by Marni Mann
The Coswells had left me a great deal of money to use just for that purpose, so it made sense to go with that option.
“Your dad gave me this,” I said, holding the other business card in the air. “Lucas Construction…is he who you would use?”
“You won’t find anyone better in Bar Harbor, I assure you.”
I knew I had just met Andy and his father, but something told me I could trust him. That was a huge relief. I really didn’t want to have to search for other contractors and meet with them. Admittedly, I wouldn’t even know what to ask them during those meetings.
He picked up his notes again along with a pen. “Why don’t we go through the house one more time and I’ll give you my suggestions. Then you can meet with Shane, the owner of Lucas Construction, and compare his ideas to mine.”
I took a deep breath and noticed my fingers. I was pulling at them, cracking the knuckles as if I was trying to break them off. They missed their creative outlet. “Okay.”
“My father and I will help you through every step,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
I suddenly felt a knot starting to form in my throat. I wouldn’t allow myself to get emotional—not in front of him, but I was having a hard time stopping it. It sounded like he worked so well with his dad. The same way I had worked so well with mine. “This is a lot for me right now.”
“I know…it would be for anyone, especially given your circumstances. You can count on my father and me. I promise.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He held his pen to the paper and began writing. “Are you ready to get started? We have a long list to make.”
“I’m ready.”
CHAPTER SIX
AS SOON AS ANDY’S CAR DISAPPEARED down the driveway, I made a quick call to the contractor and scheduled an appointment for later that morning. Then I emptied my suitcase on the living room floor, rifled through my clothes and found a bathing suit. Before the incident, this never would have happened. My life had been organized like a photo album; every moment had a place on a page reserved for similar moments, and every page had a dedicated purpose. But now there was no pattern, no definition to anything that happened to me.
I’d become haphazard.
The pile on the floor was a mix of dirty and clean clothes. Nothing had been folded, and most of what I’d packed didn’t coordinate. I didn’t know if the bikini bra that I pulled out even matched the bottoms.
I didn’t really care—about any of it.
I changed in the downstairs bathroom. On my way out the back door, I grabbed some towels that I found in the laundry room and led Bella down the steps. Staying in water that was shallow enough for her to be near land, I dove in and streamlined, taking several dolphin kicks. The sea wasn’t nearly as warm as the Gulf of Mexico; the chill immediately rushed through my limbs. I didn’t let it stop my strokes. I needed this.
The more I glided, the more my body loosened. Waves lapped over my face when I surfaced for a breath. Bella paddled behind me as we made our way across the small inlet that circled the front of the property, and she followed me back as I pushed off the rocks of the peninsula. There was a wall of boulders on both sides, a horseshoe-shaped natural pool to lap across before it jutted out to the deeper sea.
The salt stung my eyes. Knowing the freedom that was waiting for me in the water, I hadn’t taken the time to grab my goggles or a cap. Freedom from my thoughts, moments that weren’t disrupted by the snapshots of my parents…their blood pooled on the floor…their lifeless bodies heaped in the positions they’d fallen in. With each exhale, their blood seemed to slowly evaporate, their bodies began to lift, their skin turned pink. Time reversed. With this pause came an increased heart rate, burning muscles. I purged my emotions, emptied them into the ocean. In a place where I felt—and could be—truly weightless.
But it didn’t last, of course.
I rounded my five-hundred-yards, a distance I could calculate by counting the amount of strokes, and suddenly felt Bella’s absence. She was no longer treading in the mock lane I had created. She wasn’t wading in the shallow water either. She was standing on the rocky shoreline, her tail thumping beneath her as the man standing in front of her scratched her ears. The distance between us and the water blurring my vision made it difficult to distinguish his characteristics. But his smudged image didn’t fit the profile of Saint.
Great…more people.
“I’m sorry,” I shouted over the waves as I swam toward them. “Is my dog bothering you?”
The volume in my head suddenly began to rise again. I needed more time in the water, and this stranger was taking that from me.
“No, no…she’s fine,” he replied.
I cleared the water out of my eyes and watched Bella glance from him, to me, to him again. She loved new people—all people, actually. I just wished she could have waited to lavish him with attention until after I was finished swimming.
I walked my way out of the ocean. My feet sunk into the muddy sand as I surfaced, water flowing from my shoulders and running down my torso and legs. I continued to rub the salt out of my eyes as I moved toward them. The stranger was kneeling in front of Bella, and he stood as I approached. A day’s worth of smoky blond stubble littered his cheeks; his hair was buzzed on the sides, short and straight on top. The dark blue jeans he had on hugged his waist, cinching just low enough that his wife-beater showed the tightness of his stomach. The jacket he wore overemphasized the broadness in his shoulders. But it was his eyes that really held my gaze. They were the same shade as an early morning sky. They popped like a burst of color in a black and white photo.
“Drew?” he asked.
“How do you know my name?”
He picked up one of the towels I’d placed on the beach earlier and handed it to me. “We have an appointment today…and you’re late for it.”
I wrapped the towel around me, blushing as I realized how completely dressed he was and how much skin I was showing. The thin top and low-cut bottoms of my bikini didn’t hide much. “We have an appointment?”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine in spite of Bella weaving around his legs, trying to get his attention.
The only appointment I had today was with the contractor. “You’re Shane?”
“I’m Brady Lucas…Shane’s son.”
“Aren’t you a bit early?”
He pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. “No, we were right on time.” He held it out to show me that it was seventeen minutes past our agreed-upon meeting time.
The three hours I had been in the water felt like minutes. It was the longest I had ever swum. I could have easily kept going for another three. “Sorry…I got a little caught up.” I slid on my flip-flops as we began to walk toward the house. “Is your dad here?”
He thumbed over his shoulder, his expression softening. “He’s waiting by the truck.”
“Can you give me a few minutes to put on some clothes?” I pulled the towel even tighter.
“Why don’t you meet us out front when you’re ready?”
I thanked him and walked up the stairs, Bella following behind me as Brady headed toward the front of the house. I found a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top on the floor in the living room where I’d dumped my suitcase and pulled them on quickly over my wet bikini. I didn’t want to take more of their time than I already had, but I did want to clean up the room just a little. So I threw all the clothes back inside the case and stashed it out of sight.
Both men were standing on the front porch when I opened the door. My hands were wet from knotting my hair on top of my head, but I dried them on my shorts and reached for Shane’s hand. “I apologize for running so late.”
Shane looked nothing like Brady, with his dark hair and olive skin. His eyes were just as loud, though they seemed more turquoise than sky…and they wandered, though not in a creepy way. They seemed to be piecing something together.
“You must be…Rebecca’s daughter?”
As much as he gazed at me, I didn’t feel weirded out by him. It just felt like he was trying to make sense of things. “Wow. You look just like her. I figured that Marilyn had given Shirley the house once she passed. I never expected this…to be meeting you.”
“Did you know my mom?”
“Did I know her?” he repeated.
I nodded.
I could feel him trying to contain his emotions as his fingers raked his dark hair and he mashed his lips together. “I…did.” He stopped and took a halting breath. “Is she here?”
Now it was my turn to breathe, deeply and painfully. “No.” I never had to answer questions like that in Florida. Everyone knew. I wasn’t surprised that the news hadn’t made its way up to Maine. But it was becoming more and more obvious that my mother hadn’t kept in touch with anyone. Thinking about how much I should say was like reliving the incident all over again. “She died. Almost three months ago.” It came out softly. I couldn’t make my voice any louder. “So did my father.”
Shane’s expression morphed into that sorrowful look that I had recently seen from so many when they were trying to think of the right thing to say to me. The truth was, there was nothing he could say—or needed to say—and I didn’t want him to try. And I wasn’t about to offer details of what had happened.
“I’m so sorry.” It was Brady’s voice that filled the silence. He hadn’t said a word the whole time we’d been standing on the front porch, but he did then. Shane hadn’t responded at all and I was oddly appreciative for that. Somehow, I couldn’t look away from him.
“Thank you,” I said to them both. I needed to change the subject. “So…I want to repair the house so I can get it on the market as soon as possible. Are you available for the renovations?”
“Yes,” Shane said finally. “We’d be happy to help.”
“Then please come inside.” I held the door open and both men walked into the entryway. I led them to the kitchen where Andy’s paperwork sat on the table and handed a copy to Shane. “It’s a long list, but maybe we could go through each room and I could compare your suggestions to Andy’s?”
Shane moved around the kitchen with the sheets of paper in his hand, his fingers grazing the countertop and cabinets. The lines in his forehead deepened as his eyes bore into each surface. “Andy wants to gut the whole kitchen,” Shane said. “But these cabinets are high quality and I’d hate to trash them. Why don’t we resurface them and add new hardware?”
“Yeah…it’s all a little dated,” Brady agreed. “But nothing we can’t fix.”
The more I compared the two men as they stood before me, the more I realized they looked nothing alike. Even their skin tone clashed. Brady’s dirty blond hair matched his lighter complexion; Shane’s skin had the hue of a year-round tan.
“That’s fine,” I said. It really didn’t matter to me what he wanted to do to the house, as long as Andy agreed and thought the improvements would make it sell faster.
Shane made a note on the paper. “I agree with his other suggestions for the kitchen. Specifics will take me a few days to sort out ‘cause I really need to think about what colors and materials would work best for this room.” I watched his eyes scan to the bottom of the page, then flip to the next. “Are you sure you want to do all this? The house has got so much character. I’d hate to kill it.”
I shrugged. “Andy said it all needs to be done.”
Shane leaned against the bar and took his time looking around the kitchen again. After several seconds, his eyes landed on me. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, so maybe it does. Should we start going through each room?”
I took my copy of the list and led them into the dining room. While Shane made suggestions and took notes, Brady used his phone to snap pictures. Both the click of the camera app and the flash drew my attention every time. It wasn’t only my camera I’d given up; it was photography entirely.
I couldn’t concentrate on Shane’s voice. I knew Brady’s eyes were occasionally on me, but I didn’t acknowledge him either. I couldn’t. I yearned for the freedom to claim that creative ability again…to freeze a moment, a personal moment. To be able to point my lens at whatever I wanted, and capture it however I saw fit. To hold it in my hands, to alter the colors to my liking…to merge, to focus on the object of my desire. But whenever that urge entered my body now, the instinct that made my fingers crave the possession of images, was immediately replaced by the crime scene photos of my parents.
The blood.
I couldn’t get rid of the fucking blood.
“Drew?”
Shane’s voice cut through. I shook my head, realizing I had been staring at Brady’s hands, still holding his phone but now resting on the top of his belt buckle. My vision slid slowly up his chest, stopping once it had reached his face. My cheeks reddened as his expression turned smug.
Shit.
He must have thought I was gawking at his crotch.
“I think we’ve got enough information for now,” Shane continued. “I can draw up an estimate for the labor. We’ll have to meet up again to discuss materials, and I’ll give you a separate quote for those.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll walk you out.” I kept my eyes on the ground when I moved between them to avoid further embarrassment and unintentional eye contact with Brady’s body parts.
I led them out the front door. When we reached their truck, I turned around, and both men halted in front of me. The wetness from my bathing suit had leaked through my white tank top and with the steady breeze that blew over me, my whole body tightened…even my nipples. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide them, but not quickly enough. Brady’s face told me he had definitely noticed them.
That’s fair, I thought.
“Give me a few days to put everything together, then I’ll shoot it all over to you through email,” Shane said. He scratched Bella’s head as she plopped down between him and Brady. “I’m assuming you’d like us to start immediately?”
“Yes, as soon as possible. I’m heading straight back to Florida once the listing goes live.”
“You’re leaving?” Brady asked, but it felt more like a statement. He looked at his dad and a silent thought passed between them.
“If you hire us, Drew, we’d really prefer you to stay here until we’re done,” Shane said. “Things come up during renovations that just don’t translate in pictures. And there’s our progress to watch over and decisions to be made—things we won’t be able to anticipate prior to the demo.”
I knew the language of photography, the things that would and wouldn’t translate in a static image, especially if the best camera he had was the one on his phone. But the thought of staying here, at the Coswells’ house…I didn’t know if I could do it.
“How long will it take?” I asked.
Shane looked over Andy’s list and then his own. “Two months. Three tops.”
“Months?”
“That’s going to be a problem, huh?” Brady asked.
Anything more than a week would be a problem. I didn’t have a job in Florida that I needed to run back to, or anyone other than Gianna and her family to return to. I just didn’t think I could spend that much time alone in a place that would never feel like home, filled with ghosts of a family I hadn’t even known existed.
“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure.” I reached for Shane’s pen and wrote my email address on one of the sheets. He confirmed again that I’d be hearing from him in a few days. Then I said good-bye and headed back inside, hoping to find a way to be comfortable in that house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE KITCHEN WAS DARK except for the moonlight glistening in through the window, illuminating the sink beneath the sill. On the other side of the room, a dim-glowing pendant hung from the ceiling, casting a bit of backlighting. I was wearing nothing more than the light T-shirt and cotton shorts that I’d worn to bed. My icy hands gripped the counter on each side of the sink.
My whole body was frozen—literally. I hadn’t brought sweatpants or a sweater, or even a jacket with me, and the kitchen couldn’t have been warmer than fifty degrees. If I were in Florida, the air conditioning would have been pumping all night, trying to maintain a comfortable temperature. But I wasn’t in Florida. And my bed consisted of the living room couch and a blanket that I’d had in the backseat of my car.
I was nearly frostbitten.
I hadn’t slept…not even for a minute. My mind was too busy recapping the meeting I’d had with Andy and the one with Shane and Brady that followed. And it was trying to block out the images of my parents that overlaid everything else.
There was a coffeemaker not too far from my hands. I’d used it this afternoon; there was a bag of ground beans next to it, and some bagels that I’d picked up at the store. My stomach growled from skipping dinner. I hadn’t showered after my swim, and my skin needed to be cleaned. I ignored it all.
I couldn’t move.
My eyes scanned the gardens that were in the back of the house and then they examined the lawn. The dew that had collected on both sparkled under the moon. I imagined the freshness that floated from them—the same sort of freshness my mom had described.
My eyelids closed softly as I envisioned her pruning the flowers outside our house, and my dad on the riding mower, buds in his ears, bobbing his head and mouthing the words to old-school rock.
I missed them.
I missed my old life.
I missed the constant, controllable silence that I never needed to swim for until they died.
My eyes sprang open as my hand reached across the counter and grabbed the closest item—the glass carafe. I raised the pot above my head and smashed it on the linoleum. The glass shattered around my feet; shards hit the bar and clattered to the floor. Coffee that I hadn’t bothered to pour out splashed over my skin and pooled around my toes.
Bella sprang up from the ground, her head swishing from side to side as she tried to find the source of the noise. Her paws ticked on the floor.