Chapter 1 #2
“My uncle got cancer and my aunt had to take an extended leave from work to care for him. They couldn’t keep up with the mortgage on the summer property, so they sold off the surrounding cottages and they just kept the main one.
They still planned to settle there, but ten years ago my uncle died and then my aunt started showing signs of dementia.
So she had to move into an assisted living facility near her home in New Hampshire. ”
Even though she knew her aunt had received excellent care during the final decade of her life, it made Caitlin sad to visit Lydia during her rare trips back to New England—and those visits became even more heart-rending as her aunt’s dementia progressed.
I kind of feel like I lost Aunt Lydia twice. The first time was when it became clear she no longer recognized me at all, and the second time was when she died… Caitlin reflected pensively, but Melanie was impatient to hear more details about her inheritance.
“Has the cottage sat unused the whole time your aunt was in an assisted living facility?”
“No. Her nephews had it renovated and then they hired a property management company to rent it out during the summertime.”
The income generated by the rental had been used to cover the costs of Lydia’s care.
Apparently, Lydia’s nephews had assumed that once she passed on, they’d inherit her summer property, and they’d been looking forward to collecting the rental income for themselves.
So, as Caitlin discovered during the group meeting with the estate attorney after the funeral, they were more than a little disgruntled that Lydia had bequeathed the cottage to her, instead.
Considering the stipulation she put on my inheritance, I almost wish Aunt Lydia had left it to them , Caitlin brooded. She’d barely had time to think about what her aunt had asked her to do.
Melanie’s question pulled her from her worrisome thoughts. “Did you ever get to go there on vacation?”
“Yes. When I was in high school, I spent a few summers helping my aunt clean the cottages in between guests and stuff. But then my family moved to the Southwest, so it wasn’t convenient for me to go to the island anymore,” claimed Caitlin.
It was a flimsy excuse, but she couldn’t admit the real reason why she’d never returned to Dune Island.
It was too dark. Too painful.
“What’s the cottage like? Does it have an ocean view?”
“No. It’s within walking distance of the bay, but it’s only one story tall, so you can’t see over the trees and shrubbery to the water.
” Describing it, Caitlin felt a swell of nostalgia for the cottage she used to love so much—before everything changed.
“There’s a windmill on the property, though, and?—”
“A windmill?” interrupted Melanie. “For electricity?”
“Not a wind turbine. A wind mill , you know, like the kind you’d see in the Netherlands,” explained Caitlin.
“The original landowner was a Dutch miller, but over the years, the property switched hands several times. In the sixties, the owners who built the guest cottages removed almost all its functioning parts and installed electricity so they could use the first story as their rental office.”
“That sounds cool! Do you have photos?”
Caitlin lifted her phone from where she’d set it on the coffee table and pulled up a photo from the internet.
Angling it toward Melanie, she pointed to the weathered, silver-gray shingled house with an octagonal, conical-topped windmill right beside it, taller than the house but complementing it.
Both the windmill and the house had cornflower-blue doors and trim.
“That’s my aunt’s house, and that’s the windmill, obviously. And there are the cottages, which, as you can see, are just a little smaller than hers.”
“Aww, how sweet,” cooed Melanie. “All the cottages are identical.”
“Yeah, except for the doors and trim. The colors were different so the guests could identify them. There’s the yellow cottage, the turquoise cottage, the lavender cottage, and so on. The new owners had to agree not to change them or to alter their exteriors in any substantial way.”
“Just look at those window flower boxes, and that picket fence around the yard. It’s so charming.” Melanie hinted, “I’d love to visit, especially in summertime.”
“I’d say you have a standing invitation, but I plan to sell it before next summer.”
“Sell it?” Melanie squawked. “Why would you want to sell it?”
“Do you really need to ask me that?” Caitlin retorted. “Nonprofit consulting may be rewarding in a lot of other ways, but it’s hardly what anyone would call a lucrative career.”
“That’s true. It’s more like we get stipends than salaries,” said Melanie, rolling her eyes.
“But are you sure you want to give up the house entirely? Couldn’t you like, keep renting it out?
That way, you could still vacation in Hope Haven whenever you wanted.
I’m sure you have a lot of memories from the summers you spent there, right? ”
It was primarily because of her memories that Caitlin had decided to sell the cottage, but she didn’t want to talk about that with Melanie—or with anyone else, for that matter.
“Dune Island’s a gorgeous place, but I don’t want the hassle associated with owning a rental.
Besides, I need a new transmission for my car a lot more than I need a vacation home.
” And the quicker I sell the property, the quicker I’ll be able to put all thoughts of Dune Island out of my mind again.
“Pfft, forget the transmission. With the money you’ll get from selling the place in Hope Haven, you’ll be able to buy a brand new car —or two.” Melanie rubbed her hands together, feigning greed. “You’re putting the house on the market right away?”
“Not right away.” Caitlin inadvertently mumbled aloud, “First I need to remodel the windmill.”
“Why?”
Caitlin wished she hadn’t let it slip that Lydia was requiring her to remodel the windmill, but it was too late to take back her words now.
“Because even though the downstairs space in there was used as a rental office, the windmill doesn’t have finished rooms or anything.
It has exposed beams and the wood is gorgeous, but you can’t walk across the floor without shoes or you’ll get splinters in your feet,” she said.
“The loft of the windmill is very bare bones, too, kind of like an attic, but my aunt used to talk about converting it into her own private sitting room. It’s small—just one room on each floor—but I guess she thought it could be homey.
She wanted to install a picture window upstairs so she could have a full-fledged ocean view while she knitted or read or just took some time alone for herself. ..”
Caitlin paused, feeling uncomfortable. She’d already shared more about her inheritance than she’d intended. “Anyway, a stipulation in the Trust is that before I sell the place—and even if I keep it—I have to go there to oversee the remodeling of the windmill.”
“Aww, your aunt’s sitting room must have meant an awful lot to her if she wanted you to carry out her wishes posthumously,” remarked Melanie.
“Mm,” Caitlin murmured noncommittally. She swallowed the last of her water and scooted to the edge of her seat, about to stand up, but Melanie prattled on.
“And I suppose if you have a quirky feature like a windmill next to your house, it should serve a practical purpose, otherwise it’s just wasted space.” She pressed, “So when are you going to get started on the remodel?”
“I don’t know.” Caitlin hadn’t been to Dune Island since she was seventeen, and she loathed the idea of returning. “Probably in the spring, if I have enough time in between campaigns.”
“You just finished a campaign before you left for the funeral,” Melanie pointed out. “It’s unlikely the agency will assign you another one right away, since most of our clients don’t kick off their annual appeals in the fourth quarter. So you could go to Dune Island now , if you wanted.”
Caitlin drew back in surprise. Was Melanie hinting she wanted her to leave sooner than they’d agreed?
She’d repeatedly said how much she’d loved having Caitlin staying with her, but maybe she hadn’t been as sincere as she’d seemed.
Or else when Caitlin was in New Hampshire for a few days, Melanie had realized how much she preferred living alone to having a roommate.
Caitlin could hardly blame her for that, but there was still no way she was going to travel to Dune Island already. She’d barely begun to wrap her head around the fact that she’d inherited Lydia’s summer place; she was going to need at least five or six months to prepare herself to visit it again.
“I doubt I could find a carpenter at such short notice,” she countered.
But that was illogical, since most carpenters were busier in the spring and summer than in the colder months.
So she embellished, “Besides, converting the windmill was my aunt’s dream, so I don’t want to rush through the remodel.
Waiting until spring will give me plenty of time to come up with a design I know she would have loved. ”
“Yeah, that’s true,” agreed Melanie. “It’ll give you time to take out a loan to fund the remodel, too.”
As a matter of fact, her aunt had left her money specifically designated for the remodel, but Caitlin didn’t mention it. “Plus, the weather will be warmer in the spring, which is better for?—”
She was interrupted mid-sentence by a distinct clinking sound coming from the kitchen. Melanie hopped up from the sofa. “Uh-oh. Sounds like the mountain of dishes I left stacked in the sink is shifting. I’d better go clean up in there before everything slides to the floor.”
“You want a hand?” offered Caitlin, also rising to her feet.
“Nope, I’ve got it. You should go to bed. You look sapped.” Melanie plucked the water glass from Caitlin’s hand. “Sleep well.”