Author: Kristan Higgins

“No smoking, Lavinia!” Maggie called.

“Damn.” Parker’s cousin stubbed the ciggie out on her palm and tossed the butt out the window.

“Didn’t that hurt?” Parker couldn’t help asking.

“Naw. My hands are tough.”

Parker took another sip of the surprisingly good coffee. “Well, my plan is to…I don’t know. I thought I’d slap on some paint and sell the place, but I didn’t know how bad it was.”

“It’s a shit-snarl.”

“Yes indeedy.”

“Got enough money to really spiff it up?” Lavinia asked.

Parker paused. “I have a little. I don’t know how far it’ll go.”

Lavinia pursed her lips together, causing a hundred wrinkles to radiate from her mouth like anemic rays from a sickly sun. “I heard about your problems.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, ayuh. News travels fast. Especially when it’s on CNN.”

“Right.”

“How many years did your father get?”

“Six. Time off for good behavior.”

Her cousin grunted. “Deserved it, from what I hear. Sorry for you, though.”

“Well, it’s not so bad.” Besides, even if it was bad, she’d been raised not to discuss money, sex or religion. “So, Lavinia—”

“Call me Vin,” she said.

“Okay, Vin, um, how exactly are we related?” Parker asked. “We’ve never met, have we?”

“Nope. Your mother’s my cousin on the Harrington side. Althea and I, we spent a little time together as kids some summers, back when my father still owned the Point.”

“What point is that?”

“Douglas Point. The big place north of yours.”

“That was yours? You lived there?”

“Ayuh. Till my mother and father divorced. Then my father sold it a few years later.”

“Wow.” Althea had never said anything about summers in Maine.

Lavinia looked out the window. “So how is your mother these days? We didn’t really stay in touch.”

“She’s…she’s fine.”

“She ever remarry after your folks split up?”

Parker couldn’t suppress a smile. “Oh, yeah. A few times.”

Lavinia smiled back. “Is that right? Well. Tell her hello from me.”

Parker knew that the Harringtons originally harkened from Maine, but her mom had grown up in Westchester County, New York. Back when her parents were still together, big family gatherings had only included the Coven. No second cousins from the Harrington side had ever been mentioned; only those few awkward visits to Great Aunt Julia up in Boston.

“Got any help for overhauling the house?” Lavinia asked, interrupting Parker’s thoughts.

She took a deep breath. “Um, yes. A family friend.”

“Well, you’ll need it. God knows how long it’s been since the place was cleaned out. Julia stopped coming here probably fifteen, twenty years ago.” She squinted at Parker. “You need a job this summer? Make a little extra cash? I could use the help with Maggie and Malone’s wedding. Usually hire a high school kid part-time in the summer, but the job’s yours if you want it.”

Heck yeah, she wanted it. “Sure. That’d be great. Thank you.” Her first real job. Holy halos.

“Great. I gotta grab a smoke. Come by Wednesday. Three doors down. You can’t miss it.”

Lavinia left, and Parker glanced at her watch. She should get back to the shack, bring James some sustenance. Help clear stuff out. But maybe she’d call Nicky first. She glanced at her watch. He might be up. It was five-thirty in California.

Parker’s chest constricted. Nicky felt so far away—he was so far away. The fact that she hadn’t heard his voice last night, didn’t know what he’d had for dinner, hadn’t toweled off his hair after his bath…dang. Crying in a crowded diner full of strangers—not fun.

Malone sat down across from her, and Parker jumped a little. “Hey there,” she said.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble.

She was about to deny it and found herself telling the truth instead. “I miss my kid. He’s with his dad in California for a few weeks.”

Malone gave a brief nod. “My daughter lives most of the year in Oregon with her mother.”

“Is that your daughter over there?”

Malone looked, his face softening a bit. “Ayuh.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

“Don’t talk about it.” He smiled a little. “How old’s your boy?”

“Five and a half.”

“Tough to be apart when they’re small.”

She tried a smile. “Yeah. Well, he’ll actually be coming up when they get back. So. Three weeks to go.”

Malone nodded again. “Hang in there.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she lied. “But thanks, Malone. And congratulations again.”

She got up from the booth and waited at the counter as the gap-toothed cook made a ham-and-egg sandwich to go. He refused payment, telling her everything was on the house today.

Nice to be in a place where she was anonymous. Not one mention of the Holy Rollers, or Harry—except from Lavinia.

The sun was shining, a brisk wind coming in off the water, the waves slapping sharply against the wooden pier. The lobster boats bobbed merrily at their moorings, and a seagull strutted down the sidewalk in front of her, the breeze ruffling its feathers but not its composure.

Upon further inspection, Gideon’s Cove had a bit more to it than at first glance. There was a lovely brick town hall, the police station, a bar called Dewey’s and Lavinia’s flower shop—called Lavinia’s Flower Shoppe. Parker peered in the window and saw that it was crowded with little souvenirs and fake flower arrangements. A half inch of dust was on the sill. Well. She’d make herself useful.

After that, the town became mostly residential. There were some beautiful old houses in the Federal style with handsome front doors and widow’s walks, rhododendron and lilies blooming in the yards. But the town quickly gave way to blue-collar, with two-family homes and small bungalows as the hills rose around the cove. At the top of one street, Parker could see Douglas Point. Hard to believe that had been in her family and her mother never mentioned it. Then again, Althea was hazy with details.

Aunt Julia’s place wasn’t visible. Maybe, given Thing One’s extra weight, it had fallen into the sea.

Either way, she should probably go back home. To the hovel.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FOUR DAYS LATER, as James ripped shingles off the roof, he had to admit he’d been wrong in thinking Parker would be a wuss when it came to hard physical labor. Grayhurst had had a cleaning crew, a gardening service, a handyman on call 24/7 and a personal chef who delivered meals daily. But there was Parker, hacking down the weeds along the stairway to the dock like a member of a chain gang. Cut-off jeans that showed her long, gorgeous legs. The jeans were the ones the mouse had run into, and she’d said there was no way in hell she was giving the rodent another chance. A shirt from Joe’s Diner; apparently, Miss Welles hadn’t packed—or didn’t own—a proper T-shirt. A Yankees hat, the only thing marring her golden beauty. Well, she couldn’t help it. Had spent most of her childhood in New York.

Nope, Parker had dug right in, shoveling the remainder of her aunt’s belongings into trash bags, sorting through what could go to the Salvation Army—not a lot—and what was recyclable. If she had to ask him how to change the head of the sponge mop, well, it was kind of appealing.

She talked to her kid probably four times a day, which James thought was a lot. Then again, he probably talked to his parents four times a year, so what did he know?

She whacked at the weeds again, swinging the scythe like a golf club, then stopped to throw Beauty a stick. She glanced up at James, saw him looking and gave a quick wave, then looked away.

Yeah. Even though they’d been together for five solid days, there was little change in their relationship. She was polite. She was a good worker and listened when he told her how to do something. She had a decent sense of humor. Still called him Thing One occasionally. Didn’t seem to be moping about her lost fortune, though she got quiet sometimes, maybe missing her kid.

In other words, she was as out of reach as ever. They talked about the house. The dog. The town. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes of conversation a day. She spent more time than that by far on the phone with her kid. And the Paragon. And Mrs. Paragon.

Whatever. He had his own work to do, ripping the decaying shingles off the roof. Sweat dampened his hair, and he wiped his face on the sleeve of his T-shirt. Gideon’s Cove was experiencing a rare heat wave the past day or so, with temperatures into the nineties. Humid, too. And the blackflies…he’d forgotten about those bloodthirsty little suckers.

He turned as a truck slowed in front of the house. Probably one of Parker’s fan club, the old guys from the hardware store, who’d been dropping by daily to check on her progress. She had those three wrapped, that was for sure. Called them the Three Musketeers, which made the old guys shuffle and blush as if she’d knighted them.

It wasn’t one of the Musketeers. It was his oldest brother, Tom, a good twenty pounds heavier than he’d been two Christmases ago when James had last seen him. Red-faced, and not from the sun.

“Hey,” James said, shading his eyes to be sure. Ayuh. That was Tom, all right.

“Hey, James. How you doing, bud?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Can’t complain. Talked to Dewey last week. He said you were here for the summer.”

James climbed down from the roof, wariness prickling at the back of his neck. He was the only one of the five Cahill kids who’d graduated college, let alone gone on for a law degree. The only one who’d made it out of Maine, too. His brothers didn’t drop by or give him a call for the hell of it.

“Kids are good?” James asked. He hesitated, then shook his brother’s hand. From down by the water, he could hear Parker’s scythe hacking into the long grass. He hoped she stayed there.

“Kids are great. Maybe you can swing by and visit this summer.”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be nice.” Except Tom had never once invited James to his house before. “So what brings you up here, Tom?”

“Oh, I had to do something in Machias. Figured I’d swing by.” Machias was an hour south, but James didn’t point that out. Tom leaned back against his truck door, all casual interest, and nodded at the house. “Got your work cut out for you, huh?”

“Yeah. Just trying to get it up to code, pretty much.”

“You gonna reshingle the sides next?” Like their father, Tom was a carpenter.

“Yep. Rebuild those steps, too.”

Tom nodded sagely. “So listen. I have a proposition for you.”

Ah. That made more sense. Tom was here for money.

His brother folded his arms across his chest and stared out at the harbor. “There’s this very cool opportunity to be a part owner in the old lumber mill. Remember that place? Down by the river?”

“I remember,” James said.

“So me and my buddies, we were thinking we’d buy it, renovate it, put in some really nice shops on the first floor, right? Cheese shop, wine, upscale shit. Then up above, we’d have luxury condos.”

“Sounds great.” It sounded idiotic. Dresner was a dying city. There was more call for a soup kitchen than luxury condos overlooking a river polluted by forty years of industrial waste. Cheese shop? Come on.

“So I’m looking for a little capital to get started.” He paused. “I’d pay you back with interest and all.”