“Huh?”
“If you need to talk, I promise to listen. Lucy will be here after school, but in the meantime, I have to keep moving or I’ll never be finished in time.”
“Right. I’ll pack.”
Annie nodded and pointed to several stacks of soap she’d already wrapped and then to the plastic totes. “Cranberries and cream in the pink tubs; Scotch pine and vanilla in green ones; snowdrops and winterberries in red ones. They’re the holiday ones, so they’re the most important. Whatever I can finish in my regular line will go in the clear totes.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
She slid a stack of bars that were already wrapped toward him. “And make sure they stand up nice and straight. If the edges bump, they become seconds. And then they go in a cardboard carton.”
“Because cardboard’s cheaper?”
“No. Because I ran out of colors for the totes.” She thought that might make her brother laugh, but it did not.
Annie took a large sheet of beeswax, spread it on the counter, and, using a T-square, sliced the precise measurement needed to wrap each bar tightly. Kevin dragged a few cartons of kitchen cabinets near Annie’s worktable, set the totes on top, and carefully began to place the soaps into their color-coordinated bins.
Annie smiled. Leave it to her brother to make the chore easier by constructing a waist-high addition—no bending required—to the assembly line.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Not much. Except that my wife and I are going to be homeless.”
So Taylor had finally told him. Annie hoped she also hadn’t mentioned that she’d told Annie.
“Because?” she asked.
“Because Father Winsted left the house to Rex. It’s all buttoned up and legal in the old man’s will. And because, technically, Taylor has been trespassing for years.”
“Wow.”
“No kidding. When she told me, I got pissed at Rex. I figured he was trying to pull a fast one. But . . .” He grabbed four more bars and aligned them in their proper spots.
“Sounds like a bit of a pickle. What’s going to happen?”
“Rex wants to sell. He wants to open another restaurant, and he needs the money.”
Annie secured another piece of cranberries and cream in the beeswax, then wrapped it in a sheet of red netting. “Can you buy him out?” She knew that her brother had assets. Apparently, unlike his wife.
Kevin was silent for a moment. Then he emitted a short snort, like a bull before he charged. “Hardly. He wants a million four. I’ve fixed lots of things to make the place livable, and it has a little acreage, but a million four?” He snorted again.
“You have assets. Your condos in the city. Can’t you make a deal with him? Like offer him one in a trade—assuming he plans to move back to Boston? Or can you sell a couple and buy another house on Chappy?” Annie hadn’t seen Kevin’s condos, but she thought he had three that he rented. Knowing her brother, she assumed they would be worth something substantial.
He plunked a bar into a tub a little too hard. He removed it, held it up, then tossed it into the cardboard carton. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I appreciate your thought, but I don’t own them anymore.”
“What?” Annie knew that when he’d sold his business, he’d given the money to his former wife. But as for the condos . . .
“I gave them to Meghan,” he said.
Annie was startled. “What?” she asked again.
He waved a hand. “I didn’t tell you, but my sweet ex-wife decided to sue me for negligence in her accident. She said she’d settle for the condos. I didn’t want to bother you about it, because it happened when you were on your book tour, and I knew you and John were planning your wedding, and I didn’t want to be Mr. Wet Blanket.”
Stopping what she was doing, Annie moved around the worktable and leaned against it, facing her brother. She folded her arms. “God, Kevin, I wish you’d told me.”
“You couldn’t have done a damn thing. Neither of us could. I didn’t have the headspace to fight her. I couldn’t go through all that guilt again. And I have Taylor. I have a new life. I felt bad that Meghan doesn’t . . . or, rather, didn’t. After I signed over the condos, I found out she has a boyfriend. An attorney. The one who talked her into suing me.” He snapped the lid onto a tub he’d filled. “I guess it goes without saying that I’m a schmuck.”
“Kevin,” Annie said in what she hoped were soothing tones, “you are not even close to being a schmuck.”
