What She Inherits

by Diane V. Mulligan

  As she passed through her twenties and into her thirties, she had suffered losses and had experienced joy, and she had, as yet, not shown any other signs of being anything other than normal. She supposed that if she ever saw a therapist, she could easily be diagnosed with PTSD given the childhood she’d had, but despite that, she was a fully-functioning adult. Not crazy. Not yet, anyway. In fact, she almost never worried anymore that she was showing signs of her mother’s mental illness.

  How cruel of her mother to give her something new to fear now. Ignorance really was bliss. She would have been so much better off not knowing. But she knew, and once you know something, you can’t unknow it. Which was exactly why she had no intention of getting genetic testing done.

  After all, there was only one other person in the world to whom it made one bit of difference whether or not Casey had faulty code in her genes, and she could never know about any of this.

  Then there was the inheritance to make sense of. Her mother had not said that the money was an effort to make amends, only that she had decided to divide it between Casey and Eliza. Was she sorry or was she trying to make Casey feel sorry? Casey wanted to believe it was the former, but she couldn’t shake the sense that it was the latter.

  She finally fell asleep sometime after two AM, but she tossed and turned as her mind continued to dredge up images of her mother and of Ed and of the life she’d had so long ago. It was a relief when her alarm went off at five and she had to get up. Outside rain blew sideways across the bay and slapped against the windows of the café. It would be another slow day, another good day to tackle some big jobs she normally didn’t have time for, jobs that would keep her busy enough to shut off her brain for a while.

  In the gloomy predawn, she looked around the café and decided she’d redo the chalkboards. It was time to put a fall spin on the decorations anyway. The wall behind the counter was painted entirely in the chalkboard paint. She had to layer on coat after coat to get a smooth, dark surface, but when it was all done, she had concluded it was worthwhile. She created big decorated borders and carefully wrote out the menu by hand in the center, changing the drawings and updating menu items seasonally. For the summer, the border had been blue hydrangea, pink and white rugosa, and butterflies.

  As she washed down the wall with a damp sponge, erasing the pretty flowers, she planned her fall border in her head. She would make each side look like the shoreline with pine trees and maples rising up. The bright maple leaves could swirl in the air and scatter throughout the menu itself. Along the top, a few Canada geese. It would take her all day at least.

  She flipped on the radio and when the forecast came on, she paused in her sponging. Rain until Wednesday. Four days. She might as well make her chalkboard art intricate, because few visitors would bother to make the crossing during a tropical storm. Really, there was no sense in opening at all until the weather broke. She left the sign on the door flipped to closed, cranked up the radio, put on a small pot of coffee for herself, and threw herself into her art project.

  Part Two

  Chapter 11

  Portland, Maine

  Brett arrived in Portland in a driving rain that turned the waterfront city into a gray blur and wondered, not for the first time, if this was a mistake. Rosetta had told him that September was the best month of the year on the island, but he’d been watching the forecast, and if this was the best month, the deal was DOA.

  The day he had walked into Charlie’s office with the proposal for Sweet Water East, he had expected Charlie to laugh in his face and tell him to get his head out of his ass. That’s what Brett had wanted to happen, that way he could quit and never look back.

  Instead Charlie had listened to his pitch, leafed through the file he’d prepared, and asked how soon Brett could go to Maine to scope it out in person. And now here he was, in a rented Ford, struggling to follow the instructions from the GPS app on his phone to get to his hotel for the night.

  He had hoped to board a ferry today for Devil’s Back, but when he saw the churning swells in the harbor, he thought better of it. He’d work from Portland tonight and go on to the island when the storm broke. Rosetta had laughed when he phoned to say he wouldn’t be arriving that day as planned.

  “Land lubber. This is nothing,” she had said.

  “Call me what you want, but I’d have to be insane to get on a boat today.”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

  So far in his conversations with Rosetta, he gathered that she was quite a character. When he first called her to see if she was still looking for buyers, the first thing she had done was tell him she could sense his positive aura over the phone, and later she’d asked for his astrological sign. She said it wasn’t in her nature to trust people from the West Coast, but she’d give him a chance to dazzle her with an offer.

  When he studied the information she’d faxed him about the island, the properties, the businesses she was selling, and her financial situation, he wondered if she was actually insane. None of it made sense. Her businesses had been hemorrhaging money for years, and she’d done nothing to stem the flow. It was nothing short of a miracle she’d managed to keep the place afloat for as long as she had. In fact, if she didn’t sell within the next few months, she’d have no choice but to declare bankruptcy.

  Once upon a time a situation like this—where he had all the power in the negotiations and could push the seller to rock bottom—would have excited him, but now he mostly felt bad. Whatever he offered, Rosetta had to accept, even if it was barely enough to settle her debts. She probably wanted to come out of this with enough to retire on, but there was no way that was happening. She was about to sell her life’s work and walk away with nothing to show. She must be devastated.

  Or he was projecting. Maybe—probably—Rosetta would be happy to wash her hands of the mess she had made. She seemed to understand that it was her mess, but she had to be in her late sixties at least, probably older—she and her husband bought the hotel thirty-some years ago—and when Brett thought of her signing away her life’s work, he couldn’t help but imagine how he would feel in her place.

  Maybe he was having a midlife crisis. Nearly forty, he had begun to look at his own life and wonder what his legacy would be. He’d spent his twenties and thirties working sixty, seventy hour weeks, had never married, and despite his best efforts, he had plateaued in his career. His goal had once been to be CEO of Sweet Water Resorts, but he understood now that that was not going to happen. Charlie would promote his sons and nephews over Brett even though they hadn’t Brett’s skills, foresight, or drive, and Brett would answer to them forever.

  He knew he should quit. Charlie had been his mentor, but Brett had long since repaid the kindness Charlie showed him when he was fresh out of college. He’d provided Sweet Water with more value than any other employee including Charlie himself. He could go work somewhere else. He’d read somewhere that the average worker in today’s economy will change jobs every two to four years, meanwhile he’d been working for the same company for eighteen years. Maybe it was time for him to stop being an anomaly and embrace change like everyone else.

  The possibility of East Coast expansion was enticing, though. He had wanted to move back east for a while now. If he could make this Maine deal work, maybe he’d finally be looking at a promotion. No one else in upper management would want to move east. He could be president of the East Coast Division and have a whole branch of the company to himself. Even if he still technically had to answer to Charlie, he’d practically be on his own out here, and that might be enough.

  His hotel in Portland was waterfront but all the view he had today was of rain slapping the glass. It was hard to give himself a pep talk in the face of such gloom, but he tried. He firmly believed a job worth doing was worth doing well. He couldn’t go into this deal half-heartedly. He needed to invest himself fully or call it a day and go home, and as the latter option was off the table, he had hi
s work cut out for him.

  He wanted to call Ashley. He wondered if she’d answer if he called or if she would see his number and let it go to voice mail. He hadn’t tried to contact her at all since she broke up with him two weeks earlier. Instead he buried himself in getting ready for this trip and tried not to think of her. But now, alone in a hotel room, there was nothing left to do for work until he actually got onto the island and he had nothing else to think about besides Ashley.

  To say he hadn’t seen it coming would be a lie. She’d been complaining for a long time about how he didn’t make enough time for her, how he was too caught up in his work. But he thought when he told her about how Charlie got on board with his idea of opening a resort in Maine and what a big promotion it was, she’d see that all his hard work was worth it. He thought she’d jump at the chance to head east with him.

  In Los Angeles, yoga instructors were a dime a dozen, which meant Ashley was perpetually underemployed, perpetually struggling. But if they relocated to the East Coast, some nice little suburb of Boston or New York, depending on where he decided to establish headquarters for the new division—he was getting ahead of himself, he knew he was, but Sweet Water wouldn’t move into a region and only open one resort, Devil’s Back was only the start—they could buy an old Colonial and grow vegetables in the yard and she could start her own yoga studio. He could help her. No more waitressing or working retail for her. She could do what she loved, because once they got married, she wouldn’t need to worry about money anymore.

  In the two years of their relationship, she’d resisted his offers to help her with her cash flow problems, claiming she wanted to be an independent woman, but they’d get married and what was his would be hers. They’d been talking about moving in together, or rather, he’d been talking about her moving into his condo, for months.

  Three days after Charlie greenlighted the prefeasibility analysis on Devil’s Back, he bought her an engagement ring—antique, sapphire and diamonds, something that wouldn’t make her wonder if her gems had funded a bloody war somewhere. When she got home from her evening yoga class, he had a bottle of champagne on ice, a bouquet of flowers on the table, and the ring in his pocket. He did it right—down on one knee like Prince Charming. And what had she said?

  “God damn it, why do you have to make this so hard?”

  Which didn’t seem like an answer to Brett, so he stayed on his knee, waiting for something that more closely resembled yes or no.

  She paced back and forth, rubbing her hands over her face for a moment, and then she said, “You’re a hopeless romantic. You make these huge gestures like they make up for all the little things. God damn it.”

  “Ash, come on. I love you. I love you so much. Let’s make a life together.”

  “There’s only room for me in your life when it’s convenient for you. That’s the thing.”

  He stood back up, the ring box still in his outstretched hand. “At least look at it,” he said.

  “No. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

  She walked back toward the door and picked up her gym bag, but he caught up with her and blocked the door. “Things are changing. I mean it. At work—”

  “I do not want to hear about your work.”

  “I’m going to have my own division. I’ll be the boss, and I’ll make my own hours.”

  “You honestly think that taking on more responsibilities will help you work less?”

  When she put it that way, it sounded illogical, but he also knew that it was true. The higher ups in the company had middle management to put in the long hours, while bosses played golf and cashed checks. He ought to know. He was middle management. He was the company’s number one workhorse.

  “This will be a good thing. What we need is a change of scenery. We need to get away from the insanity of this town.”

  “I’m not moving. I have no intention of moving.”

  Brett knew he was defeated. All he’d talked about for the past few months was his desire to move back east to be closer to his family, and Ashley had never said a word. Not a single word of objection. She hadn’t said anything to lead him to believe she was against such a move, but she hadn’t said anything to suggest she’d be willing to go with him either. When she agreed to move in with him, he thought they had a tacit understanding that if he managed to get his wish to go back home, she’d go, too. By living together they would become a package deal. Apparently, she felt otherwise.

  “Were you ever going to tell me that?” Brett asked.

  “You’ve been so depressed lately. How could I?”

  He felt his frustration rapidly coming to a boil. Yes, he had been depressed. He was at a dead end at the company he’d devoted his life to, he had begun to wonder why he’d ever gotten into real estate development in the first place, and his life had a gaping hole in the middle where his family ought to be. He said, “Did you think I’d slit my wrists if you broke up with me?”

  He moved away from the door and put the ring box on the dining room table next to the flowers. Then he popped the cork on the champagne.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Celebrating.” He filled one of the flutes on the table, over-pouring, letting the expensive champagne slop onto the table. He didn’t care.

  “I thought you were in a bad place, and I was trying to do the kind thing,” Ashley said, moving back into the dining room.

  Brett filled the second flute and held it out to Ashley.

  “What are you doing?” she asked again, stepping away from him.

  “Here’s to you, kid. You really fooled me. If the whole yoga thing doesn’t work out, you should try acting.”

  “Come on, don’t be like this.”

  “I tried to be what you wanted.” He became a vegan for her!

  “That’s the thing, though. Maybe when it’s love you don’t have to try so hard.”

  “Wow. Well, if that’s what you think, good luck to you.” He raised his glass and took a long swallow.

  And she left. Just like that. They hadn’t spoken since. And now here he was, an entire continent between them, but he hadn’t stopped hoping she’d come around. He needed her to come around. Because she was the only real non-work, non-family relationship in his life, and because his dream for his new East Coast life wasn’t a bachelor’s life.

  He glanced at the clock on his phone. Eleven. Only eight in LA. She’d be getting home now. His finger hovered over her name in his contact list, and after a long moment, he pressed it. She picked up on the third ring, just when he had concluded she wasn’t going to answer at all.

  By way of greeting, she said, “Are you okay?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I haven’t heard from you since, you know, and I don’t know…”

  “I’m great. I’m in Maine.”

  “Oh.”

  Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then Ashley said, “Did you want anything?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. I miss you.”

  “Brett.”

  “Are you seeing someone?” Brett asked, realizing for the first time that perhaps that was the real reason she’d broken up with him, that she’d been cheating.

  “Would it be easier on you if I said I was?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then, no. I am not seeing anyone else and I’m insulted that you would ask me such a question.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Listen, I should go. I mean if you don’t want anything—”

  “I wanted you to know I was thinking of you. That I love you.” His voice broke as he said this. What a mistake this phone call had been.

  Ashley sighed. “I know you love me. It’s just we’re in totally different places in our lives. We want different things.”

  “Yeah, well, I wish maybe we could have talked about that.”

  “When do you come back?”

  “I haven’t booked my flight yet. A lot of factors up in the air here.”


  “Let’s get together when you get back, okay? Talk in person.”

  “Sure, fine.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go now.”

  “I love you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She hung up.

  What a fool he was. How did he think calling her would help anything? He should have gone down to the hotel bar, had a strong drink, and gone to sleep. He shut off the light, praying that the weather would clear overnight. He needed something to go right for a change.

  Chapter 12

  St. Nabor Island, South Carolina

  Grace had a townhouse near Colony Beach, one of the two public beaches on the island. Angela slowly drove through the condo complex looking for number 612. It was a corner unit near the back. There was a wreath of artificial fall leaves on the door, the sight of which made Angela miss New Hampshire. Maybe she should have listened to Molly and Nicole. Too late now.

  Grace greeted her with a stiff, formal hug, picked up her suitcase and led her upstairs to the guest room, where she left Angela to get situated. Alone, Angela dropped onto the bed and shut her eyes. She was so damned tired. She knew she couldn’t hide out for long without seeming rude, but if she shut her eyes for a few minutes...

  That night, after a dinner, Angela excused herself to bed early. Despite her afternoon nap, she was still dead tired. But when she lay down on the soft guest bed and shut off the lights, she couldn’t sleep. Her mind played and replayed her visit to Belle that afternoon, and the predictions Belle had made for her. Yes, some of it had been vague, and yes, some of it had been wrong, but she had to admit, a lot of it was true. Maybe Belle hadn’t been a total fraud.