Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (54 page)

Time lurched forward. Chief Kellogg, Russell, and Annabel came into the house. Annabel, elegant in a blue sweater and slacks, was rigid with self-control, but when she saw her granddaughters, a small cry burst from her throat and she stumbled. Her husband helped her to the sofa.

“Go to her,” Carley whispered to her daughters. Cisco and Margaret obeyed, wrapping their grandmother tightly in their arms.

Wyatt arrived from his house in Madaket. He made more phone calls. Vanessa and Maud came, hugging Carley and the girls. Everyone was weeping. The immediate protection of shock faded; the air of the room was thick with grief, with misery. Annabel’s self-restraint dissolved, and a terrible wail broke from her. Margaret fled back to Carley’s arms and even Cisco looked frightened.

“Let’s make hot chocolate for everyone,” Carley told her girls, leading them from the room as Russell cradled his wife against him. The three went into the kitchen together and with an almost ceremonial rhythm measured the milk, stirred in the cocoa and sugar, heated the pan, and poured the liquid into the cups. Cisco, older and stronger, carried in the tray with the cups. Margaret carried her favorite bunny teapot full of hot chocolate.

By midnight, everyone left. Carley brought the girls into her bed, and watched them until they fell asleep, which wasn’t long, because they were completely exhausted with grief. She took the sleep medication Sunjay had given her.

Over the next few days, the world went on.

Her family had come up to help, all of them, her father, mother, sister, and Sarah’s partner, Sue. They’d been efficient and loving. They’d taken Cisco and Margaret off to the beach or to the library or simply for a walk, to get them away from the suddenly saddened house. They made coffee and food for the many good friends who showed up to express their surprise and their sorrow, to offer help.
They arranged the funeral, talked with the minister, cooked for the reception, thanked those who brought hams and quiches and desserts, lugged in cases of sparkling water and juice and wine, and cleaned up the explosion of glasses and plates left scattered around the house afterward.

When her parents returned to their home in East Laurence, they took Carley and her daughters with them for the Christmas season. It was the custom for Carley and her family to go to her parents’ every other year, and this year they did as always, driving into Manhattan to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, strolling the streets to gaze in the amazing shop windows. This year, of course, the holiday was muted for them, surreal, uncomfortable. They felt awkward together, awkward alone. They gave presents, but didn’t know whether to be happy about them. They didn’t know how to have Christmas dinner without Gus at the table. They didn’t know how to
be
.

It was good to return home at the end of December. Just unpacking in their own rooms brought a sense of normality to Carley and her daughters. They still mourned and talked daily of missing Daddy, but their lives were going on. Cisco continued with ballet. Margaret played dolls with Molly. Carley said prayers of thanks every day to Gus, for her daughters, and for their home, their true shelter against the storm.

Their house, which had once been Annabel’s family’s house, was large and built to last where it stood on a cliff overlooking Nantucket Sound. The front and back gardens were spacious, fenced, and planted with climbing roses, honeysuckle, hydrangea, and lots of bushes for hiding behind. Her friends liked gathering at Carley’s, to sit on her wide porch while the children played games in the garden. In rainy or cold weather, the children could run shrieking up and down the stairs and especially into the attic, while the mommies sat in the kitchen drinking tea or wine, telling secrets.

This house was hers, free and clear. The mortgage was paid off. With her father at her side, she had attended the reading of Gus’s will, the contents of which she already knew, since Gus had talked
it over with her when he made it. He left everything to her, the house, his money, his life insurance.

So why had her father-in-law asked her to come into his office for a “little talk”? When Russell phoned her yesterday, he’d been silky smooth as always, but firm and more businesslike than she’d ever heard him. Her appointment was for eleven o’clock. Her father-in-law had seen her in jeans and tee shirt, in a bikini, even in a hospital gown after giving birth. For this appointment, Carley wore makeup, neat and light. She felt an instinctive need to appear mature, capable, responsible. Inside, her heart quivered with fear, though she didn’t know why.

But she
did
know. She was certain that Russell was going to talk with her about financial matters. That was why he wanted to meet in the office rather than in her home.

Leaving her bedroom, she clattered down the stairs to the first floor, into the large room that had once been Gus’s office.

For a moment she stood in the doorway, looking into the room the way tourists view a museum setting: Gus Winsted’s office. The room had a fireplace. The mantel held sailing trophies and pictures of the girls. Gus’s desk was directly across from the fireplace, the handsome old mahogany desk of his grandfather’s. One wall was lined with shelves for his books and photos. He had a leather sofa facing a television set.

A comfortable executive leather chair towered behind the desk. Carley had sat in it before, but not often. Gingerly, she lowered herself into its depths. She’d opened some of Gus’s desk drawers before, too. The middle drawer held pens, rubber bands, scissors, Post-it notes.

The left drawer held the checkbooks. And his computer was angled toward him from the left.

Carley looked around the room. It was daylight. No shadows.

“Gus,” she said aloud, “I have to do this. I don’t want to intrude, but I’ve got to take charge of our lives.”

She opened the desk. Gus had been secretive about money.
When she asked him for details, he only told her, not quite condescendingly, “Honey, don’t worry. We have enough.”

Now she found files about house insurance, health insurance, car insurance. No life insurance file. That was odd. Files about investments, savings, loans, stocks and bonds. She booted up the computer and lost herself in the maze of Gus’s financial dealings. Two years ago, the amount in the various accounts had been substantial. Now it looked as though most accounts were closed. She couldn’t find any sign of a savings account, or a money market account. Gus and Carley shared a checking account, and over the past few months she’d withdrawn just enough to pay the household bills. She’d intended to transfer money from the savings account into the checking account when she had time—but where was the savings account?

Desperately, she scrolled and clicked through his computer. She turned to the deep drawer on the right side of the desk and clawed through the files. It didn’t make sense.

Her heart raced. So this was what Russell was going to talk about with her.

She had no money.

• • • • •

Forewarned is forearmed, Carley told herself, although she wasn’t certain what she was armed with. She did feel less frightened. Money matters were scary, but they weren’t
death
. They could be dealt with.

She pulled on her favorite coat—a light wool, very chic—then took it off. It had a swing cut, which seemed frivolous. She pulled on her good old black wool coat, grabbed her purse, and left the house. She would walk to the law firm. Fifteen minutes of fresh air and deep breathing would do her good. She set off toward town.

Nantucket seldom got as much snow as the mainland, and as she walked along, she found the sidewalks dry and clear even though a dusting of white scattered over the yards. Close to town, a white gravel drive circled in front of the law offices, providing parking space for their clients or the Winsteds. She climbed the steps to the handsome black door and turned the knob. She stepped inside.

The reception room was empty. Claudia, their secretary, was absent, her computer off, her desk tidied.

Carley peeked into the other downstairs room. Dick, their paralegal, was gone, too, and the kitchen/storage area where they made their coffee and kept their supplies was vacant. But she heard footsteps upstairs.

The offices and long conference room were on the second floor.
From force of habit, she turned right, toward Gus’s office, before correcting herself and turning left.

Russell’s door was open. As Carley entered, he rose, smiling.

“Carley, my dear.”

“Hello, Russell.” She went around the desk and kissed his cheek.

“Hello, Carley.”

Her nerves already on edge, Carley flinched at the unexpected sound of Annabel’s voice. Spinning around, she saw her mother-in-law perched on the leather sofa, elegant in a suit and Hermès scarf.

“Hello, Annabel. I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” Crossing the room, she bent to kiss Annabel’s cheek.
Thank heavens I wore a suit
, she thought, settling herself on the other end of the sofa.

Russell lowered himself into his desk chair and sat for a moment, staring down at a pile of folders in front of him.

“Carley, it’s often hard to discuss money, especially during times of such sorrow. I’m not sure how much you understood during the reading of Gus’s will.”

Carley nodded. She’d been lost in a blur of distress that day. Numbers had melted and slid away in her mind.

But she was firm when she answered, “I know Gus left me the house. Free and clear.”

Annabel made a sudden little sound, a whimper of pain.

Russell continued pleasantly, “Of course. We are well aware of that. We have a copy of the will. He left you all his money, too, except as you will find out, and I apologize for bringing this up at this difficult time …” Russell took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before continuing. “Gus made some bad investments last year.”

“I’m aware of that,” Carley told him.

Russell raised his eyebrows. “You are? Well. Well, then, perhaps all this won’t come as such a shock to you.” He cleared his throat. “I have no idea about how much of the financial aspect of running this house Gus shared with you, but it’s a huge house, and it requires a lot
of maintenance. Also, of course, for your family, there is the basic cost of living, groceries, clothing, car insurance—” He stopped suddenly. His face caved in. He looked old and very sad. “Carley, my dear. Gus left you no money. Well, enough, I suppose, for a month or two, if you’re careful.”

“The insurance policy?” Carley began.

“It appears he was unwise. He cashed it in.”

Carley’s fingertips went cold. She knew the symptoms of panic attacks, and fought to stave one off. Deep breaths, she told herself.

Russell cleared his throat. “Carley. Annabel and I have been talking.”

Carley forgot the breathing as her mind sharpened in self-defense. “Okay.”

“We think you and the girls should come live with us.”

Carley stared.

Annabel leaned forward, her voice rich with concern. “The house is too big for you to live in alone with the two little girls. It will be too
lonely
. In our house, we’ve got room for everyone. Think how much better it will be, especially for Cisco and Margaret, to have three adults living with them, not just one.”

Carley chose her words with care. “Annabel, Russell, what a kind offer. But the house is our
home
, mine and Cisco’s and Margaret’s. The girls have grown up there. Their bedrooms are there. The yard they play in, the attics they play in. It would be terribly disruptive, disorienting, to ask them to move.”

“They have bedrooms in our house,” Annabel pointed out.

“True. And of course they’ll still spend overnights with you; they love doing that. That won’t change. But we need, the three of us, to learn to get on with our lives there, in our home.”

“If the three of you lived with us,” Russell said carefully, “perhaps the girls wouldn’t miss their father quite so much.”

“Oh, Russell,” Carley argued. “The girls adore you, but Gus was their
father
, and nothing can protect them from missing him. I may not be stating this well, I’m overwhelmed, I’m
sad
, and I’m heart-broken
for my daughters, but I don’t think anyone can be a substitute for their father.”

“If you live with us,” Russell continued, “we’ll take care of all your expenses. If you don’t live with us, you’ll have to find work.”

“And that would mean,” Annabel added quickly, “that the girls would become latchkey children.”

A flush of anger shot through Carley. “No, that won’t happen.”

“But how can it not?” Annabel asked, tilting her head delicately.

“I have some ideas,” Carley said, lying through her teeth. “I’m not ready to discuss them with you yet, but I will, soon. I’m grateful for your concern, but—” Tears pressured the backs of her eyes. Her mind was spinning. She stood up, unsteady in her high-heeled boots.

Her father-in-law hurried toward her. “Carley, please. We’re all overwrought. We’re not going to come to any sensible conclusion right now. Won’t you just think about our offer?”

Emotion made Annabel’s voice tremble. “Carley, we just want to take care of you.”

“I understand,” Carley said. “And I’m grateful.” But her teeth were clenched as she left the room.

• • • • •

She strode home, fueled by anger and determination, her thoughts in a whirlwind. It was lunchtime, but she wasn’t hungry. She had to keep moving. Tossing her good suit on the bed, she pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved tee. She tied her sneakers, yanked on her parka, wool hat and gloves, and slammed out the door. She jogged down the dog-legged route past houses, cottages, and concession stands to the long stretch of Jetties Beach where the winter waves surged and spat like her thoughts.

Her worries churned repetitively through her mind like the wheels of a train. What could she do? What could she do? How could she make money?

She would call her father, first of all. He had offered, when he came up for the funeral, to help Carley financially. She would gladly take him up on that offer now. She had no intention of being dependent on him, but he could spare enough to get her through a few months while she found a solution.