I smile back, trying not to seem too awkward.
“We’re truly blessed. It’s a gorgeous season in a pretty place,” Viola gushes. “And your granddad’s lake house always was the crown jewel in these parts as far as land goes.”
She talks on about the way they used to fly kites as kids and ride horses with their cousins when they were older, right up to the edge of Gramps’ property.
And sometimes they’d catch the odd hiker wandering up from Acadia, which still happens to this day.
I can’t imagine PopPop or Holden chasing people off like they did, but the Babins boast about their barbed wire, big dogs, and No Trespassing signs supposedly posted every thirty feet around their large farm.
“Like we said before, if you ever feel it’s time to part ways with the old place, give us a holler!” Her smile fades. “Only thing is, though, I’m afraid we might not have the cash to buy it outright. But if you were flexible on financing…”
Oof.
I figured there were a few strings attached.
Then again, it’s not like I need the money.
I can afford to be generous and patient with folks who need a little breathing room, especially when I’m not sure the blueberry business is making them rich.
This house is big and warm, but it’s outdated and a little musty, the longer I’m here.
My eyes flick over a couple old water stains on the ceiling, not well painted over to blend back in.
“That could work. If I decide to sell,” I say carefully.
The thought makes me sadder than I expected, and I don’t know why.
They could give the old place a second life, couldn’t they?
The Babins are farmers. There’s probably a ton of untapped potential in the soil, but that would mean losing the house forever, sooner or later.
That stings when I can still feel PopPop in every room.
Joseph leans back in his chair with a sigh that seems to come from his feet.
“Would be nice to do something useful with that land again. It’s been ages going to waste with rich people owning it, just rotting away.” He snorts with disgust.
Um, what?
I jerk my face up just in time to see Viola shoot him a sharp look.
That sting in my chest deepens.
“Dearie, I apologize. My Joseph doesn’t always think before he yaps. He meant no disrespect,” Viola says hastily.
“Yeah, uh, sorry ’bout that. Ma always told me I was born with foot-in-mouth fever. You Blackthorns always had a knack for keeping things pretty around here. There’s a reason your family’s so loved in these parts.” He grins uncomfortably.
That’s not what he implied a minute ago.
I sip the blueberry tea, which tastes more like syrup with way too much sugary honey.
Joseph shakes his head. “I just meant—aw, it’s nothing, but my family owned that land once.”
“Extendedfamily,” Viola corrects.
“Extended relatives, yes. A long, long time ago now—almost a hundred years, way back in the 1930s. Rough time for the country and for Maine, too. Huge floods drove the Babins out one year. For a while, that lake was a giant swamp.” His mouth twists in what could be a smile or a grimace. “The land was pretty useless till Leonidas came in with his money in the sixties.”
“Money talks with a loud mouth,” Viola says, like she’s trying to lighten the atmosphere. “And your granddad had a lot of it, bless his soul. He put in a modern drainage system and hired a bunch of contractors. Took a few years to get everything cleaned up with state-of-the-art stuff. He brought the land back to life.”
