“This one is the best quality and the most affordable.” Mark addressed Ivy, “Like I said, I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this for you, but if you’re not comfortable going, I’ll cancel.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want you to have to do that.” She placed her cosmetic bag inside the suitcase.
“I’ll go with you, then,” Zoey proposed. “It will be like a girls’ night out.”
“You can’t,” Mark objected. “There’s only room for two in my convertible.”
“We can take the Caddy. That will make a good impression.” Zoey smiled widely, reveling in his discomfort.
He smiled just as broadly. “They don’t let friends or family members spend the night. Only the interested party. Besides, you can’t leave Gabi here alone. She might get into trouble. Again.”
“Quiet!” Ivy yipped and simultaneously snapped her fingers hard, a warning Zoey remembered from childhood. She rarely ever issued it, but when she did it indicated she was fed up and woe to the niece or nephew who talked back or disobeyed her. “My mind is made up, I’m spending the night—one night—in Boston. I’ll be ready to leave just as soon as I use the restroom. In the meantime, act like a gentleman, Mark, and carry my suitcase downstairs.”
“You sneak!” Zoey hissed after their aunt had left the room. “How could you do this?”
“Didn’t I mention I was taking Ivy off-island?” Mark knitted his brows together in phony bewilderment. “It must have slipped my mind. It happens to all of us on occasion. Sorry ’bout that.”
No you aren’t. You aren’t sorry about a thing, Zoey seethed. But so help me, if anything happens to Aunt Ivy, you will be!
Chapter Eleven
“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t left the water running, Mark wouldn’t have taken Aunt Ivy to check out the assisted living place,” Gabi berated herself for the fifth time on Monday evening. “I think he made all the arrangements when Nick sent him for a walk. I should have confessed right away, the moment he got here.”
Zoey usually tried to avoid badmouthing Mark to her niece but she didn’t know how to convince her she wasn’t to blame except to say, “Mark’s been gunning to move Aunt Ivy into a facility for a long time. He probably had it all arranged before he showed up here on Friday. It has nothing to do with you and it doesn’t have very much to do with Aunt Ivy. It’s all part of his plan to lease out her house so he can receive an income without actually having to work for it.”
Gabi swept her bangs to one side. “Do you think he’s going to be able to convince her to move?”
“I hope not, because I don’t think she really wants to. And because she shouldn’t rush into making a decision of that magnitude when she’s so emotional.”
Zoey was pretty emotional herself. She hadn’t been able to eat anything all day because her stomach was tangled up with worry about her aunt. She wasn’t concerned about the quality of hospitality and care Ivy would receive at the assisted living facility; on the contrary, the staff would likely give her the royal treatment. But she was worried about her aunt being away from home and with Mark for such a long stretch of time.
He’s going to keep preying on her vulnerabilities—her grief and fear and self-doubt—except now I can’t be there to offer her a different perspective, Zoey ruminated. Her aunt didn’t even have the portrait of Captain Denny nearby to remind her of when she was young and happy and strong. Since Ivy had no support, it would be easier for Mark to wear her down. Zoey wouldn’t even be surprised if he coerced her into signing a lease while she was there…
Her catastrophizing was interrupted by Gabi saying, “It would be terrible if Mark took over Aunt Ivy’s house, because she loves it here so much. And because I wouldn’t be able to stay here any more.”
Oh—your mom would be so glad that you want to come back to Dune Island! “I’m sure Mark would let you stay in the house. He might charge you, but he’d still let you visit.” Zoey chuckled but Gabi was doleful.
“I mean I wouldn’t be able to come back because it wouldn’t feel right if I was here and Aunt Ivy was living some place else. Kind of like now. It sort of feels like we’re trespassing, doesn’t it?” Gabi said and Zoey nodded. “There’s still a way we could make sure Mark couldn’t take over. We could talk to Mr. Witherell and get him to confirm that he’s not really a Winslow—”
“No. I’ve already told you I don’t want Aunt Ivy getting hurt. Not at any time, and especially not now."
“She doesn’t ever have to know about it, not even if we discover that Mr. Witherell really is Mark’s grandfather. But we’ll know.”
“What good will that do us?”
“Because we could tell Mark. And then he’d back off about Aunt Ivy moving because he’d know he’s not going to inherit her house.”
“But what if that makes him so angry that he tells Aunt Ivy to spite us?”
“He wouldn’t do that because he’d be too worried if she found out he wasn’t her blood relative, she’d cut off the financial help he’s getting from her now.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I have my sources. So what do you think of my rationale? Genius, isn’t it?”
“In theory, yes. In reality, no. Aunt Ivy’s thrilled that she’s on speaking terms with Mr. Witherell again. We don’t want to risk alienating him by bringing up a subject like that,” Zoey added emphatically, “So the answer is still no, you are not permitted to talk to him about this. Understand?”
Gabi huffed a sigh and rose from the sofa. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she agreed, saluting before she went upstairs for the night.
Within the hour, Zoey was in bed, too. As she watched the curtains billow and flatten in the breeze, she wondered if Ivy was having trouble sleeping tonight, as well. It had seemed so strange not to walk her up the stairs before bedtime, as was their routine. Down the hall, a door squeaked; Moby was inspecting Sylvia’s room, as was his routine. Does he miss her still? she wondered. I do.
A few tears moistened her cheeks as she thought of how gentle her great-aunt had been. Zoey remembered that when Sylvia braided her hair for her when she was a little girl, she was so afraid of pulling it that she never wove it tight enough. The braid would come undone as soon as Zoey walked across the room. Or when she’d fill the tub for Zoey’s bath, the water was always tepid because she didn’t want to burn her skin. Aunt Sylvia was probably so careful not to hurt anyone else because of the abuse she suffered when she was young, she hypothesized.
For being such a demure, tenderhearted woman, she sure had a bully for a grandson. As Zoey reflected on her cousin’s aggressive, selfish behavior, the knot in her stomach tightened. She had the sinking feeling that today represented a major turning point in his quest to push Ivy out of her house. Just like when she was a girl, Zoey found herself wishing her aunt would finally put her foot down and say enough was enough.
Out of the blue, Zoey remembered the one time she’d heard her other great-aunt utter those words: it was on the last day of her life. Sylvia had been so dozy that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. So she’d mistakenly thought she was talking to Ivy, not to Zoey, when she’d mumbled, That boy can only take so much… Enough is enough.
At the time, Zoey assumed Sylvia had been expressing her concern that Mark would crumble under the stress of his divorce. But now she was gripped with a possibility she’d never considered: had her aunt meant ‘take’ literally? Had she been trying to convince Ivy not to keep spoiling Mark? Was she saying he’d already gotten enough from them—that he shouldn’t take more?
As overheated as Zoey felt, the noisy waves were disturbing her thoughts and she got up to close the windows. She wracked her brain to recollect what else Sylvia had said about her grandson that day. The phrases, “It’s not fair,” and “Mark doesn’t deserve this,” popped into her mind.
Wait a second! Zoey’s pulse pounded in her ears like the ocean. Was Ivy’s house what Sylvia was referring to when she said, “Mark doesn’t dese
rve this”?
Her mind frenetically jumped from one supposition to the next: if Sylvia didn’t believe Mark deserved to inherit Ivy’s house, it had to be because she knew that he wasn’t a Winslow. And the only irrefutable way she would have known that was if she was sure that her husband Marcus Sr. wasn’t Marcus Jr.’s father. And if that were the case, then the gossip Gabi heard about Mr. Witherell being Mark’s grandfather seemed a lot more plausible.
Furthermore, if Sylvia really was confessing the secret that she had kept to herself for sixty-some years—a secret that reflected poorly on her and would have wounded her beloved sister-in-law—then it must have been extremely important to her that Mark not inherit the house.
And finally, if that were true, Zoey had a responsibility—an obligation to her great-aunt’s dying intention—to set the record straight about Mark not being a Winslow. Or at least, to investigate the possibility further.
Dizzy, she sat down on the bed and tried to figure out what to do with this new information. It’s not even new information, she thought. It’s just a different way of considering my last conversation with Aunt Sylvia. If she was going to try to use Marcus Jr.’s paternity to prevent Mark from disturbing Ivy’s final years and trying to take over her house, she needed evidence, concrete evidence, that he wasn’t a Winslow. The only place she could imagine finding that kind of evidence was among Sylvia’s belongings. She had already straightened her trunks, but it was worth taking a closer look.
Zoey tiptoed up the attic stairs so she wouldn’t wake her niece. For the next hour and a half, she sorted through every single item in her aunt’s two trunks, scrutinizing them for any link, however tenuous, between Sylvia and Mr. Witherell. She even read the articles printed on the sheets of newspaper the figurines were wrapped in, hoping for a clue, but she still couldn’t find anything to connect them.
Next, she went downstairs to her aunt’s room. Several weeks ago, after Mark had finished rummaging through Sylvia’s closet and dresser drawers, leaving them in a mess, Zoey had come in to refold and rehang everything. Sylvia had always been fastidious about her clothing and Zoey hadn’t wanted Ivy see it in such disarray. So she’d already given the room a once-over, but she conducted a more thorough examination now, turning the pockets of Sylvia’s clothes inside-out, flipping through the Bible on her nightstand and even checking beneath the bed and mattress. Again, she came up empty-handed.
Deflated, she crept back to her room and fell into bed. She recognized that her only other option was to discuss the matter with Mr. Witherell. The very thing she’d forbidden Gabi to do because she didn’t want to run the risk of Ivy finding out about their discussion. Nor did she want to offend Mr. Witherell or make him feel uncomfortable, especially if she was wrong. How would she even begin a conversation like that? Desperate times call for desperate measures, she told herself. But was she that desperate?
She was too dazed to decide. Maybe tomorrow after Ivy and Mark returned, she’d have a better sense of whether it was imperative to discuss the subject with Mr. Witherell. After all, it was a remote possibility her aunt would have such an unpleasant experience at the facility that it would permanently sour her to the idea of assisted living. Or maybe tomorrow Zoey would come up with a new, easier way to prove Marcus Jr.’s paternity. But for now, she was just going to have to sleep on it.
After Gabi left for school in the morning, Zoey decided she’d take a run and then go shopping so she could make a special meal for Ivy’s homecoming, since Mark had texted her that they’d arrive around supper time. Thinking back to the day she’d crossed paths with Phineas in the rain, she timed her route so she’d see him in the same neighborhood again. She figured she should start engaging him in small talk so that if they ended up having a longer conversation, it wouldn’t be quite as awkward. But when she didn’t spot him, she ran the same course, in reverse. Still no sign. Feeling a mix of disappointment and relief, she gave up and went home.
Motivated by her aunt’s return, as well as by the anticipation of seeing Nick that afternoon, Zoey sped through all the shopping, cleaning and baking. After showering, she even had enough time to blow-dry her hair rather than pulling it up into a damp ponytail. And by the time Nick arrived to remove the tiles from the backsplash, she’d also applied a coat of mascara and put on a sundress instead of her usual T-shirt and shorts.
He checked the bathroom floor and the wall and ceiling in the best room before coming into the kitchen. “So far, so good,” he reported.
Zoey extended a plate to him. She knew he was on a tight schedule but she’d been looking forward to chatting with him all morning. “Would you like a muffin before you start working? They’re chocolate ricotta.”
Nick took one. “Smells delicious.”
“I hope it is. I’m not half as good of a baker as my aunt but I thought I’d try a new recipe, since it’s a special occasion.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You got the job?”
“I received an offer, yes, but—”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks, but the muffins are in celebration of my aunt coming home today after spending her first night off-island in, well, I guess it was six years ago, for my sister’s funeral.”
“Oh.” Nick brushed a crumb from his lip. “I hope she was off-island for a happy occasion today?”
Not really. “Mark took her for a tour of an assisted living facility.”
“Wow. Is she just dipping her toe in the water or is she seriously considering moving?”
“She’s serious about it.” Unfortunately.
“Hmm.” Nick reached for a second muffin. “Which facility is she touring?”
Zoey bristled. What does that matter? “It’s called Waterside. In Plymouth.”
“I’ve heard that’s one of the better ones.”
“That might well be, but it’s still not her home. This is her home.” Zoey made a sweeping gesture with her arms. She felt as if she’d had this conversation before, but with Mark, not with Nick. “You’ve heard her stories. You’re remodeling her kitchen. It seems like it would be obvious to you how much she loves it here and wants to stay.”
He held up his hands defensively. “Whether your aunt goes or stays is her business—it’s your family’s business—not mine. All I’m interested in is whether I should move forward with remodeling this kitchen. Because if there’s no need for me to remove these tiles, I’ve got a major renovation I need to start for another client. So what’s it going to be—should I stop yakking and get to work here or what?”
For a second, Zoey was too stunned by his tone to reply. Her cheeks blazing, she plucked her phone from the countertop, turned toward the hallway and replied in a squeaky voice, “Yes, please continue working on the kitchen unless Aunt Ivy tells you not to. I’m going for a walk, so I’ll be out of your way.”
She hurried outside and down the street. Perching on a bench in the park by the harbor, she wondered why there’d been such a dramatic shift in Nick’s attitude. It’s as if I hardly know him—or as if he hardly knows us. She’d thought he cared about Ivy; that was one of the very things that won Zoey over and made her like him so much. And she’d thought he cared about her, too, at least as a friend. But he was acting as if his only connection to them was professional, not personal.
So then were all of those kind, thoughtful, over-the-top nice things he did just an act? Was all of that just so he could retain Aunt Ivy’s business? Zoey was doubtful; Nick said he had a major renovation he needed to start for another client, which certainly must have been more lucrative than anything Ivy had contracted him to do.
No, his behavior had to have been genuine. Something must have changed between the time he saw her on Friday and today. Maybe dealing with Aunt Ivy’s heart problem and Mark’s temper was too much for him and he decided from now on, he only wanted a business relationship with us? Or maybe he’s just stressed out? He has been really busy.
Zoey understood why he might have be
en irritated by her yammering on about her family situation when he had work to do, so she didn’t blame him for shutting the conversation down. But the way he did it made it seem as if he was shutting their friendship down. Or am I overreacting because I’m stressed out?
As she was pondering Nick’s remarks, Gabi ambled around from behind the bench. “Hi, Aunt Zoey. You look nice.” She sat down beside her. “Nick said I just missed you. I didn’t see you on my way home so I figured you walked in this direction instead.”
“Hi, Gabi. How was your day?”
“It was okay. But I have to tell you something.”
Uh-oh. Zoey braced herself. “Is it bad news?”
“It’s sad news.” Her niece glanced toward the lighthouse. “I found out that Mr. Witherell died this the weekend.”
“What? No way. Did the kids at school tell you that?”
“Yeah, but I looked it up online, too. Give me your phone, I’ll show you.”
She handed it to her and Gabi pulled up the obituary online. When Zoey saw the name Phineas, she gasped, knowing the rumor had to be true. There was only one Phineas on Dune Island. Or there had been only one.
Zoey sniffed as she read the death notice. It didn’t take long; in addition to his birth and death dates, it listed his time of service as a lighthouse keeper and named his niece, Melissa Carter, of North Carolina, as his only surviving relative. It said there would be no public memorial or funeral services.
Whether or not he once dated her aunt Sylvia and whether or not he was Mark’s grandfather, Mr. Witherell had been a part of her aunt Ivy’s history. He’d been part of Dune Island’s history, too, and it disturbed Zoey that his entire life had been condensed into a few sentences. “Didn’t anyone care about him or know him well enough to write a few words about what he was like as a person?”
“I don’t think he would have wanted anyone to do that. He didn’t like public attention.” Gabi patted Zoey’s shoulder. “But Aunt Ivy cared about him enough to invite him over for pie. And she knew him well enough to say what he was like. She said it in private, in the stories she told us about him. But that’s still kind of memorializing him, isn’t it?”
Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner Page 22