I bit back a sob.
Here I was fretting about boys and jobs, when poor Rosie was trying to grieve the love of her life. I was focused on something that hadn’t even happened yet, and she was mourning decades of love and companionship.
Tears brimming, I wrapped my arms around her, trying to be the strong one for once – instead of the one who always needed to be comforted or guided.
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie,’ I said, and the words were soheavy. ‘We’ve all been so selfish this whole time. Of course you’re hurting. Charlie was so special. What you had was so special.’ I hesitated, thinking about what Keiko had said last night about how easy it was to runfromsomething. I had to say it before I talked myself out of it.
‘But are you sure that selling the Pink House is what you really want?’
Rosie took a seat on one of the floral outdoor sectionals, drawing her knees up to her chest.
‘I don’t know, hon. I just know that it hurts to be here. And seeing all this tension between everyone – and all the strange things going on with our magic – I can’t help but wonder if the house is holding on to some bad energy. Perhaps it needs a new owner. Someone who can bring something fresh and hopeful to the place. Who can get the gardens back into shape.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve never had such difficulties with my roses. Or even the hydrangeas. Or my baking! I can’t really have used baking soda instead of baking powder, could I?’
My mind was whirling.
‘Please don’t tell the boys,’ said Rosie earnestly. ‘I haven’t made a decision about whether to list it yet, and I don’t want to upset them unnecessarily. I know this place holds a lot of memories for them as well.’
‘Noah’s art studio,’ I said, nodding. ‘And Finn’s music room.’
Rosie blanched. ‘Finn’s music room?’
Oh shit. I’d clearly crossed a line.
‘Charlie’s,’ I amended. ‘Finn’s just claimed it, I guess.’
Rosie was silent for a moment. ‘You’re right. I can’t fault him for listening to Charlie’s record collection. It’s world-class. He was a record-bin-digger extraordinaire. And Finn’s playing is coming along. Well, sort of. You know Finn.’
Her smile was loving, but a touch rueful. I understood: Finn wasn’t the type to follow a traditional path, and that must be a struggle sometimes for a parent. Even for a free spirit like Rosie. She’d been worried after the whole Sunflower Maze debacle, which wasn’t like her. I suspected that perhaps that wasn’t the first time in recent months that he’d made some less-than-ideal choices.
‘He’s trying to finish Charlie’s guitar, too,’ I added, suddenly feeling the need to defend Finn. Sweet, wild Finn, who might be a big kid – and to a frustrating degree sometimes – but who wasn’t a lost cause by any means. ‘The starburst one that was on the workshop table.’
‘Charlie’s heart guitar,’ said Rosie quietly. ‘It was meant to be a gift from him to us. It was imbued with all the musical magic he could manage. Or would have been.’
‘Maybe Finn will finish it. I know he’s trying.’
Rosie used her magic to sweep a dusting of ocean salt from the couch she was sitting on. ‘I’m sure he’ll do his best.’
I nodded, casting my gaze over the place that had been my home for the late-summer months for decades. The place I knew, and loved, so well. ‘I can’t imagine not spending Summerween here. With you. With everyone.’
Rosie sighed. ‘I just want everyone to have the happinessthey deserve. And that includes this house. Because while I know a house isn’t a person, it’s still a living, breathing thing.’
‘Spoken like Shirley Jackson,’ I said, aiming for a touch of levity.
‘Well, the Pink House is definitely the spiritual opposite of Hill House. Anyway, I promise I’d let you know if we were all at imminent risk of being sucked into the scariest book ever written,’ said Rosie. She ran her fingers through her curls, the way she did when she was thinking. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I could just rent a different Summerween beach house until life feels settled again. Or a cute sunny place in Palm Springs. Trade the whisperwinds for the Santa Anas.’
‘Imagine the gossip those winds carry,’ I teased.
‘It must be how all the Hollywood trade papers get wind of news so fast.’ She reached over to squeeze my hand. ‘Thanks for letting me talk about this, Molly. I’ve been so afraid to say something. I love our Summerween get-togethers, and I know how much you all look forward to them. I really don’t want this to be our last one. But I also need to figure out what’s right for me. I hope you understand.’
‘I do,’ I said, my voice so small it barely escaped my lungs.
I couldn’t picture aFor salesign in the front yard or someone else’s furniture in the sunroom. A stranger ripping out Rosie’s flowers and replacing them with boring hedges, or turning Noah’s studio into a tool shed. Someone else sitting outside and watching movies on the projector screen or hauling up Summerween decorations from the basement. I couldn’t imagine anyone else loving the Pink House the way we did.
‘I’d better get going,’ said Rosie with a glance at her watch. ‘I have pickleball down at the beach club, and they can’t get by without their star player.’ She grinned, and it seemed sincere – even if she couldn’t entirely mask the sadness in her eyes. ‘Their star player, Soraya, whom I’m going to pick up in the golf cart on my way over.’
‘Wait, Rosie.’ I touched my fingers lightly to her arm. ‘I know I’m the worst person to help someone make a decision, but if it were up to me, I wouldn’t sell the Pink House. I’d keep it for ever and ever. I’d pass it down through the generations for as long as I could until the rising sea levels eventually took it out.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘I think that’s the most decisive I’ve heard you be about anything that wasn’t dessert seconds.’
