Chapter 8
Stunning. The Maine coastline was simply stunning.
We’d returned from Europe the previous week and spent a few days in Boston. It felt so good to see Mochi again. Then we packed the car, Mochi snug in his travel cage on the back seat, and left for the Breakers.
The drive along the Maine seacoast felt like drifting through a painting. The road twisted beside rocky shores and sunlit pines. To our right, the ocean glittered like scattered diamonds, blue and endless. Seagulls soared above us, crying out against the hush of wind and waves.
Daniel was driving. I leaned my head against the glass and took it all in.
“It’s weird how few houses and towns there are out here,” I said. “Back in Massachusetts, something’s built on pretty much every inch.”
Daniel glanced at me, then turned his attention back to the narrow country road. “Maine is one of the least populated states in the US.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“In the summer, yes. In the winter, it can be a bit gray and lonely out here. Especially at the Breakers.”
We curved around another bend in the road. Suddenly, a massive home rose on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It had sharp white gables and lush green grass.
“Is this it?” I sat up. “It’s amazing.”
Daniel smiled. “No, honey. That’s not the Breakers. But we’re close.”
We passed through the small town of Camden.
Nestled in the natural shelter of West Penobscot Bay, its harbor was crowded with white-sailed yachts and weathered lobster boats rocking gently in the tide.
The streets of the eighteenth-century historic district were lined with grand old buildings and green parks, giving the town a quiet, timeless charm that felt almost too perfect to be real.
A few minutes later, we turned onto a narrow private driveway marked by a worn “Private Property” sign. The road cut through a dense stretch of woods, where sunlight filtered through tall pines pressed close on either side as if they were guarding whatever was hiding ahead.
“Is this all part of the Breakers?” I asked.
Daniel nodded. “Privacy had always been important to my family.”
After another short ride, sunlight broke through the trees. When we emerged into a clearing that opened onto the water, I gasped.
The mansion rose from an island just offshore, wrapped in the gleam of the Atlantic.
The Breakers.
The sun glinted off the ocean and shimmered across the mansion’s large windows.
A stone road, paved over massive boulders, connected the small harbor to the island on which the Breakers sat, like a ship made of stone, anchored in the sea.
The home was enormous and intimidating, with steep gables, limestone trim, and the kind of grand, old-world presence you’d expect from a Vanderbilt estate in the Gilded Age.
Everything about it was meticulously redone.
Not haunted or crumbling. Not like something from an old horror film. It looked expensive. New. Alive.
“I . . .” I started as Daniel eased the car to a stop.
“May I present to you—the Breakers.”
We stepped out to take in the view from the shoreline. The sea air was cool and salty.
“It’s . . .” I shook my head. “It’s the most stunning castle I’ve ever seen.”
Daniel laughed. “It’s not a castle. More like a summer estate. It barely has twenty-five rooms.”
“Twenty-five rooms!”
How could this be the home he grew up in?
I knew Daniel was wealthy. I knew his family was old Boston money.
But this—this was ridiculous. I blinked in awe for a bit longer.
Then we got back in and began driving across the road toward the house.
The sea churned gently next to us, licking at the massive boulders under the pavement.
No rails. No buffer. I looked out my window and suddenly understood how his parents had died here.
A rogue wave could easily swallow a car.
I could almost see it: the narrow strip of road vanishing under a wall of water, the ocean roaring as violent, angry waves slammed against the rocks.
Today, the sea only whispered, soft and glittering in the sun.
Daniel must have noticed the way I was staring.
“It’s okay,” he said, reaching for my hand. “We’ll never cross this road during a storm.”
I nodded. “Are you okay?”
Something in his voice was off. The way he held my hand.
It felt more like he was the one who needed the reassurance.
His eyes gave him away too. They didn’t look fearful, exactly, but uneasy.
Like he was bracing for something. But how could he not?
We were driving over the road that had taken his family.
“I’m okay. I promise,” he said.
We pulled into a circular cobblestone drive in front of the mansion.
The front door opened. A man and a short woman stepped out, flanked by a large pack of dogs in various shapes and sizes.
The man looked to be in his sixties, fit and sun-kissed. He had the kind of lean frame that came from never sitting still. He was a man who spent his days fixing things, working with his hands.
The woman looked to be about the same age as the man. She wore white pants and a floral blouse, with a cleaning apron tied loosely around her waist. Her gray hair was cut short. Simple and practical. She had thin lips and sharp cheekbones, giving her a look that was both kind and no-nonsense.
“Daniel, my boy!” the man called, his grin wide and warm—the kind of smile that told you everything about a person’s heart. He had a wide nose and thick eyebrows that lifted with joy.
The man walked over and pulled Daniel into a hug, gripping him hard. Some of the smaller dogs jumped in excitement. The man released Daniel, who reached down to pet as many of them as he could at once.
“And this must be Emily!” the man said, turning to me. “I’m Hudson, and this here is Tara.”
He offered his hand, and I shook it. His grip was firm.
“Emily,” I said, smiling. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Two of the little dogs jumped on me, tails wagging like mad.
“Down, you little rascals,” Hudson scolded gently.
I laughed and knelt to pet them.
“The small ones don’t listen at all,” Tara said as she reached out to shake my hand. “Hudson doesn’t tell them off. Especially not the ones that came from abusive homes.”
“They’re rescues,” Hudson said with a shrug. “They don’t like stern voices.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, though I glanced back toward the car. Mochi was watching from his cage, eyes blinking with curiosity.
Hudson followed my gaze. “Don’t worry. The dogs aren’t allowed inside. Just the kitchen and hallway. They’ve got the whole back garden and my cottage to roam.” He pointed toward a nearby structure that resembled a former stable, now converted into a cozy little guesthouse.
“I’m sure they’ll get used to each other,” I said. Animals usually did. And it was rarely about size. Confidence was what mattered. Which meant Mochi would be bossing the dogs around in no time.
“I don’t think we’ll be here long enough for that,” Daniel said with a smile. “We agreed on a week max, remember?”
“Well, come on in,” Tara said. “I’ve made lunch.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I replied.
“Would you like a little tour while Tara heats the casserole?” Hudson asked.
“I’d love one,” I said.
“I’ll take Mochi inside,” Tara offered, walking toward the car.
I was surprised she knew his name. Daniel must have told her.
“Hello, Mochi,” she said in a sweet voice.
“Hello,” Mochi replied. “Hello.”
“Would you like some fresh melon slices?”
“Those are his favorite,” I said, amazed. “How did you know?”
Tara carefully grabbed the cage and smiled. “I had a African grey growing up. He loved melons. They’re some of the smartest creatures alive.”
“Smart. I am smart,” Mochi echoed.
“And some of the sassiest,” Tara added with a laugh as she carried him inside. Mochi kept repeating how smart he was.
“Well, let’s start with the garden and loop back in from the rear,” Hudson said.
We walked past the main house and down toward his cottage. It mirrored the mansion’s stone facade, just smaller and simpler.
“Tara leaves in the evenings,” Hudson explained. “She lives in Camden with her family. But I live in that cottage. If you need anything, I’m always around.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We followed a path along the side of the house. Below it was a steep drop to where waves slapped against jagged rock. No fence. Just open air and raw cliffside. It made me aware of every step.
When we reached the back garden, my breath caught again. A stone fountain was nestled in a bed of blooming flowers, with boxy hedges lining gravel paths.
“Who maintains all this?” I asked.
“We have several crews come biweekly. Cleaners, landscapers. I keep it ready for Daniel at all times.” Hudson placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “So he has nothing to worry about when it comes to the Breakers.”
Daniel’s lips curled into a fond smile. “Let’s go inside,” he said.
“Sure,” I mumbled, still in awe.
We entered through the back porch and stepped into the kitchen, where Tara was preparing lunch.
The sunlit space was filled with the scent of herbs and something baked.
Mochi sat peacefully in his cage on a chair near the window, nibbling a slice of watermelon like a happy child on summer break.
He chirped between bites, completely in his element.
The room felt like an old, historic kitchen, the kind rich people spend a fortune trying to re-create. It had wide-plank floors, tall cabinets, and a deep farmhouse sink. Yet, despite the old-world charm, everything gleamed as if it had been installed yesterday.
Tara smiled warmly as we passed through and walked into a room just off the kitchen. There, a fireplace crackled low beside a polished billiard table. The thick wooden beams overhead gave the impression that we’d stepped inside a castle.
“This is the game room,” Hudson said.