13. All The Ghosts （Hattie） #2
But I’m not sure.
Ethan doesn’t strike me as the selfish, immature bully he was before—and what could he really learn from a sham marriage?
Talk about heavy handed.
I mean, it’s possible. It’s a better explanation than anything I’ve come up with.
We’ll probably never know what he was thinking unless he reaches out through a psychic or a Ouija board. So basically never.
I just can’t quite believe Leonidas would go this drastic.
He knew his grandson better than anyone, and from what I know, he was proud of Ethan for stepping up to carry on his legacy before he died.
There must be more to it than just family branding and a bizarre way to emotionally manipulate Ethan into being responsible.
I just can’t figure out his motive, and it could mean everything for deciphering the rest of this craziness.
The sun glows like a flaming pumpkin when I meet Ethan at Leonidas’ old estate.
We head down to the beach near sundown and stroll along the sand, Ares walking calmly beside us. Ethan hasn’t bothered putting him on a leash—he’s too lazy to go chasing seagulls or get lost at his age.
One more thing I love about Portland’s best boy.
Though he won’t admit it, I think Ethan’s coming around to him, too, occasionally bending down to pat the old dog, sharing treats to encourage him to keep up.
It’s a struggle not to laugh when I catch him pulling out a secret dog cookie.
“You carry dog treats around now? Who are you?”
“He’s highly motivated by food,” Ethan grumbles. “I figure it’s sneak him a couple cookies, or I’ll have to lug him back.”
“Right.” I giggle.
“Anyway, you asked about the house…” And he fills me in on the remains of Leonidas’ estate.
It’s a long process involving a lot of people. Margot plus Hardass Holden and other former staff. They’re still cleaning it up and sorting through everything.
Eventually, when everything’s done, the old mansion will be sold, but I’m not sensing any great rush.
“Wilkes still has unfinished business with the will before the house goes on the market. My cousin, Cleo, she’s big into art and I guess he left her some treasure that’s very hush-hush. Glad it isn’t my problem,” he says with a shrug. “The old man left enough on my plate.”
His hesitation makes sense, all things considered, but there’s still a hint of sadness in his voice.
“Will you miss the place? The memories, I mean? I know it won’t be the same without Leo around…”
“I love the old house, but it hasn’t felt the same for a long time,” he admits.
“We spent our best summers there. You, me, Margot, and Cleo. But I have my own place, Margot does too, and it doesn’t make sense to keep it around purely for nostalgia.
The place costs a pretty penny to run. Even if we started offering tours as a historic home, the maintenance would be insane. ”
“That’s a shame, Ethan. I’ll miss it.”
“End of an era,” he agrees.
As we dig our toes into the sand, just like we did in New York, I reach out and take his hand.
Hesitantly at first, still thinking he’ll pull away.
If mind-blowing sex isn’t too intimate, this totally is, but he squeezes my fingers, twisting so our fingers are linked.
After everything else we’ve done, it shouldn’t feel like a big deal.
But somehow, it’s intense and real, the way we’re palm to palm, fingers intertwined, a tingle racing through my skin.
Oh no.
It’s nothing, it’s nothing.
Just a fling.
Just a silly, impulsive ruse.
Not that I’d know what a fling should feel like.
This is kinda my first, keeping things casual.
“Shit, there it is. When I talked to Holden yesterday, he said it was still around. I thought he was joking.” Ethan slows, nodding at an abandoned, washed-up fishing ship half-buried in a sand dune.
I recognize it instantly, the same old boat, only a little more worn by time and the elements.
When we were kids, we’d explore this spot and build giant sandcastles. Margot and I would hide out in the shade from the hull while I weaved elaborate stories about pirate treasures and ghost crews trapped in its ruins.
‘Captain Harvey’s Coffin,’ we called it. We were convinced the old wreck just had to have a skeleton lurking around somewhere with a few morbid secrets.
Today, I’m thinking it’s just a cheap lobster ship that got tossed in a storm and blew over to this beach, maybe thirty or forty years ago.
I’m pretty sure Ethan used to bring girls here to make out with—at least until Holden got wise and quashed his fun.
As he tugs me to the old boat, the moody mask he wears dissolves into one of his rare smiles.
My heart skips.
I wonder if he’ll make out with me here today, and how I’m supposed to feel about that.
I’m not much different from his other hookups, minus the contract that says we’ll be hitched for six months.
Ethan carefully climbs up a few battered boards and enters the ship’s small cabin.
I follow reluctantly, reminding myself it’s not really haunted.
Ares pushes past me, sniffing the worn boards cautiously.
It’s just like I remember. Far too modern to be a pirate ship, but with just enough old, flaking sun-bleached wood for it to feel ancient to a kid.
Now, the wood bristles with happy memories.
Ethan’s eyes meet mine as his smile fades.
Maybe I don’t want him to kiss me like one of his old local girlfriends. This place is sacred to us in a way it never was with his hookups.
“Margot and I would screw around here all the time. We scared ourselves stupid with ghost stories.” I glance around the small space, a little dazed.
“I think Margot even hid your smokes here once.” I bite my lip as I glance up at him, trying not to smile.
“Payback for that time you buried her favorite sandals and told her they were under a clamshell. She dug around all day.”
“Brat had it coming,” he growls. “Does that mean she hid my old silver lighter? Never did find that thing.”
I shrug, because even though I was around, the heist was all Margot.
“Probably. Do you want it back? I didn’t think you smoked anymore.”
He forces open a drawer warped by age and moisture, peering inside.
“I don’t, but I still want that lighter. Gramps gave it to me for Christmas one year.”
Following his lead, I tap on the wall, trying to remember where we put it. It seems like the old boat has a ton of secret compartments, adding to its mystery.
Ethan works his way around the other side of the cabin, the ample muscles in his back shifting as he bends and taps every hollow space he can find.
I spend more time watching him than I do actively looking, hanging back to make sure Ares doesn’t get stuck in any of the small compartments.
He opens an old liquor cupboard.
Empty besides an empty whiskey bottle.
Frowning, he taps lightly around the walls.
Then with a victory cry, a square board pulls loose.
Even in the dim light, it isn’t hard to see something small and silver gleaming inside.
“Jackpot! Hey, come hold this,” he says, reaching in and passing the treasure over. Leonidas never supported Ethan’s smoking habit, but this antique lighter is a thing of beauty, carved with Ethan’s initials. “Go ahead. Try it out.”
I flick it open and jump when I try the switch, surprised to see a flame.
“Dang. It still works.”
“I hope so,” Ethan says, but he’s distracted, still frowning at the hidden cupboard. “There’s something else in here. What else did you guys steal?”
“Huh? I have no clue.” I forget about the lighter as I lean over, trying to see past him.
He slowly pulls out two ancient pieces of paper stuck together.
They’re crinkled and slightly water damaged, having clearly been left there for a long time. One of the edges is uneven and feathered soft, like it’s been ripped.
I put the lighter in my pocket and step closer. “What is it?”
He turns it over, frowning at the spidery black writing.
“A letter, I think. From Gramps.”
I chance a quick look at Ethan’s face, trying to see his reaction. “Do you think we should read it? Someone clearly hid it away.”
“Looks like it’s written to my mother,” he says absently, like he doesn’t hear me. “Fuck, he must’ve wrote this a long time ago. Before I was born, I think.” He holds the two pieces together, trying to read it, but the ink looks faded and there isn’t good light.
“What does it say?”
“I’m trying.” He frowns. “Can’t quite make it out.
Something about my dad, for sure. Here it says…
I wish you would slow down, darling. Don’t do anything rash.
However, since I’ve ‘done enough damage’—your very accurate words—I won’t dare stop you from taking your money and leaving.
Your forgiveness is all I will ever ask for on bended knee. ”
“Damage? What damage?” I stare at the faded paper. “What did he do?”
“No clue. It doesn’t say.” Ethan folds up the two pieces of paper, shrugs, and puts them in his breast pocket. “I’ll take a better look later. Might explain why they were estranged my whole life.”
Weird.
I think back to what I know about Elvira Blackthorn, which isn’t much.
She didn’t exactly come around to see us when we’d spend our summers here. In hindsight, her absence was glaring.
Why did she avoid her father like he was poison?
From what little I’ve seen, she seems like a cartoon of wealth and power, living an easy life centered around chasing comfort.
She seems more concerned with social clout than she ever was with raising her kids. But if some tragic backstory made her that way, well, that’s a little more interesting.
But I shouldn’t get carried away.
This isn’t some amped up Netflix drama.
These are real people.
If Elvira has more dimensions than a showy love of wealth and luxury, that’s hardly a bad thing. Maybe Leonidas caused her to be that way.
Except I can’t believe that, either.
The rare times he mentioned his daughter at all, he always danced around the subject. Deep down, I think he was sad that Elvira kept her distance.
I eye Ethan’s pocket, wishing I’d had the guts to read the letter myself.
“Maybe we should take a closer look now?”
“No point. I’ll ask Mom later,” Ethan says, sounding as wary as I am about it.
“I wonder if Mom found your hiding place before Margot did. Or hell, was it Gramps? Think that empty bottle next to it was Ouzo. He loved that stuff, always said it took him back to his trips to Greece when he was young.”
“It’s weird thinking about them coming here like we did…”
“Yeah.” His gaze lands on me and heats.
My dress feels too small.
“It would be a plot twist if you found a real skeleton digging through the old pirate ship. You Blackthorn men and your deep, dark secrets,” I joke, hoping for—well, something.
Him, opening up to me, telling me what little he knows.
Instead, a shadow crosses his face, almost too quick to notice.
His smile, when it comes, feels bittersweet.
Ares, bored of the boat, barks impatiently, basking in the evening sunlight on the sand.
“Yeah, we’re coming. Don’t get your long-ass ears into a knot,” Ethan says, taking my hand and guiding me forward.
Despite his touch, there’s a restless ache in my belly.
And it isn’t the first time I wonder just what secrets he keeps so close to his chest.