“We’ll go,” Caitlin volunteered.
“No, dear. You won’t know where to go. Farrell and I are old hands at this. We’ll go and be back before you could even find the north fork.”
Holt grinned at Caitlin. “I think we’ve been insulted. Or was that a challenge?”
Mrs. Smith shook her head. “If you want to do something to create some holiday cheer,” she said and gestured at the mess they’d made of the front foyer, “it’ll be easier to find what we want to decorate with if you’ll pick up all that and box like things with like.” She turned to go, then turned back. “Oh, and there are sandwiches on the kitchen table when you get hungry.” She left them to do as she asked.
Holt watched her go, an odd half-smile on his face.
Caitlin couldn’t resist the urge to find out what caused it. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I thought I was the boss here.”
“Nay, laddie, nay. Not when Mrs. Smith is around.”
Holt laughed, and they bent to clear away the mess they’d made, Caitlin’s mind on Mrs. Smith. What if she was his grandmother? She didn’t think he would mind. Would Mrs. Smith? If the DNA results with Doc Coates were disappointing, she’d ask her.
* * *
After cleaning up the mess they’d made and eating the lunch Mrs. Smith had left them, Caitlin went back to work on her catalog. Holt left for an appointment in town, one he was looking forward to for a change. He had in mind a contingency— one he hadn’t discussed with Caitlin. It was something that, if it came to pass, he thought she’d approve. But he needed to discuss it with Mr. Thornton. That, and the holiday bonuses for Mrs. Smith and Farrell. He planned to make their Christmas very, very merry.
After the lawyer confirmed that what Holt wanted to do would take some paperwork, but it could be done, Holt decided he’d put off long enough the most difficult visit of all. If he hurried, he could accomplish it and return to the estate before dark.
Still, he couldn’t make himself go directly there. Instead of taking the main route toward the village, he took side roads, cruising through neighborhoods and eventually, through Sag Harbor on the road to the bridge to Shelter Island and beyond it, the north fork. Farrell and Mrs. Smith had gone up there after holiday greenery. The wine the estate served for dinner, which had been unfailingly good, also came from there. But going in search of the winery would take hours. A distraction, nothing more. Instead of continuing, he turned off onto the Long Beach Road and followed it until he saw sand and water.
He pulled off in a parking lot and lowered the car’s windows to breathe in the scent of water, trees, and sunshine. For a few minutes, he watched children in rolled-up pants chase each other as ducks glided out of their reach in the cold shallows, and parents sitting on beach towels keeping their gazes on every move their offspring made. It struck him that those kids were enjoying life more fully and easily than he had at that age. In this place. But how much of what he thought he remembered was real, and how much was colored by his family history?
He started the car and followed the road until he could turn east, then south. Before he knew it, he recognized the turnoff to the cemetery. He pulled up to the entrance and stopped, still reluctant. But it was time. Past time. He pulled forward. Inside the gates, much had changed over the years, but he found his mother’s marker easily, nonetheless. He’d insisted she be laid to rest on a knoll under a tree, giving her the view of forest, sky, and, if he squinted, a sliver of ocean. The kind of view she’d missed after her aunt threw her out like common trash. He’d made enough money to give her the view in a high-end condo during her last year of life— though the thing she’d wanted most, him nearby, had been impossible by then. His company took all his time and energy. If he’d known he’d lose her so soon, would he have done anything differently? Come east more often? Flown her out to see him? He hoped so.
“Hello, Mama. I’m here.” He knelt and laid a hand on the headstone.Jennifer Cooper Ridley, it read.Beloved Motheras she’d requested.Her final shot at her aunt— as if that woman would have ever visited this grave and seen the inscription. But perhaps someone told the old witch about the epitaph. That would have been enough.
“You won’t believewhyI’m here.” He paused and looked around him, feeling foolish, yet needing to say what he now realized he’d come here to say. To ask. “I’m sure you haven’t seen your Aunt Amelia where you are, so she hasn’t had a chance to torment you.” He paused to clear his suddenly tight throat. “But you need to know, she left me everything she denied you. You know I don’t want it. I’m going to get rid of all of it as fast as I can, one way or another. But I need to know, doeseverythinginclude the curse you told me about? I never really believed in it, but whether it’s real or not is starting to matter to me. A lot.”
She didn’t answer. Of course not. Holt was crazy to be talking to her headstone, much less to be talking to her headstone about a nearly three-hundred-year-old curse. Even crazier to expect an answer.
But if something as crazy as a family curse could be real, perhaps so could this sudden sense of disquiet piercing his grief. Was that her answer?
After another moment of silence, he stood and turned to squint at the horizon, looking for that sliver of sea. He missed it, lost in a low bank of sea fog that had yet to make it onto shore.He missed her. She’d done the best she could, raising a gifted son alone. He hadn’t been able to repay a fraction of what he owed her. He never would. Guilt filled him. There was so much more he could have done, if only he’d known how limited their time together would be. So much more he should have done. But he could get on with his life and make it better than hers had been. She would want that. Not the money necessarily, but the family, friends, and loved ones. Children chasing ducks in the cold water at the shore.
If Caitlin was right, he could have all of that. When he’d threatened to send her home, she’d said she had only wanted to help, to bring him some happiness. She’d thought she’d ruined everything. She was wrong. She’d helped. She’d made him feel…something. Happiness? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure she’d given him hope. “There’s a woman, Mama. Her name is Caitlin Paterson, and I know you’d love her. I want to take care of her. I’m going to do everything in my power to have a long, happy life with her. I hope you’ll give us your blessing.”
* * *
“Thank you, dear, for sorting the holiday ornaments,” Mrs. Smith said, surveying the neat array of boxes lining the entry foyer’s walls.
Caitlin stepped away from the office door and followed the older woman down the hall. She was surprised at how long it had taken Mrs. Smith and Farrell to return from their errand to the north fork. She’d heard their voices in the kitchen and left her worktable to go see what they’d brought. But Mrs. Smith’s hands were empty, and Caitlin didn’t smell any fresh pine or greenery. “Were the stands you went to visit closed?”
“Oh, no. Farrell is bringing in what we found, with Mr. Ridley’s help.”
“Holt is back? He’s been gone nearly as long as you were.”
“Well, everyone is here now, so we can begin to decorate, but perhaps,” she said, glancing at her watch, “after I make us a light supper. We’ll enjoy it more on a full stomach, don’t you think?”
“That’s a great idea,” Holt said, coming down the hall from the kitchen, a large wreath in each hand. “I’m hungry. Judging by what I see Farrell unloading outside, I suspect you and he are, too. Caitlin?”
“I can sign up for that. In the meantime, Holt and I will finish bringing in everything else.”
“Farrell can get it,” Mrs. Smith objected.
