Chapter 6
Zoe
As a child I would run through the first floor of Reeves’s house with my eyes closed and never ran into a wall. My mom would pack us a picnic lunch, and we would spend hours exploring, sorting through old books and abandoned closets, piecing together the house’s history.
Mom would tell me stories of sitting with Valerie Reeves, listening to tales of grand balls, women in satin gowns and men in tuxedos sipping champagne. Snow-covered Christmas mornings snuggled together in front of the fireplace in the family room tucked off the kitchen.
This house isn’t the same. As we follow Landon across the front porch into the foyer my heart breaks for my mom. She would hate to see what the house has become—what we let it become because we couldn’t bear to touch it after she died.
The entryway is flanked by a dining room without a table and a sitting room without any chairs.
I gesture to the dining room. “This might be a good spot for the reception desk.”
Landon harrumphs. “Maybe.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Meals around a table.”
“That space isn’t big enough.”
“Not anymore,” he mumbles.
“We need a restaurant. Even if it only serves breakfast.”
“The space over the garage has better views,” Archer says.
“That’s not near the kitchen. It will be exhausting for the staff to climb the stairs.”
“We can install a food elevator.” Collin runs his hand over the wall.
“They still have to climb stairs. What about guests with limited mobility?” I walk past them into the oversized living room. “How about here? It’s central and opens onto the deck. When the weather’s nice, you can have tables outside.”
“The main bedroom is right there.” Landon points to the broken door frame next to the fireplace.
“You plan on living here?” Collin asks.
He shrugs and walks toward the kitchen, but the heavy cadence to his gait is discordant.
He does want to live here. He wants to make it a home.
And we crushed that.
I crushed that.
I chew the inside of my cheek. I should have given Landon more time to come to terms with the new plan instead of springing it on him this afternoon.
“What was your original plan?” I tug on his sleeve. “Where’s your napkin?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “What makes you think I have it with me?”
“Don’t you?”
He shrugs again. A favorite response to my questions. The non-answer answer.
If I were brave, I’d reach into his pockets and search for it, but that’s not an impulse I should follow. I’m not sure where it came from.
I pause at the edge of the living room and give Landon space, let him wander.
Calling it a living room is a misnomer. It’s almost forty feet across, with a person-sized fireplace on the wall between the floor-to-ceiling picture windows that overlook the forest and the entry to the primary suite.
I’ve always thought it was strange that the back of the house with the windows captures views of the forest and the front of the house with its little windows face the ocean.
Most designers would want the ocean to be the focal point but not the Reeves.
“Do you know why your grandfather didn’t have the back deck overlooking the ocean? ” I ask Archer.
“Great-grandma Harriette didn’t want to see the ocean when Grandpa Thomas was gone on one of his runs up the coast. She didn’t want to think about him in danger.”
“That makes sense.” Prophetic, even, considering Thomas died when his ship sank during a storm.
Siren’s Call is legendary. Infamous to the point of becoming an urban legend. My mom told stories passed down from Collin and Archer’s grandmother about Thomas evading federal inspectors to run alcohol across the border during prohibition. She made it seem dangerous and romantic.
But who knows what the truth was.
Collin nods. “Once we decide what needs to be gutted for safety, the first thing we need to do is decide what spaces will be public and which will be private. Landon?”
“The north wing will be private. Everything else will be open to the public.”
Collin taps out a note on his phone. “Even the kitchens and staff spaces?”
“Yeah. I want people to feel like they can grab a glass of milk from the fridge at two a.m. if they need to.”
“What about food safety? Guests can’t just riffle through the food they plan to serve to everyone else. What if someone’s sick and contaminates everything?”
“I’ll worry about that.” Landon swipes his finger across the counter, and it comes away coated in grime.
We follow Landon into the basement. This space has always felt off to me. My little kid brain played tricks on me, imagining ghosts haunted the corners of the oddly shaped rooms.
As an adult, that feeling of wrongness remains. Why build an extra library down here when they have a gigantic one upstairs? Why build four sets of stairs that lead to adjacent rooms? Did they really use the theater for stage shows?
What other secrets does this house hold?
“We’ll build a workout facility, sauna, and cold plunge. If we need it, we can set up space for a spa. Massages, facials…that sort of thing usually pays for itself.” Landon’s shoulders droop.
“If you don’t want a spa, don’t build one. We can open one in town. Give people a reason to venture out.”
“The restaurant can fall under that category too.” Archer offers. “Then the main bedroom can stay a bedroom.”
“Nah.” Landon points toward stairs to the kitchen. “People get cranky when they have to go too far for food. If it’s raining, I don’t want to make our guests drive.”
A flash of ice skitters under my skin. “Thank you,” I blurt.
The men stare at me, Landon with confusion, Collin and Archer with sympathy.
“Anyway, we’re in agreement. Private space in the north wing. Restaurant in the living room. Collin will draft blueprints, and we can decide how big to build each cabin once we get a survey to determine the best locations for each.” I clap my hands and bolt up the stairs.
“Her mom died in a car accident, coming home from the estate in a rainstorm.” Collin’s voice carries up the stairs after me.
My neck heats. I’m sure they’re staring at the back of my head as I run away.
I got what I needed out of this meeting, but it didn’t go the way I planned. I lost my cool. I bargained instead of holding my ground.
But a win is a win, right?
We’re building a resort. It’s not the haven Landon wants, but there’s opportunity for it to be more than any of us could have imagined.
Zoe
Dad still lives in the house where I grew up.
On the south side of town, tucked into the corner of a cul-de-sac, our tiny two-bedroom home needs a fresh coat of paint.
I park my car in the driveway behind his pickup truck and grab the groceries I bought after leaving Landon, Collin, and Archer at the Reeves estate.
“Dad?” I brace the door with my elbow to get the bags through the door.
“Hey, Baby Girl.” He sits at the kitchen table with papers strewn across its surface.
I kiss the top of his bald head. “Have you been outside today?”
He waves away my words and thumbs through the stack of paperwork I brought him from his office last week. “The Reynolds upped the price for marine gas again. John filed a complaint.”
“Gas is more expensive everywhere. Everything’s more expensive, so…”
He taps the page. “No, this is different. The Reynolds are gouging. Time to remind them they can’t get rich stealing from their neighbors. Shoulda never let them buy the marina in the first place. The town should own it. Be better for everyone.”
I peel the pieces of paper out of his hands and tuck them into a manila envelope. “How about a walk? The fresh air will—”
“Did you bring the salt and vinegar chips I like?”
“The doctor said—”
He takes the bag from my hand and dumps the contents on the table. “You need to call Albert at Northwest garbage and find out why they skipped pickup for Harbor Row on Tuesday. Star Crossed needs to fix their sign. People don’t like the puns they’re using. We need quaint, not funny.”
I place my palm on his. His hand dwarfs mine as I tug him to his feet. “When we get back, I will help you figure out what to do about the price of gas and utilities, but I doubt Barbara will give up her punny signs.”
He scowls but slips on his sneakers, and I hand him his rain jacket just in case.
With my arm looped through his, we set off up the road. His pace is more like a mosey than a walk. The road angles up at a fifteen-degree angle, just enough that he’s breathing through his mouth before we pass the neighbor’s driveway. “How are you feeling today?”
“Same.” He sucks air through his nose. “Fine.” Another labored breath. “I should…be…back to work…next week.”
I bite my lip. He’s been saying the same thing for the last two months. It’s no use arguing with him. He doesn’t even have the breath to argue, but he won’t admit he doesn’t have the strength. In his mind, he’s a twenty-two-year-old who will bounce back stronger than before.
He doesn’t believe part of his heart doesn’t function at all. It can’t keep up with the demand of walking down the road. Especially not when he refuses to exercise unless I force him to walk with me.
My throat clogs. Will he ever be the man I knew? Or will he waste away because of pride?
I can’t let that happen. My job is to work behind the scenes and make him feel like he’s the man he has always been.
That’s what Mom did. According to everyone, she was the epitome of behind-the-scenes strength.
While dad gave speeches, she organized luncheons, set up bake sales, and made everyone feel loved and seen without taking any credit.
She did all the little tasks that enabled him to be the mayor Rainwater Bay needed him to be.
If I’m truly going to follow in their footsteps, I need him to be okay with the deal I’ve organized with Landon on the town’s behalf. First, he needs to listen to the details and not jump to the next thing on his mental list.
“I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise you will listen before you react.”