When she first became sick, we took care of the sad details of what would happen after her death together. Insisting that she didn't want to be stuck in a hole for all time, she asked to be cremated, so that her ashes could be spread and she would see the world. That request, along with a sneaky little note left in her will, was what had landed me here in Maine, waiting at the tiny Seaport airport for my father to pull himself out of the hunt long enough to come pick me up.
Sighing, I glanced down at the urn resting on top of my luggage. It was red, her favorite color. “Oh, Mom,” I muttered. “Why did you want me to spread your ashes with Dad? You must have known that would mean I had to come here. Did you really want to be so close to that stupid Treasure Pit?”
Personally, I would’ve much preferred to keep her with me. She was all the family I had and it was comforting to feel like she was still so close, but the last thing I wanted to do was dishonor her final wishes, so here I was. Originally, I'd called Dad, a feat that took much more effort than it should have—owing to the fact that I hadn’t spoken to him by phone or video since graduating high school—and told him what happened.
“Was she in a lot of pain?” he asked quietly.
“I'm sure, but she really tried to hide it. I think Mom wanted everyone to remember how she used to be, not as the sick, dying person she became.” A long silence followed and I waited, somehow knowing he would speak when ready.
“Thank you for telling me,” he finally said, his voice sounding somewhat choked. “I wish I could have been there. When is her funeral? I'd like to come, if you don't mind.”
“That's the thing.” I sighed. “She wanted to be cremated and for the two of us to spread her ashes together. I didn't know if you wanted to see her before she was . . . you know.”
“Oh,” he replied, shock obvious in his tone. “I would, truly, but I don't think I'm going to make it in time before—uh—she, well . . .”
“I understand.” He had a point there. They could preserve her body, but not for very long. “When can you come to spread her ashes?”
“Maybe in a couple months?”
Sucking in an angry breath, I paused, trying to keep from exploding at him. “A few months! Dad, you've got to be kidding! Is that pit really so important you'd put off a dying woman's last wish? Because that's what this is. She didn't even tell me herself, she wrote it into her will.”
“It's not that,” he rushed to reply. “It's just that, well, I don't have enough money. I spent the last of what I had on some new equipment, recently. My next payment doesn’t come in for a while and a lot of it is already tied up in other things. There’s a couple guys coming out to survey the island before we start up again this season, too. If I leave now, someone else will come in and take my permit or the land owner will grant permission to another to come dig. I can’t leave my team high and dry, not when we’re so close to getting started again. I could try and cash out some stocks, but that would take a lot of time and I’m not sure that they would approve the request. I didn't know about Lucy or I would have come before she passed, I swear.”
“You are unbelievable.” He couldn't see me rolling my eyes, but I was pretty sure he heard it in my voice.
Checking my phone again, I pressed my lips into a thin line. He was now an hour and a half late. At this point, hiring a cab and renting a room for the night sounded like a good idea. Grabbing the extended handle of my rolling bag with one hand, and safely tucking the urn into the crook of my opposite arm, I started for the door, eyeing the few taxis waiting by the curb outside. Just as I was about to pass through the exit and into the spring air, I heard someone call out.
“Sammy! Samantha!” Turning, I saw my dad running up behind me, apology written all over his face. “Sorry I'm late! I lost track of time and then the car had a flat—look at you! You've grown into a woman!”
Having finally reached me, he gave me an awkward hug, apparently not knowing if such an action was acceptable or not. Studying him, I realized he resembled most of my memories; tall, with wispy blonde hair that stuck up off his head, as if he'd just been caught in hurricane force winds. His face was well tanned from years of being outside, with blue eyes that sparkled whenever he smiled. I'd inherited his thin lips, but thankfully none of his apparent clumsiness.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, smiling tightly.
Chapter Two
The old car smelled musty, almost like it had been left with the windows rolled down for a long time and the sea air had taken its toll on the brown fabric seats. If anything, the aroma matched the battered appearance of the outside. Paint spots had worn away from sun exposure, giving the yellow vehicle the look of peeling skin. A few good scratches marked up the sides, and there was a chip in the windshield on the bottom, passenger section. A tree shaped air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. It was this final item that I stared at, watching the piece of cardboard swing ever so slightly as we traveled down the road. The silence between us was so thick I felt like I could reach out and touch it.
Outside, the coast went by, beautiful and foreboding at the same time. Everything was so incredibly green, unlike anything I'd seen at home in the desert. There was something to be said for having all that water right here to liven things up.
“So,” Dad finally said, shattering the quiet surrounding us. “How was your flight?”
“It was good,” I answered again, having already told him at the airport. “Long.”
“Quite a way from Arizona.” Pursing his lips, he fell silent. It was painfully obvious we didn't know what to say to each other. Getting down to business would be best for both parties.
“I was thinking we could spread Mom’s ashes tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, tapping his fingers on the wheel, as he appeared to ponder. “I have a meeting tomorrow night with the crew, but I'm free for the majority of the day. I cleared my schedule to be with you.” Glancing at me, he smiled his old, familiar grin, the one that made the skin around his eyes and forehead wrinkle massively, and his dimples appear suddenly. “I know it's not the best of reasons for you to visit, but I'm glad you're here.”
“Thanks.” Truth be told, I wasn't all that sure if I was happy to see him or not. He'd always been so preoccupied with the Treasure Pit, I was surprised it hadn't surfaced in the conversation yet. Then again, that was most likely what his meeting with the crew was about. “I'm glad we can honor Mom’s last wishes.”
Opening his mouth, he sat there gaping for a second before finally closing it, apparently deciding against whatever he'd been about to say. After a few minutes, he took another breath, ready to try again. “I don't have a very big house,” he started,” but there’s a sleeper sofa in my office. I was thinking I could stay in there and you could have the bed.”
“I'm not taking your bed.” I laughed, certain he hadn't said what he wanted to before. “It's your room. I don't mind sleeping in the office.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded so hesitant, like he was afraid for me to see what was in there. “All of my work stuff is stacked around.”
“Isn't that what an office is for?”
“Yes, it's just—well—I know you don't approve of my work at the pit. I don't want you to have to stare it in the face the whole time you're here.” He shrugged, his face somewhat red, and it occurred to me that he was embarrassed to talk about what he did.
“Dad,” I said softly, my annoyance instantly diminishing. “I may not agree with how you spend your time, but it is your time. The Treasure Pit is part of who you are. I came out here expecting you to talk my ear off about it. You don't need to feel badly for being yourself.” Surprisingly, I meant every word of it. Mom and I may have thought he was a fool at times, and I certainly had my share of resentful feelings, but he was still my dad. If I was going to believe anyone could do whatever they put their mind to, he was going to be included in that, no matter how awkward I felt about it.
“Really?” The amount
of surprise in his voice almost hurt my feelings. “I thought you would have shared your mom’s opinion on the matter.”
“We didn't talk about it very much.”
Quiet filled the car once more, and I turned my attention to the fading sunset. There were no pink or gold colors in the sky, like there were back home. Everywhere I looked, all I could think of was how different this place was. It was nice, an escape from the life without Mom that waited for me back in Arizona. The circumstances of my visit were dreary, but it was a welcome respite from all that had been going on. Here, only Dad knew I'd just lost my mother. There wouldn't be scores of people stopping by, offering to help. My neighbor wouldn't be calling every other day to suggest I join a grief-counseling group. Friends wouldn't glance at me apologetically whenever we were together. I wouldn't have to wake up each morning and wonder what I was going to do with all of Mom’s things, or if I was going to keep the house.
“I still loved her,” Dad said very suddenly, a soft mourning present in his voice. “I always did. We couldn't make it work, though. Not with both of us wanting such different things. Over the years, we talked less and less—you know that—and she simply . . . drifted away, you know? If I'd known how sick she was . . .” His voice trailed off, his eyes glued to the road, the smile he'd worn moments before completely gone.
“Don't beat yourself up, Dad.” His confession surprised me some, but when I examined the memories I had of him, it did make sense. My parents had always gotten along better than most divorced couples I knew of. At the time, I thought it was because they hardly spoke to each other. Now I wondered if perhaps Mom had always loved him as well.
“I should’ve fought harder for her,” he continued, coughing back emotion. “I should have proven I could be there when she needed me most. I wasn't before and it cost me dearly. If she'd told me she was dying, I would have come.”
“She didn't even tell me,” I offered, trying to help him feel better. Talking about our feelings was the last thing I'd expected to do, but it was strangely cathartic. “I only found out when she started getting bad and couldn't hide it from me anymore.”
Glancing at the urn in my lap, he smiled softly, but this time it held none of the happiness it had before. “She was always looking out for everyone, especially you.”
“She was a wonderful mother.”
Finally, we turned off the main highway and onto a regular city street. The sections of town we'd passed so far weren't all that big, and this place was no exception. I didn’t even seen any chain hotels, just a few bed and breakfast type places.
“This is it,” he said, pulling into the driveway of a tiny, one story home. It didn't look as beat up as the car, but was obviously old and in need of some tender love and care. The lawn needed mowed and there were chinks in the sidewalk path leading up to the sun bleached front door. The brown paint on the walls was cracked, but not too badly. Still, Dad smiled as he gestured to the whole of it. “Home sweet home.”
Sliding out of my seat, I smiled as he offered to take Mom from me, handing over the urn to him with ease. Our conversation had made me more than confident that he would take good care of her. The rest of my things were in the trunk and I quickly grabbed them, following him to the front door.
If the outside of the house was rundown, then the inside was immaculate. Pieces of art were displayed on the walls, leather furniture waited welcomingly, and various cool knick knacks were on display on bookshelves and the mantel of the fireplace. Straight across from the front door was a wall with a cut out window, revealing a small kitchen and dining table. A hall that broke off to the right concealed the rest of the house.
“It's not much,” Dad said, moving to set Mom on the mantel. “But it works for me.”
“I like it,” I replied, smiling widely. “If I'm being honest, I was expecting much less based on your car and the outside.”
“Really?” He chuckled, plopping down onto the couch, eyes sparkling. “Well, I guess you have me there. They could use some tuning up, but appearances don't bother me. Except for here, that is. I want to feel comfortable at home.”
“How did you afford all of this, if you don't mind my asking? I was under the impression that you were practically a beggar. No offense.”
“None taken,” he laughed. “I actually do make my own money, though. When I'm not out on Oak Isle, I run an eBay store that sells odds and ends. I've also gotten pretty good at stocks, if you can believe that. I managed to get an early bid in on some oil shares, which worked out supremely well. Most of my income comes from there.”
“The stock market. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am.” He chuckled again, seeming to enjoy my disbelief.
“Doesn't that all get used up on the island? I mean, Mom always made it sound like you two were dirt poor.”
“Oh, we were then,” he agreed. “I didn't have the financial know-how I do now. Sure, most of the money gets used in the excavation, but I do have a little for myself now and then. You caught me at a bad time. I haven't cashed in on anything recently and everything I did have was used up.”
“How much do you put into The Treasure Pit out of what you're earning?” I asked, not sure he was really telling the truth.
“Most of the funds come from backers. But my own money? I’d say I probably spend at least, oh, five million a year?”
“Excuse me?” I all but shrieked. “You mean to tell me that you're making millions a year? Like actual millions?” He continued to grin like an idiot, watching me process what he'd said. I had the sneaking suspicion he was really enjoying my awe. “Did Mom know?” I finally asked when I was able to quit gaping at him.
“Of course! I asked her if she'd like some of it, kind of like an interest tax on the alimony payments I’d made after our divorce. She turned it down, though. Never did tell me why.”
“I can't believe you spend that much treasure hunting,” I said, still stuck on the five million. “That's more money than I'll probably ever have in my whole life, combined.”
“That's not true,” he said with defensive humor. “When I die, you'll inherit everything—the money, the stocks, the house, all of it. You can do whatever you'd like with them. The money was never that big of a deal to me. It made things on Oak Isle easier, with the hunt and all, but that was it.”
Stunned into silence, I stared at him. I was getting everything? Mom had left me all she had earned from her teaching job as well, which wasn't millions by any means, but more than I thought I could ever need right now. What was I going to do with all of this as well?
“I hope that's okay,” he added quickly, seeing my expression. “I don't have anyone else to leave it to and I was hoping it could stay in the family.”
“Dad.” The word barely squeaked out, my throat having tightened and mouth gone dry. “That's a lot—too much even. I don't know if I can handle it.” I hardly knew him at all. It would be like getting a gift from a stranger.
“I probably shouldn't have sprung it on you like that,” he apologized, standing. “We’ll talk about it later, yeah?”
Flabbergasted, all I could do was nod, swallowing hard.
“Here,” he said, taking my bags from me. “Let me show you to your room. I apologize for not having it fixed up. Like I said, I was thinking I would be the one staying in it.” Leading me down the hall, we stopped at the first door on the right. Straight across from it was a bathroom and at the end of the hall I could see the bedroom through the open door. “Let me know if you want to trade.” The tone of his voice was serious as he turned the handle, opening it to reveal his office, which was a mess of papers and everything he needed for his work.
Entering the space, I immediately saw the couch he had mentioned, shoved against the wall by the door. The rest of the room was lined with bookshelves and maps tacked onto the walls. In the center was a large table, with several chairs around it. It was covered in all sorts of charts, order forms, books, and even more maps.
“This is where I have my meetings with the crew. The mess doesn't bother me much because it makes sense to me, the way it's laid out, but I feel bad putting you in here with all of it.”
“It's fine,” I reassured him, taking it all in. “It actually looks pretty interesting.”
“Oh? Has the treasure bug bit you, then?” He laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood in the doorway, glancing over everything.
“Not exactly.” I smiled, sitting down on the couch. “I don't really know much about this place, except for what you told me when I was younger, and anything you wrote in your letters.” And Mom’s ranting about how crazy this all is.
“Feel free to check out anything you want,” he encouraged. “Just be sure to leave it where you found it or I'll never find it again. Also, the couch folds out, like I said, but you'll have to move the table back some for it to fit.” He paused for a moment. “I have to ask one more time; are you sure you're okay with staying in here?”
“It's totally fine, really.”
“I guess I'll leave you to get settled then.” Grinning, he turned and walked back down the hall, into the kitchen from the sound of it. “Do you like chicken?” he called back, his voice traveling easily through the small structure.
“Sure.”
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Chapter Three
Staring at the urn on the mantel, I ate cereal for breakfast the next morning while Dad ran to the store for something. It'd been so comforting to have Mom with me, even if it was in this form. Now that it was time to spread the ashes, the air seemed to hold a heavy sadness. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
“Hi, Mom.” My food finished, I set the bowl down and rose from the couch, moving to stand next to her. “I'm sure you already know, but I love you so much. I don't know if I'll really have time to tell you goodbye later. Having Dad there will be great, I'm sure, but I wanted to have one last minute with you by myself.” The urn remained silent, of course, but I easily recalled how her smile looked, the way her teeth always seemed so much bigger when she was grinning. Smiling myself, I continued. “Speaking of Dad, I think we could get along fine. When I was on my way here, all I could think about was how you'd always said he wasn't ever concerned with anything that wasn't his treasure hunt. I thought I was coming to meet up with the man who abandoned his wife and child . . . but he doesn't seem like that at all. I guess people can change, right? Maybe it was best to push me to spend more time with him.”
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