I’ve never heard anyone call him that.
“It was such a shame to hear about his passing. I’m Viola Babin, and this is my husband, Joseph. We own the big old blueberry farm next door.”
Ohhh.
I do have vague memories of the distant property, backing up to a farm many acres away, but I hadn’t given it much thought until now. There’s a lot of natural privacy around here from thick tufts of forest.
As kids, we spent so much time on the water or tromping through Acadia that we never strayed too far off PopPop’s land and onto anyone else’s.
“Neighbors, that’s nice. Glad to meet you,” I say. “How can I help you? Did you know my grandfather?”
“Oh, we just came by to introduce ourselves and see how you’re settling in. Lord knows this old place sat vacant for too long, and Sully Bay doesn’t get a lot of new faces, even seasonal ones.” Viola’s rattling laugh clashes with her tired cheeks and no-nonsense faded denim jacket. “And yes, Leon was such agood neighbor to us. So humble for being stinkin’ rich and famous.”
I wonder if my strained smile says I’m a little weirded out.
I’ve never heard anyone call my grandfather Leon in his life. It’s not even a proper nickname like Leo.
But… Icanimagine him spending time with this denim-clad couple, inviting them in for cider on the back porch or maybe that Greek ouzo he loved.
He didn’t mind reminiscing about quiet country life, away from the buzz of business in the cities. When my grandmother was still alive, they might’ve had a very active social life here once.
The thought makes me ache, like there are parts of PopPop I never truly knew. Especially the days when Grandma was around, before I was born.
“So, are you moving in?” Viola asks, undaunted by my weird expression.
“Not yet. Right now, I’m just kind of feeling it out. I came up from Portland to look the property over since it’s mine now,” I say. “The place needs some work. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Her husband nods briskly, a quiet lump of a man with a bushy mustache. He looks like he’s been dropped from the French countryside into northern Maine, but he carries himself like a lifelong Mainer from the sticks.
“I’ll be heading home in a few weeks or so,” I say.
Living here permanently was never the plan.
“Just in time to beat the cold,” Joseph huffs agreeably.
“Well, if you need anything—anything at all—you let us know.” Viola glances at her husband, who flashes the same wide smile like he’s on a delay. “We’d be happy to lend you a hand with clearing brush, raking leaves, patching up buildings, you name it. Wouldn’t we, Joe?”
“Sure would,” he says flatly.
Huh.
I fight the urge to squint at them.
Why does this feel oddly rehearsed? Like they’ve practiced their lines a few times before showing up here.
But why? If they knew PopPop, then they should be past the weird intimidation with the Blackthorn name some people feel.
I want to shake myself.
This is old habit, assuming the worst about everyone.
Hattie calls me out for it all the time. She’s one of those impossibly upbeat, sunny people who only see the good in the world.
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” I lie.
Joseph grins at me again, and I can’t help forcing a smile back.
“Actually, Miss Margot, we did come here with a little agenda, if you want to know the truth.” He clears his throat. “If you’re not thinking about moving right in, we wondered… any chance you’re selling?”
