Chapter three #2
“Holy crap,” I mumble around the bite, letting the sugar and fresh blueberries swirl around in my mouth. That is, by far, the best blueberry muffin I’ve ever had.
I guess there is one perk about this place after all.
Once I finish chewing, I carefully take a sip from the coffee that is still steaming hot. And when the liquid hits my tongue—smooth and not too bitter—I let out a moan.
Okay, make that two perks.
Now I can see why a Starbucks isn’t needed here.
“What kind of caffeine crack is this?” I take another sip, surrendering to some of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted before I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, following the signs to get back on the parkway.
And Dolly was right. It’s stop and go traffic for miles, which feels like an eternity as I slowly roll along the coast.
But I take the opportunity to stare out at the water when traffic’s stopped. Might as well.
In the distance, white reflections of light gleam off the dark-blue water.
As my eyes veer closer to the shore, the blue lightens into patches of light turquoise.
Green brush and grass pop up along the coast too, giving way to white sandy beaches and kids running around near the water, full of energy and laughter.
A deep breath of relief hits me all at once.
I can’t remember the last time I saw the ocean, or felt the cool, salty water against my skin. I can’t remember the last time I took a few days off from work either.
Running a company means your personal life often takes a backseat since you’re more wrapped up in the lives of your clients and employees.
And being one of the best in your field definitely means you don’t get much of a break.
I’m constantly grinding, pushing myself and my company to be the best because my job is my life.
It’s the one thing that no one can take away from me.
But this trip is rattling the solid foundation I’ve built my life on, a realization that hit me hard as I fought sleep the night before.
When I arrive at Timothy MacDonald’s office with five minutes to spare, I flip down the visor to check my appearance once more.
Every hair is in place, swept back into my signature low bun.
My lips are painted a deep rose color today and the black, square-neck dress I chose is professional and appropriate, given the circumstances.
“I’m here to see Timothy MacDonald,” I say to the receptionist as I step into the office and up to her desk.
The woman, who can’t be much older than me, stares up at my face over the rim of her round, black framed glasses. From what I can tell between last night and this morning, this town probably doesn’t get many people dressed like me waltzing around here.
“And what is your name?” she asks with a slight southern drawl.
“Willow Marshall.”
She flicks her eyes at me one more time with an assessing stare, and then clicks through the page on her computer screen. “Ah, yes. I see you here. If you want to take a seat, I’ll let Mr. MacDonald know you’re here.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I say as she stands and steps down a narrow hallway.
A few moments later, a balding man in a blue plaid shirt and khaki pants walks into the reception area.
“Thank you, Mable,” he says to the receptionist as she returns to her desk.
“Of course, Mr. MacDonald.”
He turns to face me, and his eyebrows rise as he takes in my dress. “Well, hello there.”
“Hello.” I stand to greet him, extending my hand. “Willow Marshall.”
And then his eyes widen in recognition. “Well, what a pleasure it is to meet you in person, Miss Marshall. Please, follow me.”
He takes a seat behind a cluttered desk as we enter his office, file folders stacked high and papers strewn about. In a rush, he clears a few stacks to the side and pulls a file from the stack, slapping it on his desk.
“I have to say, you are not what I was expecting.” He rests his hands over his bulging belly.
“How so?”
“Well, when Mr. Sheppard made this decision, he always spoke of you as this little girl.” He shakes his head and then chuckles. “I guess that was a long time ago. But in my mind, I guess I still pictured you as that little girl with pigtails.”
“No pigtails for me these days, sir.” A twinge of sadness grips my chest, but I unclench the hold it has on my heart and push it away.
He laughs louder this time. “I understand.” I watch him take out a few papers from the folder, turning them to face me so I can read them.
I lean over the desk, placing my hands on the surface as I peer down at the words on the paper.
“Well, let’s get down to it. Obviously, you’ve already read the letter since you’re sitting here before me.
” I nod. “So, let’s take a look at what you’ve inherited. ”
“I don’t need anything from this man, Mr. MacDonald.” I shake my head, feeling my nerves build with uncertainty the longer I sit here. “I don’t even know him.”
“Willow,” he says, reaching over and placing his hand on mine, the gesture so foreign that I instantly retreat, pulling my hand back. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m not trying to be overbearing…”
“Just tell me why I’m here, please,” I say over the lump in my throat, growing more anxious the longer I sit here in limbo.
“Mr. Sheppard, upon his death, wished to leave you with something.” He pulls a paper from the stack and places it closer to me. “This is the deed to his house.”
“What?” I gasp as my heart begins to hammer harder.
“The property sits right along the coast. It’s isolated and a very sought-after piece of land.”
“I—I don’t understand.” My eyes continue to scan the paper as my brain scrambles to absorb the words Mr. McDonald just uttered.
“Now the house needs some work,” he says, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands on his belly again, intertwining his fingers and completely disregarding my response.
“But I have to tell you, I think it’s worth the investment.
Even if you don’t keep it, fixing it up and selling it will get you top dollar in this real estate market. ”
I slink back in the chair, my jaw dropping slightly. “He left me a house? Why?”
Mr. MacDonald nods. “He did. Brand new appliances have been installed per another stipulation upon his death. The electricity, gas, and water have also been activated. I have no idea what else is inside, but if you’d like to take a look, I have time to take you there.
” He pulls a key from a small envelope and places it in front of me.
“I…”
“I know you must have many questions, but you read the letter, dear.” He tilts his head to the side, smiling softly at me.
And then the words from the letter replay in my mind.
And a fresh new wave of anger mixed with guilt comes crashing down on me.
***
“See? The bones are good.” Timothy—he insisted we be on a first name basis as we left his office—leads me deeper into the home that has seen better days as he knocks on a wall that separates the kitchen from the living room.
And as soon as the sound rings out, all I can think about is how that wall would look better with a hole cut out so you can see through the two rooms. Layers of dirt cake the floors and counters, and sheets cover old furniture in the open space.
I honestly feel like I’m walking through a haunted house, even if it does have a beautiful view of the ocean rather than a forbidden forest.
“Um, sure,” I respond, taking it all in.
“It originally belonged to Mr. Sheppard’s grandparents. He loved this house, but it couldn’t accommodate his growing family, so he just held on to it. It’s been empty for years.”
I turn to see him watching me as I stand in the center of the room. “I just…I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”
“Understandable.” He shrugs. “But my job was just to draw up the paperwork so his wishes were carried out. Beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t offer much.”
I nod, thinking back to the letter that started this entire adventure.
And that’s putting it optimistically—because right now, I feel like I’m living in a nightmare.
What I hoped would be a quick, easy trip down to Carrington Cove and back in a weekend after learning of a random inheritance, has now turned into property ownership and a multitude of decisions to make.
Spinning around to take it all in, I decide I should probably get the full scope of what I’m working with. “Can I see the rest of it?”
“Of course.” Timothy leads me up the staircase to three bedrooms—a master that has a balcony with a beautiful view of the ocean and two small bedrooms that would be perfect for an office or kid’s room.
The master bedroom is smaller than the one in my penthouse back in D.C. , but it’s also more welcoming.
The house is definitely not big enough for a large family, though, as Timothy pointed out, but it is enough for someone like me—unattached and kid free.
“So, what do you think?”
I shake my head, still perplexed by all of this. “I honestly don’t know what to think, Timothy. This is the last thing I expected. My life is back in D.C.”
“This could be a nice vacation home, somewhere to retreat to in the summer when you want to get out of the city,” he suggests.
“With all due respect, Timothy, this is the first trip I’ve taken out of D.C. in eight years. I’m not exactly the vacationing type.”
He tsks. “That’s no good, Willow. You have to take a break from life every once in a while. Soak up the sun, bask in the breeze, visit somewhere you’ve never been,” he says fondly, waving his arm around.
“Some place like Carrington Cove?” I ask sarcastically.
He nods, his smile growing. “Exactly. There’s a reason people visit our town, travel far and wide for this kind of peace.”
I scoff. “Does anyone ever truly find peace in their lives, Timothy?”
The way he narrows his eyes at me makes me think he can see right through me. “I think it’s perfectly attainable, Willow. And perhaps you can find some while you’re here.” He moves toward the front door, turning his back to me. “I left the key on the counter for you.”
“So that’s it?” I call after him, desperation filling my voice.
He’s just going to leave me here?
“The house is yours now. I did my part. Mr. Sheppard told me what his last wishes were, so I made them happen. I’m glad you’re here, though, and I’m honored I could be a part of this story. But my role is done.”
And I guess that’s all I’m getting out of him. My eyes veer around the space. “And what if I want to sell it?”
“Pam over at Cove Real Estate can help you.” He gives a mock salute and walks out the door. I’m normally comfortable being alone, but standing in this empty, strange house with all my unanswered questions magnifies the solitude somehow.
Standing in place, I survey the house once more, looking directly out the front windows toward the sandy shore just a few feet away.
I have no idea what to do with this.
A house? What in God’s name was this man thinking? And if he had a family, why wouldn’t he leave it to them?
Guilt overwhelms me, making each breath I fight to take burn my lungs.
This can’t be happening.
How is this part of my past popping up right now?
Within seconds, I find myself numbly walking out of the house, pausing at the top of the staircase that leads down to the beach desperate for oxygen to fill my lungs as emotions barrel into me all at once.
As the salty ocean air whips against my face, I struggle to decide what I’m going to do.
I feel helpless, drowning in emotions and memories, flashes of a life I could have had if not for this man and his connection to my parents.
Reaching up, I yank on the neckline of my dress that feels like it’s suffocating me the longer I stand here in view of the house that just flipped my world upside down.
I must be a sight for sore eyes, ever the professional businesswoman, standing on the porch of a beach house looking as if the world is ending.
I stick out like a sore thumb, an outsider if there ever was one.
I don’t belong here.
This isn’t where my life fits.
But do you even know where you fit, Willow?
That’s always been part of the problem, hasn’t it?
Before my thoughts spiral any further, I kick off my heels, pull my hair free from my bun, shaking out the strands, and then I make my way down the steps of the house and across the sand toward the water.
I let my feet carry me faster, outpacing the whirlwind of thoughts trying to piece this puzzle together—running from the problems, the emotions, the decisions I have to make.
My arms hang limp beside my body, my legs ache as I step off-balance on the sand, but I just keep going, inching closer to the ocean that is calling to me right now.
I could run into that water and drown, and no one would know the difference. I could disappear and take all this mental chaos with me.
But I slow down as I approach the water’s edge, watching the waves slide up the sand and kiss the tips of my toes. A stark reminder that leaving this earth isn’t really what I want, even though everything feels so heavy right now that irrational thoughts crowd my mind.
The water is cold and frigid—mirroring how I often feel inside. But being here and absorbing what just happened makes me feel like a volcano is about to erupt.
And then I crumble, falling to my hands and knees as the sand digs into my skin. The simple task of breathing, of existing, suddenly feels monumental.
My lungs constrict and I gasp for breath, leaning back with my legs folded beneath me. I stare off at the water and let a few tears spring free, each one underscoring the deep sense of loneliness this place has brought to the surface.
I remain there on the beach for an unknown length of time, gazing off into the distance across the ocean in contemplation—until my soul hardens again, until my mind buries the anger and resentment six feet under, and I push myself back up on my feet.
As I’ve done so many times before, ready to weather yet another storm life has thrown at me, refusing to let it sweep me away.