Chapter 2 #3
“She might be regretting it, though. The other day I stopped in and he was just standing there watching a sports game on the TV, moving his rag around an already clean table. For like five minutes. Lost in thought.”
“He was always a dreamer. Used to take apart radios and try and create gadgets with them. Never put them back together.” They passed Uncle Patrick and Aunt Whitney’s house and approached the well-lit, two-story house where Declan had grown up.
The lawn was perfectly manicured, the weeds all pulled, the garden blooming full and brilliant under the front window, and though many houses in this older neighborhood looked weatherworn—a common occurrence given their proximity to constant wind coming off the lake shore—there wasn’t an inch of peeling paint to be seen.
Perfect. Just the way Mom liked it.
Brandon grabbed the suitcase handle and took it up the front porch stairs. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
As his cousin opened the front door, waves of sound rushed out. The television, broadcasting the evening news. A triumphant shout of “I won!” mingled with groans.
And then there was the all-familiar bickering of his parents.
He followed his cousin into the foyer of the home and the smell rushed over him—the garlic and basil of his mother’s lasagna, the scent of pasta boiling, and maybe the deep comfort of baked chocolate cookies. His mom’s diner wasn’t the most popular eating establishment on the island for nothing.
Declan peeled off his backpack and dropped it on the bench in the entryway. His leather jacket still hung on the hook there—funny Mom had never moved it. He touched it a second, and just like that, a memory rose—the scent of summer, laughter, a feeling of freedom.
Lily.
Stop. That wasn’t him—was never really him.
“Declan? Is that you?” Mom popped her head into the hallway from the kitchen, a big black serving spoon in her hand. A dark green apron draped her heavyset figure, and a true smile graced her face. “My boy! You made it.”
“Hey, Mom.” He walked down the hallway, past the wall of historic family portraits, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Good to see you.”
Declan glanced back into the kitchen, where his aunts Jill and Whitney were chopping vegetables.
They waved, knives in hand, before returning to their conversation.
At the four-person kitchen table, Patrick’s kids—including Declan’s eighteen-year-old cousin, Olive, and her two younger brothers, Scott and Donovan—played a round of UNO.
Brandon inched past Declan, giving his mom a squeeze on the shoulders before settling into the seat beside Olive and tapping the spot in front of him. They dealt him in.
Meanwhile, in the great room, Isaac and Patrick watched the Tigers baseball game, cans of soda in hand. Patrick, at least, offered a grunt and wave to Declan before turning back to the game.
His brother glanced at him, raised a chin, as if to say hey.
He raised his back. Hey.
But his gaze landed on the frail figure in the large, fraying recliner.
Grandma.
Even from here, he could sense the weariness in her—and not just because her eyes were closed, her mouth open in a clear indication she was dozing.
But also, her graying hair, once a source of such pride, was unkempt, the curls too long for her perm.
She wore a sweatsuit, so different from the slacks and blouse she used to wear even when cleaning her house— Because you never know who will stop by, dear— and her cheeks were sunken, the same pale color as her lips.
She looked, in a word, defeated.
“She’s been excited to see you, but is still tired out from her stay at the hospital,” Mom said in a low voice as she tucked a lock of her graying, dark hair back up into her messy bun. “Speaking of that, I think I’ve got a solution to her housing dilemma.”
He blinked at her. “Already? We just talked yesterday.”
“And I was just sitting around a hospital all day considering solutions. Nearly drove me batty.”
Maybe Mom didn’t need him at all. Which would be great, actually. “Do you want to talk now or wait until after dinner?”
Mom peeked inside the oven. “The lasagna still has about fifteen minutes. Let’s go in the front room and chat. Ladies, can you watch the pasta on the stove for me?”
“Of course.” Aunt Jill’s bright red hair stood out in the muted colors of the room as she sliced another tomato. She winked at Declan. “You two just go solve the world’s problems.”
“One of us has to,” Mom muttered as she ushered Declan back down the hallway and into the small sitting room at the front of the house.
Despite the seventy-degree weather outside, the fireplace flickered, a blaze fighting for life.
Two bookshelves flanked the mantel, holding an assortment of tomes and crystal figurines that held some sort of special meaning for his mom.
As a kid, he’d never been allowed to sit in this room—the “fancy room”—and it felt all kinds of wrong as he sank into the white couch with a white crocheted blanket folded along the back. “So what’s the idea?”
Mom sat, swinging her legs to the side so she faced him, hands folded in her lap.
“As you know, I’m on the town council, and our plan to bring new businesses to town has been threefold: rebuild the Grand Hotel by the end of next year so our seasonal workers have housing and tourists have more options for where to stay.
Number two, promise low rent on Main Street storefront leases for the first two years, and three, offer town-owned homes in this very neighborhood to new business owners for one dollar. ”
“Yes, it’s quite the plan.”
Behind Mom, Dad appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets. Bald, with pale blue eyes, he glanced at Declan, no smile. Declan didn’t expect one.
“So, while I was pacing in the hospital waiting room, I had the thought—what if we could convince the county to release Edna’s house to the town of Jonathon Island?”
“Why would they do that?”
Mom waved her hand. “It means nothing to them. I know for a fact—my old friend Sandy works at the bank and told me so herself—that they’re overrun with foreclosed homes.
Right now, they can barely give homes away here, let alone resell them.
The house is more trouble than it’s worth.
Of course, they can’t just give it back to Grandma, because they don’t get a tax break doing that, but this way, they will. ”
Declan did the math, came out at net zero. “But that doesn’t benefit us at all. So when the town owns the property—it’s still out of Kelley hands.”
“It does if the town ties Edna’s home to the revitalization program. If the council attaches it to a storefront.”
“I thought the council already filled all of the available storefronts.”
“All but a few, most of which still are under lease by their previous owners or owned outright by someone other than Seb Jonathon.”
The mayor, Seb Jonathon, also was the landlord to most of the buildings on Main Street, with a few exceptions. “Like the old Hudson bakery.”
“Exactly.” Mom tapped the side of her nose, and her blue eyes gleamed. “But there is one property whose lease has recently expired. Just three days ago, in fact.”
The picture was getting clearer. “So you’re thinking that if we can get the county to release the property to the town?—”
“It’s all but done. Sandy is pushing the paperwork through tonight.”
Declan arched a brow at Mom. “Tonight? The day before the Fourth of July?”
“Time is of the essence. Besides, she owes me.”
Dad grunted.
“Okay, so once you can get the property released to the town, you get the council to attach Grandma’s house to the final storefront available for leasing…”
“Right.”
“And”—he grinned—“you apply to run a business out of the storefront, thereby granting us ownership of Grandma’s house for one dollar.” He sat back. “Mom. You may have your crazy moments, but this…this is a brilliant business move. Problem solved.”
Mom rubbed her hands together. “Not me. You.”
Wait. “What? Me ?”
“Yes, you. The rest of us are busy running our own businesses. You’re the only one old enough and responsible enough—with the right experience—to open a shop and make a success out of things.”
“Mom—”
“The contracts the council has been giving out state that home ownership reverts to the town if the business ceases operations within three years. It has to be you.”
His mouth opened. Closed. He took a breath. “I’ll admit, it’s a great plan. But I’ve already got a job, remember? Back in Chicago.”
She took his hand. “I know. And I’m sure it’s a great job, but you’re needed here, Declan.
At least to help start it. Once you’ve got it going, if you need to return to your job, we can hire Olive or someone else to work there and report back to you.
She just graduated and would probably like to branch out beyond working at the coffee shop. ”
“Mom. I have to be back within a month if I want to keep this job. You can’t start a business then abandon it a month later.”
“She’s not really asking, son.” Dad spoke up, eyes flashing. “And you know how Grandma feels about that house.”
Declan stared at him. He did know, but—“Dad, I want to help, but…”
“Let’s not beat around. You owe her, son. So, just man up and do it.”
It was always so cut-and-dried with Dad, wasn’t it?
Declan’s mouth tightened, and maybe he should just grab his suitcase and…and leave.
Never look back.
Which had been Plan A all along.
Mom placed a hand on his arm. “I know this isn’t your first choice, but it’s a way to help.”
A way to make amends, she meant.
He looked away, at the pictures in the hallway, the legacy of the Kelleys. Shoot.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Oh, Declan, thank you. I’ve already called an emergency meeting of the council on Monday. Seb is out of town, but that will just make it easier.”
“Easier? Why?”
“Oh.” She made a face and Declan stiffened in his seat. “The lease you’ll be taking over, it’s a bit complicated. A bit of history there, and I’m afraid Seb might not give us a fair shake.”
“What’s complicated about the lease, Mom?”
But somehow, he knew.
“It’s for The Fudge Shop on Main.”
He finally let loose the groan he’d been holding in. “Seriously, Mom?” How was he supposed to take over the space that had once been occupied by the family—by the woman—who had changed his life, and not for the better? “That space belongs to the Hart Family Fudge shop.”
“Not anymore. Because the lease expired. And they’ve had it shut down for years.”
“Still. You really want to reopen that old wound? You might start that stupid feud up all over again.”
“Calm down. Randy Hart retired from his fishing business. Nancy Hart retired from fudge making. And that shop is just sitting there, perfectly good real estate rotting away. It’s just begging for a new resident, and Kelley’s Classic Fudge needs a rebirth.” She stood up.
“Does it, though?”
Mom’s eyes flashed. “For Grandma’s sake, yes.”
Right. It came down to that, didn’t it? And that was why Declan was here.
Apparently, if he had to make fudge, he’d make fudge.
Anything to save Grandma’s house.
Anything to show how sorry he was for his role in Grandpa’s death.
So, he’d open a fudge shop, and maybe then he’d finally be free of this weight he just couldn’t shake.
“Fine.” He stood up. “But for the record, I hate fudge.”