Perfect Wreckage

by Cowles, Catherine

  7

  Kenna

  A string of colorful curses flew through my head as I glanced at my watch for the fifth time. I took a deep breath, trying to find that inner peace that Caelyn was always going on about.

  I gave my head a little shake. I wanted to hold on to my mad. If I were angry, the grief couldn’t get a foothold. I glanced up at Penny, who sat behind her desk, studiously avoiding my gaze. “If Crosby isn’t going to have the decency to show up after he called me over here with some mysterious, ‘I need to talk, it’s important’ BS, I’m going back to work.”

  Penny winced, her curls bouncing with the action. “He was coming back from Shelter Island. The ferry’s probably just running a little behind.”

  More like Crosby probably got distracted by some shiny object or high-risk adventure he just had to try. I let out what almost sounded like a growl. “How do you work for that man and not go crazy?”

  Penny chuckled. “He has certainly been an exercise on my patience.” Her eyes met mine with a sincerity that caught me by surprise. “But he’s got a good heart. The best.”

  That might be true, but what good was a wonderful heart if it wasn’t present where it needed to be? I pushed to my feet. “I’m sorry, but I’m not waiting any longer. He can reschedule when it’s convenient for me. I’ve already lost too much time today.” Time I needed to stay on top of my pile of paperwork back at the office.

  The door to the small, cottage office swung open. “I’m here. And I brought donuts.”

  I scowled at the man who was too handsome for his own good. That cheeky smile, one I was sure he used time and again to get what he wanted, only made me angrier. “That’s great for you, but I’m heading back to work.”

  I started towards the door, but Crosby caught my elbow. “Whoa. We haven’t had our meeting yet.”

  I firmly tugged my arm from his grasp. “You asked for an hour of my time. That hour was up five minutes ago. I have appointments and work.”

  “But I got these donuts just for you.” He looked as if I’d just kicked his puppy.

  “I don’t like donuts.” Lies, lies, lies. I loved the airy confections, especially the ones from Wholly Donuts on Shelter. They were to die for. But I didn’t want Crosby’s bribe.

  “Please. I really do need to talk to you.”

  The blood coursing through me heated at his words. “If it was truly important, you wouldn’t have gone to get donuts and missed your ferry. You would’ve been here when you said you’d be.”

  Crosby held up his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re right. I got distracted and thought you might like these. They’re my favorites. Please, just give me fifteen minutes.”

  I sighed. If I didn’t give him the time now, I’d have to deal with him later. And Crosby would probably be late then, too. “Fine.”

  Crosby held out a hand, motioning towards his office. “Right this way.”

  I walked through the door, taking a moment to soak in the space. I’d picked up paperwork from Penny for Harriet before, but I’d never been inside Crosby’s inner sanctum. It was both surprising and expected. No photos rested on his desk or hung on the walls, only an impressionistic oil painting of what looked like Anchor Island. On the opposite wall hung a mountain bike, dried mud still on the tires. But everything else was neat as a pin.

  I eased into one of the chairs opposite the desk. As I did, anxiety shot through me, a realization of why I was here. I didn’t know why it hadn’t crossed my mind as I sat waiting for Crosby. I’d known I would have to leave The Gables, but I’d pushed the thoughts out of my mind all day. Maybe the Abbots already had plans to sell. They certainly weren’t going to keep the property. My chest gave a painful squeeze as I thought about strangers roaming the estate’s halls. All the precious antiques that told the history of Anchor going to people who wouldn’t appreciate the stories they carried.

  Crosby bent, opening a drawer and pulling out a file. Instead of sitting in the chair behind his desk, he took the seat next to me, placing the folder on his lap. “How are you holding up?”

  Crosby’s gentle tone had me bristling. “You don’t need to baby me. I’m not going to break. Just tell me how long I have before I need to be out of the guest house.”

  He blinked at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? For you to tell me I need to move out of The Gables? I assume the Abbots are going to sell it.” My lungs seized. Oh God, I really hoped they weren’t planning on returning to Anchor. I didn’t think I could handle their snide looks and comments on a regular basis.

  Crosby lifted a hand as if he were going to place it on my knee and then set it back on the folder. “You don’t have to move out.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. That’s what I brought you in to talk about.”

  “I have to pay rent or something?” I was sure the Abbots would charge me something astronomical that I had no prayer of being able to afford.

  “No.”

  I made an aggravated noise in the back of my throat. “Spit it out already, Crosby.”

  “Harriet left you The Gables.”

  My entire body went lax, including my jaw, which fell completely open. “W-w-what?”

  Crosby sighed, gripping the folder a little tighter. “Harriet left you The Gables in her will, along with a trust that has enough in it to cover taxes and upkeep for at least three generations to come.”

  My mind spun in countless directions, thoughts leapfrogging over each other as they somersaulted through my brain. “She didn’t say anything.”

  “Harriet knew you’d fight her on it if she told you.”

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes as my breaths came quicker. I stared down at my fingers. Why were they tingling?

  “Breathe, Brown Eyes. Just breathe.”

  The hand on my shoulder made me jump, and my gaze shot to Crosby. “Why?”

  “She loved you as if you were her own.”

  A single tear escaped my left eye, and I hurried to brush it away. Harriet was mine, too. My partner in crime. My person. But she was gone. I couldn’t imagine roaming those familiar hallways without her cackling laughter or the faint scent of her rose perfume.

  “She left you a letter.” Crosby pulled a creamy white envelope out of his file and handed it to me.

  My chest squeezed at the familiar paper. Letter writing is a lost art, sweet girl. I held the envelope up to my nose, inhaling deeply. The faint hint of rose still clung to the paper. How many times had I opened a letter just like this one while I was away at college? They had always been full of island gossip and funny stories. But this one…what would this one hold?

  As carefully as possible, I pulled back the envelope’s flap, my hands stilling for a brief moment before removing the thick, folded paper inside. I took a deep breath and gave it a gentle tug, unfolding the meticulously arranged stationery.

  My sweet girl,

  I hate the idea of writing this to you. But I know if I were to broach this subject now, I’d only have a fight on my hands. We’re stubborn, you and I. And that stubbornness has its benefits and its detriments. But I’m a crafty old broad, and one thing death will give me is the last word.

  Take The Gables, Kenna. There is no one in this big, beautiful world, I want to have it more. You’ve always seen it as more than a prime piece of real estate. You saw it for what it should always be. A sanctuary. One full of the tales of the past and with potential for endless stories of the future.

  Make it a home again. Bring life and love back to its halls. The Gables has been far too empty for much too long. It should be full of laughter, raucous parties, heartfelt conversations. I want you to give yourself the home you always should’ve had. Build a family there. Fall into a soul-shaking love. Make the life of your dreams.

  But to do that, you can’t be afraid to fall, my sweet girl. You always fall before you soar.

  I’ll love you forever and always, my greatest treasu
re.

  Love,

  Your Harriet

  A tear splashed onto the paper, and I quickly blotted it with the sleeve of my blouse. It was the only way I knew I was crying. I couldn’t feel the wetness on my cheeks or the pressure in my eyes.

  I’d never felt more loved or more alone. I had no idea how my body could house the extreme intensity of both emotions. It was as if I were exploding out and collapsing in, all at the same time. My very being was at war with itself.

  “I need you to say something.”

  I couldn’t seem to form words. Didn’t want to move my eyes from the paper in front of me. The last beautifully curved letters I’d ever receive from Harriet.

  A hand squeezed my shoulder. “You’re really starting to freak me out. Do I need to call Bell’s dad?”

  I jolted at those words, quickly wiping my eyes and forcing my gaze up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

  “You’re not fine. No one expects you to be fine. I just want to make sure you’re not going catatonic on me. Maybe you should have a donut, get a little sugar running through that bloodstream.”

  I scowled at Crosby. “I told you, I don’t like donuts.”

  Crosby’s lips twitched. “Harriet told me Wholly Donuts are your favorite.”

  My cheeks heated. That traitor. What else had she told the man sitting next to me? “I only eat them on Sundays.”

  “Why in God’s name would you have that rule?”

  “I try to eat healthy the rest of the week. Sunday is my cheat day.”

  “Your cheat day…”

  I straightened my spine, willing away the heat still coursing in my face. “Yes. It’s all about balance.”

  “Only letting yourself indulge one day a week isn’t balance, Doll Face.”

  “I don’t remember asking your opinion on the matter. And don’t use your patronizing pet names on me.”

  Crosby held up his hands. “All right, all right. I’ll stick to Brown Eyes and only bring you donuts on Sundays from now on.”

  I bit back the names I wanted to hurl at Crosby. They’d only give him some perverse sense of satisfaction. I forced myself to take a slow, steadying breath. “What do I need to do next?”

  Crosby flipped the folder on his lap closed. “I’ll get the deed transferred to you. You’ll have to sign some paperwork, and that’s it.”

  A few scrawled lines and the place that had been my sanctuary for most of my life would be my safe space forever. But what Harriet had asked of me, what she wanted me to build in The Gables, that was going to be far more challenging. I glanced down at the letter in my hand, the looping script staring back at me. The vision she had for The Gables, for me, it was far riskier than I’d ever considered. The life of my dreams had always been comprised of one word: steady. People and things that I could count on. Suddenly, that dream felt just a little bit empty.

  8

  Crosby

  I stared at the door for far too long after it’d closed in Kenna’s wake. The emotions that had cascaded over her face as she read Harriet’s letter played on an endless loop in my mind. I’d never seen Kenna so unguarded. It was as if Harriet were the one person who had the keys to unlock all the things she hid beneath her fiercely protected surface.

  “So, how’d she take it?”

  I jolted at Penny’s voice, straightening from my perch where I leaned against my office doorjamb. “Better than I thought, honestly.” But I hadn’t liked the blank mask that had slipped over Kenna’s face when she finished the letter. It was a façade that seemed to suck every last ounce of life out of her, and I had no idea how to get it back other than to piss her off. Maybe I’d start by having donuts delivered to her every day but Sunday.

  “How do you think the Abbots will take this?”

  My gut tightened as I glanced at my watch. The family should be here any minute. “I’m guessing not well.” Why was it that some people who had so much, only hungered for more? As if just knowing that they were missing out on one small piece of the pie was enough to send them into a rage, even if they couldn’t possibly eat everything that was in front of them.

  Penny tapped her pen against her desk. “Never cared for them. Clark and Annabelle always acted like they were too good for everyone else on Anchor, and they spoiled their son rotten.”

  “I’ve never met Grant.” I’d only met Harriet’s son, Clark, and his wife, Annabelle, in brief passing during their last visit to the island a few years ago.

  Penny clucked her tongue. “He’s something. Never understood that the answer to one of his requests just might be ‘no.’”

  Well, he was about to learn the word. The vast majority of Harriet’s estate had been earmarked for assorted charities. Trusts had been left for Clark and Grant, but Grant’s inheritance had a stipulation. He had to complete five hundred hours of community service at a specific homeless shelter in Seattle before he could access the fund. Harriet had become good friends with the shelter manager and had made sure Grant wouldn’t be able to charm or buy his way out of this one.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Just Harriet’s craftiness.”

  A smile stretched across Penny’s face. “She’s gonna try and teach that boy a lesson from the grave, isn’t she?”

  “That she is.”

  The bell over the office door jingled as it opened. The woman who entered scowled up at the gold bell as if she were offended by its sound. She probably hated Christmas and Santa, too.

  “Hello, Mrs. Abbot. Mr. Abbot. And you must be Grant.”

  The three people who were clearly related poured into the office waiting room. Clark reached out a hand, shaking mine. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. McCoy.”

  “Please, call me Crosby. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “I wish it were in a timely manner,” Annabelle griped.

  “Now, Annabelle, the delay gave us a chance to get settled.”

  She huffed, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

  Grant Abbot extended a hand. “Good to meet you. Thank you for making time for us this afternoon.” The man was much as I had expected, wearing a crisp, button-down shirt and tailored slacks. He was polite but wore an air of superiority that I was far too familiar with.

  “Why don’t we head into the conference room? Would you like some tea or coffee? Water?”

  Annabelle started ahead of us. “What I’d like is to move this charade of a meeting along so that we can get off this island as soon as possible. I’ve spent too much of my life in this godforsaken place already.”

  Grant chuckled. “Can you tell she’s not much for small-town life?”

  “Anchor isn’t for everyone.” And I was damn glad I didn’t have to share thirty square miles with this woman. I followed her into the small conference room and motioned to the chairs. “Please, take a seat. The folders on the table are copies of Harriet’s most recent will. I’d be more than happy to have them sent to your attorney if you’d like, as well.”

  Clark stiffened in his seat. “What do you mean, her most recent will? Mother has had the same will since Dad died.”

  I cleared my throat. “She made some changes to it a few years ago after she was diagnosed with heart disease.”

  “Why the hell wasn’t I consulted?”

  I met Clark’s increasingly angry stare. This was where the true colors began to show. I kept my tone calm and even. “Because you aren’t my client, your mother is.”

  Heat colored Clark’s cheeks. “My mother was not in good health, and probably not in her right mind to make any changes to her will.”

  I fought to keep the expression on my face neutral. “I assure you, Harriet was in perfect mental health when she made these changes. She’d had a checkup just the week before, and I made sure to have Dr. Kipton sign off on her well-being at the time of signing.” I’d also given Kipton a call earlier in the day to make sure he’d stand by his findings.

  Clark opened his mou
th to say something else, but Grant held up a hand. “Dad, let’s just read the will and see what’s what. There might not be anything to get upset over.”

  Clark scowled at his son but flipped open his folder and began reading. It wasn’t long before he was muttering curses, and Annabelle was gasping. Her gaze snapped to mine. “You have got to be kidding me. I support my charitable causes as much as the next person, but this is ridiculous.”

  I stayed silent. What was there to say? You’re a greedy bitch?

  Grant’s head jerked up. His tone remained even, but heat blazed in his eyes. “There’s a contingency on my trust that isn’t on my father’s.”

  “That’s correct. It was a wish of your grandmother’s that you get more involved in one of her charities of choice.”

  Grant’s jaw worked back and forth. “I am working towards partner at Dad’s law firm. I work fifty hours a week. When do you suggest I put in those five hundred hours of volunteer time?”

  “Five hundred hours?” Annabelle gaped.

  Clark threw the folder down on the table. “This will is a joke. I’ll get it thrown out in court in a matter of weeks.”

  “You can try, but trust me, you won’t succeed.” But what they could do was tie up the estate for years to come, leaving Kenna in a miserable state of limbo.

  “You have got to be kidding me. She left her estate to that—that—” Annabelle couldn’t even finish her sentence.

  “Be very careful what you say next, Mrs. Abbot.” My fingers closed around my pen, my knuckles turning white.

  Grant quickly scanned the pages of the will before his head snapped in his father’s direction. “She can’t do this, can she? That property is worth millions.”

  Clark was focused on the papers in front of him. He did his best not to let any part of his expression give anything away, but the small tic in his cheek betrayed him. “I need more time with the document.”