Pippa slapped a hand across her mouth. “You eat lambs?”
“Not lambs. Lamb.” Though what was the difference, really? “Okay, so we’ll skip the chops tonight.” He hurried into the kitchen and scanned the fridge. “Do we eat chicken?”
Both girls shouted back: “Is it white-meat chicken breast?” and “I like it with gravy.”
Wendell sighed and made a mental note. They’d have to sit down at some point and figure out meals. “How about spaghetti?”
To his great relief, both said yes.
After dinner, they went on a walk around the property. Wendell showed them his mother’s perennial beds surrounding the farmhouse. “My mom would’ve liked this,” Julia mused. Pippa was excited to visit Raddy, and Wendell was relieved that they’d gotten through dinner and almost to her bedtime without issue. But when they went back indoors, she started to look unsure.
“Are you okay, Pippa?” he asked.
She looked to Julia, her eyes wide and sad. “What’s wrong?” Julia said.
Pippa didn’t want to say. She whispered in Julia’s ear while Wendell waited. This was not a good sign.
“She’s tired,” Julia explained, but Wendell could tell that wasn’t what Pippa had shared.
“I’ve got ice cream,” Wendell suggested. He’d intended to save that for tomorrow, but it was becoming clear that he needed to pull out all the stops on their first night.
The ice cream worked and they ate together in the parlor. Wendell let the girls take the rocking chairs by the fireplace and he perched on the edge of the couch.
“Is that an antique?” Julia asked.
“Actually, it is. It was my grandmother’s.”
Julia nodded and looked around. “Is this whole house antique?”
Wendell followed her gaze. He’d always thought of his house as homey and well appointed. His father had been a simple man who’d grown up in the farmhouse with simple furnishings, but his mother’s eclectic urban touch had electrified it with pops of color and interest. But as his eyes traveled over the parlor room and beyond, into the kitchen, Wendell understood the question. The parlor was a dated formal wallpaper. The Oriental rug was a bit shabby and worn, its mahogany and gold colors faded. The bookshelves were lined with dusty hardbacks, books that Wendell hadn’t read or touched since his own childhood. And the kitchen—well, it was straight out of the eighties. “I guess you could say that,” he allowed. “It’s an old house,” he reminded them.
“Yeah. But so is ours.”
That was true. Julia’s great-grandfather had built theirs probably not long after Wendell’s house had been built. But what a difference on the interiors. The White Pines house was open and airy, painted in pale earth tones and white trim. The lighting fixtures were modern; the furniture was crisp and white and plush in its newness. The chestnut floors had been redone and gleamed in the sunlight that spilled through the windows. Wendell looked around at his farmhouse, which also had large windows, but the drapes were heavy and dark. For a beat he felt a little ashamed. And then protective. “Do you not feel comfortable here?”
Pippa tried to stretch out on his mother’s Victorian fainting couch. “It’s nice,” she said. But her face contorted as she switched positions until she gave up. The house was not, Wendell realized with some consternation, a kid-friendly house.
Suddenly, he was very tired. “Well, at least your rooms are done up really nice. Let’s get cleaned up and ready for bed.”
Julia frowned. “It’s only eight thirty.”
“What time do you go to bed?”
“Ten. Pippa goes down around now, though.”
Wendell brightened. “I figured since it’s your first night, and you’re sharing a room, maybe this once you can go to bed a little earlier so she feels comfortable. You could read. Or… look at your phone a bit?”
Julia shrugged. “Okay.”
Upstairs in the hallway bathroom, there were more problems. “How does this work?” Julia asked. The girls were standing with toothbrushes in hand. A dribble of paste lined Pippa’s mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Wendell asked.
She pointed to the toilet. It had an old-fashioned pull in the center to flush.
“Oh. Here, let me show you.” He demonstrated, and Pippa laughed. “What’s so funny?”
“You pull the gold chain and down it goes!” She was getting giddy, whether from fatigue or from the toilet, Wendell couldn’t say.
“Okay, okay. Time for bed.”
When both were in their pajamas and washed up, Wendell knocked at the bedroom door. “May I read you a story?” he asked.
Pippa nodded sleepily. She was a tiny thing under the new comforter set and looked snug as a bug.
“What’s the title?” Julia asked.
Wendell decided to sit on Pippa’s bed. There was more room, and he didn’t want to crowd the teenager. “It’s an old book. One my parents used to read to me. It’s called Corduroy the Bear.”
Julia groaned. “Another antique?”
Wendell swatted the edge of her bed playfully with it. “Yes. Another antique.” But this time she giggled.
Despite her cynicism, Julia stretched out on her bed and turned in his direction as he began to read. Beside him, Pippa’s eyelids fluttered. When the book was done, Julia smiled. “That wasn’t so bad.” She yawned. “Actually, it was kind of cute.”
Pippa was quiet, and when Wendell pulled the corner of her blanket away from her face, he saw that she was sound asleep. Her expression filled him with a deep sense of accomplishment. Very gently, he pulled the covers up around her and eased off the bed. As he tiptoed out of the room, he glanced over at Julia. “You can stay up a while, if you’d like. But be sure it’s not too late.”
“Okay. But one more thing.”
Wendell paused in the doorway. “Yes?” It was such a strange sight, the two girls in his and Wesley’s old beds, under his roof for the night. Despite the unfamiliarity of it all, it was also really nice.
Julia whispered, “Sometimes Pippa wets the bed.” She looked worried.
“Oh.” Wendell thought a moment. “If that happens, come get me. I’ll change the sheets, and maybe you can help her change pajamas.”
“You won’t be mad?”
Wendell shook his head. “Of course not. You know, my little brother, Wesley, used to do that sometimes. But my parents understood.” He shrugged. “Accidents happen.”
“Right.” Julia smiled. “Thanks, Wendell.”
He smiled. “Good night, Julia. Sleep tight.”
As he headed down the hall, Wendell paused outside the closed door of Wesley’s room. Until that day, Wendell rarely went inside. Now he opened the door and looked around. Aside from the missing bed, it was just as Wesley had left it when he enlisted. On the closet door hung a David Ortiz Red Sox jersey, and over his desk was a Green Day poster. The bookshelf in the corner was lined with novels he probably never read for his high school English classes, a stack of music CDs, and a couple of middle and high school basketball trophies. His old Converse sneakers were lined up by the foot of the bed, toes pointing out. Wendell shook his head. Despite the years, it felt as if Wesley could just walk back in the door at any time. Ask Wendell to borrow his car. Give him a hard time about what a softie he’d become.
Wendell leaned against the doorframe. “What would you think of me taking in these girls?” he whispered to the empty room.
Thirty Ginny
Ginny prided herself on being a people person. Normally, she enjoyed working with clients and developing relationships with them; it was a critical factor in doing her job well. But Candace was a vault. She was not going to open herself up one bit.
As surprising as the development had seemed initially, now that the Lancaster girls were staying with Wendell, Ginny thought it wasn’t such a bad idea. For a man who preferred complete solitude and avoided relationships the way most people avoid contagions, the mere idea of him taking care of two orphaned girls wa
s preposterous. After Wesley died and Wendell returned to Saybrook, he’d made one thing clear: he wanted to be left alone. She, more than anyone else, knew that.
But there was something about this new arrangement that was breaking through to him. In the little time she’d gotten to know them, she couldn’t deny it: Julia and Pippa’s story was heartbreaking, and the two were so sweet, only a person with a stone-cold heart could help becoming attached. Wendell Combs was not immune, and that said everything.
But Candace was. And for the life of her, Ginny could not figure it out. White Pines was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever set foot on, and since she’d grown up in picturesque Saybrook, that said a lot. However, Candace remained unmoved by both the family estate and the children. There had to be a reason why. But it was not Ginny’s job to figure it out. Her job was to remain professional with a woman who was difficult to please and whose property could mean the survival of her parents’ agency. Which was why Ginny decided to keep her connection to Wendell and the girls separate from her role as broker.
Still, it felt strange having come from Wendell’s house, where she’d helped to decorate the bedroom for Julia and Pippa over the weekend, to meet with Candace on Monday morning. More than once she was tempted to mention that she’d seen the girls and they were doing fine. She realized Candace might not appreciate that. Or, worse, might not care. So she kept her mouth shut. Besides, there was the matter of the conversation she’d overheard between Geoffrey and Candace in the office the previous week.
Ginny had called Candace and offered to drop off documents that morning. The offer to purchase White Pines had been accepted, and Scooter Dunham’s deposit had been received. What remained was one contingency: the estate had to be approved for subdivision by the town’s planning and zoning department, so that Scooter could be assured of his development plans. And that included approval from the Inland Wetlands Commission. Otherwise, the deal would fall apart. And there was too much at stake, for Ginny as well, to let that happen.
As she pulled up to the house, she noticed a group of people in the distance, walking through the upper fields. When she knocked, Geoffrey Banks opened the door. She imagined the poor man practically lived at White Pines these days. He invited her in. “Come, join us. Candace and I were just wrapping up an estate meeting.”
They were seated around the dining room table this time, and Ginny couldn’t help but notice the girls’ absence. The quietude made the sprawling house feel especially empty. “Now that we’ve got Mr. Dunham’s documentation, I’d like to get an update on his contingency request. Do we know where things stand with the application for zoning?”
Geoffrey shared a copy of the application with her. “The commission met last week and reviewed our application. The zoning inspections have been done. And the Inland Wetlands Commission folks are conducting their walk as we speak.”
“Ah, that’s who I saw out there,” Ginny said. “So, assuming today’s walk goes well, we should expect approval for our permit to build?”
“Yes,” Candace said. “Assuming.” She glanced at Geoffrey. There: Ginny saw something in her look.
“Is there anything you’re concerned about? Anything that might turn the approval process in the other direction?” Ginny was pressing, but that was her job. If something hadn’t been disclosed, she needed to dig it up now.
“Well, there are lots of wetlands on the estate,” Geoffrey allowed. “Which means that the commission is going to investigate things on their site walk.”
“What kinds of things?” Ginny asked.
“Setbacks. Species of plants and animals, that sort of thing. The engineers have already come in and done soil tests to determine where the wetland boundaries are. The site walk is more of a formality.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Candace interjected firmly.
But that wasn’t entirely true. While the Inland Wetlands Commission may have been a small one, if there were species or soil areas that could not be disrupted by excavation, they could stop a build. Which could mean that one or more of the lots created with the surveys might not be buildable. Unless an abutting property owner wanted to purchase it for privacy, a nonbuildable lot had pretty much zero value.
“Are we still marketing the lot?” Candace asked.
“Yes, of course. The listing remains active until the sale.”
“Good. I think it’s best to keep marketing it aggressively and keep others on the hook. I have a good feeling about Mr. Dunham, but one never knows.”
Ginny did not have such a good feeling about Mr. Dunham, but for reasons other than the one Candace was suggesting. “Well, I should get back to the office.”
Back outside, she noticed the group of commissioners getting into their cars down at the lower barn. They must’ve completed their walk. She waited as they pulled out before she drove down, so as not to disrupt them. When she passed the barn, there were two cars still there. One was a Subaru wagon. The other was a red sports car she recognized right away. But neither driver was around.
Ginny wondered idly if Wendell was there, working somewhere. As she pulled past the barn, she glanced back, looking for his truck. What she saw instead were two men, standing by the side of the barn, speaking closely. One of the men was Scooter Dunham. The other must’ve been a commissioner. Ginny slowed, watching as they shook hands. Scooter looked up just as she drove by, and she pulled her gaze away. Whatever they were doing, Scooter shouldn’t have been talking to a commissioner. She wondered if Candace knew he was on the property.
Ginny glanced in her rearview mirror. The other man was getting into his car. But Scooter was watching her drive away.
There was a lot of work waiting for her, but Ginny didn’t go back to the office.
Instead, she went to Saybrook town hall.
“Well, if it isn’t Ginny Feldman!” Mrs. Hawthorne, the town clerk, stood up from behind her desk and trotted around to give her a hug. “You look no older than your high school graduation.”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s daughter was an old school friend of Ginny’s. “Good to see you, too,” Ginny said. Being home in a small town had some perks.
“What can I help you with, honey?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked.
“I’m representing a client on Timber Lane.”
Mrs. Hawthorne nodded knowingly. “The whole town is talking about it. That beautiful place is going to be dug up and turned into a suburban eyesore.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “But that’s just my opinion. Between us, of course.”
Ginny laughed. “Of course. I was wondering if I could see the file on the property.”
“You must mean the property card. Is there something in particular you’re worried about?”
Ginny knew it was somewhat unusual for a listing agent to review town property files, but her gut was telling her she should. What she’d overheard of Geoffrey and Candace’s discussion earlier that week suggested that something wasn’t quite right. “I wanted to check on its zoning status and take a look at the history of permit applications.” When she got a funny look, she added quickly, “I’m just crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s.”
Luckily, that seemed to satisfy Mrs. Hawthorne. “I’ll walk you down the hall to the building and health department for that. If you need anything else, come back and see me.”
Ten minutes later, armed with the property file, Ginny settled into a small meeting room across the hall and began reading. There was nothing out of the ordinary that she could find. There were applications for a new septic back in the twenties, probably filed by Alan’s grandfather. Several property maps were included in the file, showing how the borders had changed when the family purchased neighboring land to increase the estate. An old black-and-white photo, of a donkey pulling a cart with two children in it, a girl and a boy, was tucked between two of the maps. Ginny pulled it out and studied it. She wondered if the children were Candace and Alan. But there was nothing out of the ordinary in the file; after going through t
he entire thing and coming up empty-handed, she gave up her search.
She stopped at the town clerk’s office to say goodbye. “Thanks, Mrs. Hawthorne. Say hi to Alison for me!”
Mrs. Hawthorne looked up from her desk. “Did you find what you were looking for, honey?”
“No. But then I guess I don’t really know what I was expecting to find.”
“Maybe I can help.”
Ginny didn’t want to stir up any trouble. Her job was to get the transaction done for her client and get the deal done for her parents’ agency. But she also had an ethical code of conduct to follow. “Well, there was one thing. There’s been a lot of talk about the Inland Wetlands Commission. I was just curious if there was a history of issues I should be aware of. But it’s probably nothing,” she added quickly.
Mrs. Hawthorne looked thoughtful. “Well, I don’t recall any issues off the top of my head, but Saybrook has a lot of wetland properties, and protecting those areas has become a bit of a big deal with the state. Tell you what, I’ll dig around a little if you like.”
Ginny did like that idea, even if she was reluctant to pull strings. “That would be great. But promise not to spend too much time on it—I don’t want to trouble you.”
“For you? You bet! Now, if you were one of those bossy out-of-town developers, probably not.” Mrs. Hawthorne winked. “I’ll let you know if I find anything, sugar.”
As much as Ginny hated to admit it, her mother had been right. Again. Working in a close-knit community had its advantages. She was on her way out of the town hall when her phone dinged. It was Wendell. Since she’d gone to the farmhouse to help settle the girls in, things between she and Wendell had seemed to settle. Ginny wasn’t sure what, if anything, she felt for Wendell beyond curiosity and the desire to help him. But she took comfort in the sense that he seemed to have forgiven her for not telling him about listing White Pines from the beginning. She found herself smiling as she read his text: “The county fair is tonight.”
“You hate the county fair,” she replied. It was true. She’d dragged him to it every summer, and every time he’d gone. Even though the Ferris wheel made him dizzy and the smell of cotton candy turned his stomach.
Message in the Sand Page 26