I sigh. “Gran, I can’t do this right now. I can’t handle anything else.”
“Just listen.”
She reaches for the folder beside her and opens it. The first document has a state seal at the top. I blink away the tears welling in my eyes.
“This arrived this morning,” Gran says, handing me the paper.
I take the paper and read through the blur.
Dear Ms. Wendy Winslow,
We are pleased to inform you that the property known as Seaside Bed-and-Breakfast, located at 14 Seaside Drive, Coconut Beach, Florida, has been officially accepted into the Florida Historical Registry. This designation recognizes the property’s architectural significance, its cultural contribution to the Coconut Beach community, and its continuous operation as a hospitality establishment since 1975.
A formal dedication ceremony will be held in January of the coming year. As the applicant of record, your presence is requested.
I scan it again because I don’t understand.
“I’m so proud of you for doing this,” Gran says, squeezing my knee. “When did you find the time?”
My mouth opens and closes. Words are stuck in my throat, and I don’t think I’ll be able to speak.
“It was a smart idea. The B&B will be recognized by the state, Wen. They’re going to put one of those signs out front with details about the building. We’ll have to throw a party and invite the entire town.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t submit this.”
Her brow furrows. “Your name is on it.”
“I know. But I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
We look at each other. Gran takes the paper from my hands and reads it again, running her finger under the line that saysapplicant of record. Her face shifts as the same answer lands for both of us at the same time.
“Dyson,” she says softly.
The room tilts, and the tears come harder. He researched the qualifications, pulled the historical records, wrote letters, filled out applications, then filed it in my name. He did it because he saw a way to protect this place without handing me millions of dollars.
The historical designation means no more real estate companies will come knocking. Any development plans that want to demo or make major structural changes will be denied. Registered property can’t be altered without state approval. That means no more letters, phone calls, or men like Darren Calder. This is a shield, protection, for the legacy of the B&B.
“He never mentioned this,” I whisper.
Gran sets the document on the coffee table and looks at me with wet eyes. “There is something else.”
She pulls out a large manila envelope. It’s thicker, heavier, with a law firm’s return address printed in the corner.
“Are we being sued? Was this good news first, followed by bad news?”
“Open it.”
I open the envelope and pull out a stack of legal documents. The first page has a header I don’t understand, and I keep reading.
Transfer of Property Deed.
Seaside Bed-and-Breakfast.
Grantor: Gale Winslow.
Grantee: Wendy Winslow.
“Gran.”
