d found herself with nothing to do-and worse-nobody to talk to. Pat was gone now. All the people she knew, she came to realize, were acquaintances, and acquaintances were essentially just familiar strangers: her trainer at the gym, her neighbor (who listened as best she could, dear old thing), and a couple of former colleagues who had secretly asked her to lunch. They all got a very high-level version of her sad little story. There was no family. Her father had died years ago during her first year of college, and she never knew her mother, as she had died when she was just a baby. She had no brothers or sisters. Everyone in her life was an acquaintance. There was so much she wanted to talk about, but there was no one there.
She thought about Pat often. She would’ve turned to her, but where was she now? Bri didn’t want to know. She found it ridiculous on so many levels to find herself in this situation.
How could this be? It was a hard reality to face. She was completely alone, and she cried when it dawned on her.
There was virtually no forethought put into the call she made to Dana. One morning her earring fell off the dresser and rolled underneath it. She found it and Dana’s card, which had floated out of her suitcase while unpacking, and it had laid there for weeks. She looked at the card and then picked up the phone. Her fingers tapped out the number quite on their own without her say-so. Why she had even saved the card was a mystery in and of itself.
Was the house on Jackal’s Head Point still for sale?
Yes, it was.
Jumping into the deep end was something she never did, not when she was twelve at camp, not ever—and this was murky water at best. It was completely unlike her. When Dana called back to let her know that her offer was accepted and the property on Jackal’s Head Point was hers, something inside her leaped free. This crazy thing seemed right.
The notion of owning a lighthouse as part of the bargain thrilled her, but she was still confused as to why it was part of the deal. Dana had explained. If a lighthouse has little historical significance, has outlived its usefulness, or the budget to maintain it dries up (which was usually the case), it was sold like any other property. But it was rare. She was about to join the ranks of a minuscule minority. During escrow, Dana had suggested the property would make an excellent inn or a bed-and-breakfast. Up until that moment, Bri hadn’t given any thought to what she was going to do with the house, other than live in it, and an inn actually sounded like a good idea, exciting. S
he’d run both small and large projects for Restart—she felt uniquely qualified for this. She could transform it. One thing became clear as the weeks wore on: it was time for her to get back to work. The house would be her work. She would bring it back from the dead, make it her own, and build a new life in the process.
She wondered—more than once—why it had sat abandoned for so long. And why the owner had finally come around to selling it. Through it all, though, it never occurred to her to walk away, not even once.
The one thing she hadn’t thought of at all since she last saw Jackal’s Head Point was the story Chris Cutter had told her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She headed down the stairs, careful not to run her hand along the wooden banister, ready for another day of work and wishing she was further along after all this time. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was ill prepared for what she had gotten into. Foolishly, she had thought that she alone would be able to do the majority of the work; so far, that wasn’t going well.
At the bottom of the stairs, she turned toward the kitchen, passing through the foyer first, which felt exactly as it had the first day she walked in. For all its beauty, it was an airless chamber that still smelled of decades-old dust, and it would remain so until the windows were unstuck. She coughed suddenly.
As the coffee brewed, she reviewed the calendar she kept by the coffee maker. She was careful about making sure to write in all appointments; if it wasn’t on the calendar, then it simply wasn’t. It was the only way she could keep track of things these days.
Laundry—there it was in blue marker. “Ugh,” she said to herself. At some point that day, she needed to go into Pegottie, and she hated making that sixty-minute trip in. The road was circuitous and long, and it was the only way in and out of Jackal’s Head Point. There were no real appliances in the house yet, not because she hadn’t gone out to buy any but because the house’s old wiring just wouldn’t allow it. A countertop microwave, toaster, coffee maker, and a small electric cooler that held a carton of eggs, butter, and a jar of mayonnaise with little room for much else was all the modernity it could handle for the moment. The commercial-grade refrigerator and stove she wanted would have to wait until the electrical was updated. In the pantry was a pitcher of water and one of tea, peanut butter, crackers, and bread, all there because none required refrigeration. Nobody delivered this far out, so breakfast, lunch, and dinner varied only with whether she toasted or didn’t toast the bread for her peanut-butter sandwich or had scrambled eggs—again.
So far, two electricians had come out, but after she called one a half dozen times, using her sweetest voice and a chipper hope-to-hear-from-you-soon ending but no return call, she figured he was either completely unreliable or not interested in doing the job. The other one, well, she couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. He kept saying he’d be by, but then he never came. As she feared, the distance added to their costs; none had even bothered to give her a rough estimate. It wasn’t worth their time, and she couldn’t blame them. The costs she had figured it would take to remodel had to be multiplied by two, or more. She was burning through capital fast.
She had hoped that once the house was complete, she might convert it to an inn or bed-and-breakfast. The location just begged for it. But by the time the house got done, there might not be anything left to start a business, anyway. She chewed the corner of her lower lip. She had to find someone who would work within her budget.
But back to the important stuff—the windows. She had discovered that all of them—every single one—were stuck shut as if someone had glued them to the sills. Except for the windows in her room on the second floor, the most she had been able to open any of the others was a mere inch or two, which barely let in any air at all. Because of this, she opened the front door first thing every morning and left it open all day. But that was no easy task, and it only helped a little.
She dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and then opened the kitchen drawer. The earplugs were next to the old brass key, the one that had been on the key ring Dana had given her at escrow close, but so far hadn’t fit any of the locks, including the lighthouse. She grabbed the earplugs and headed outside.
The first time she’d tried to open the front door, it took all the brute force her five-five frame could muster, which was no match for a rusted-shut door. In time, though, she’d worked out an efficient method. Working from the outside, with one hand flat against the door, she twisted the handle and lifted the door slightly as she pushed. The rusted hinges screamed for dear life (that’s what the earplugs were for). She pushed until it wouldn’t move another inch, and that was about a foot. Even so, that little bit made all the difference, and as soon as it was open, an impatient breeze blew through, and the house breathed.
She would work on the windows again today. Maybe just focus on a few of the back windows—that might get a good cross breeze going. But it would wait until after breakfast.
She took her toast and coffee outside where she had set up a makeshift courtyard of sorts in the garden ruins. Two plastic lawn chairs and an upturned bucket, which served as a table, were placed under the shade of an old oak that mostly belonged to the woods. She set the toast and coffee on the bucket. Then she pulled her cell phone from her back pocket—three bars—it was better outside than inside. Internet was the other obstacle she was working on. She had called the cable company to come out and install cable; they had been very nice and were considering it. It was complicated this far out-it was in committee; and yes, she would have to pay. Then there was the well. It was all in perfect order, but in conversation with the inspector about the size of the pump, she’d mentioned she was hoping to convert the place into an inn, and he advised she should immediately begin the process to connect to the county line. Otherwise, they might not allow her to operate an Inn. Yes, that too would be expensive. She, of all people, should have anticipated these things buying an old house. The mystery of why she had moved forward with this purchase and nary a thought to the pitfalls surfaced once again.
She sighed deeply. There was a voice mail. It was from Dana, letting her know that she was sending over someone who just came available. “Best craftsman around…usually booked…he’s fair, won’t overcharge you, or I’ll kill him,” Dana said, laughing. “He’ll be there today, sometime after noon.”
Best craftsman around. Bri set her cell phone on the bucket. “Sounds expensive.”
She sat back, took a sip of coffee and a bite of toast, and watched as a faint moon crossed paths with the rising sun. She stared past them, thinking about neither, a small frown between tired eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt studied the map that Dana had e-mailed. He rarely went out that far. There just wasn’t much reason for it. He was busy enough close to home in Whittlebee and with the occasional job in Pegottie. And this wasn’t even Pegottie. It might have a Pegottie address, but that was only because it was the closest town, still a good distance outside the town limits. It would be a little over an hour’s drive to get there. But Dana said he’d probably enjoy the work, and since he owed her at least a dozen favors, he agreed to go out and take a look. The house was old and interesting she’d said, and it needed a good craftsman, not just a run-of-the-mill handyman.
As he got into his truck, he really wished he hadn’t promised Dana that he would go by today. It could have waited another week, until after he got back. There was so much on his mind. He still hadn’t packed, and there were appointments he absolutely had to make today. But Dana and her husband had become good friends, and he didn’t want to refuse a favor—they so rarely asked. They’d been great when he first arrived and didn’t know a soul. Dana found him a place to live, and they had introduced him to everyone. Most importantly, they brought the Audrey Natalia into his life.
For some reason, it seemed important to Dana that he see the house today. But that was her way—never leave for tomorrow what you can do today. He looked over his shoulder and backed th
e truck up. He would take a look, but he’d already made up his mind he wasn’t going to take the job. Maybe it was best to take care of the chore of going out there. In fact, he decided to get it over with first thing. Once done, he could turn the job down—politely.
The radio was tuned to a local station, and one of the DJs, the one Matt called Heckle, had just made a joke about shorts and overweight tourists. His accomplice, Jeckle, chastised him and told him his rude comments would chase off the summer visitors. That’s when Heckle began laughing hysterically. Back and forth, it went on like this, until they got to the weather report. The heat wave would be around for as long as they could see; on that much, they agreed. Despite the unwelcome forecast, the morning was beautiful. The sun was still low in the sky, not having reached its apex heat yet, and it shone down gentle warmth. He had the window down, and the warm breeze filled the cab of the truck.
Whittlebee and Pegottie were not twin cities; they were twin towns, both small and separated by a lonesome highway that followed the coast. The coast road was mostly empty, but he had expected that. Even during the peak summer season, tourists didn’t clog these roads like they did farther south. The beaches here were rocky and turbulent, not much for swimming. He had driven down to Cape Cod once when he first moved out here. He wondered if Whittlebee was too small, too quiet. But after a few days of crowds and traffic, he raced back to Whittlebee and decided it suited him fine.
Matt looked out the truck’s windshield. The sea wasn’t calm today. It was restless and wild. He loved this northern sea. It was what he had dreamed about as a boy. He had dreamed about it and found it.
The turnoff should be up ahead on the right, he thought and glanced quickly at the GPS unit. Suddenly he realized he was there and hit the brakes-hard. The narrow gravel driveway had appeared out of nowhere. He backed up and turned in.
