he said. “What about Mom’s Yorkie, Athena? Someone needs to take care of her.”
“Pippa took her home, which is the best place for her. She doesn’t get along with Laney’s cat. Max would tear her to shreds. And Pippa pampers that little dog as much as Mom did.”
He rubbed the goose bumps from his arms. “Okay.”
“Would you like to be on the call with Rocki? I could conference you in...”
“No, I’ll let you break the news. I could use a few minutes.”
“No problem. I love you,” she responded and hung up.
After pushing the end button, Keith set his phone on the desk as if it were a bomb that might explode, rocked back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. His mother’s death had so many implications. What would happen to the Coldiron fortune, which she’d controlled since her father died? Who had she left it to? Roxanne—or Maisey?
Perhaps she’d split it between them. But she couldn’t split Coldiron House and would never want to see it sold. So what would become of their ancestral home? Would Maisey move out of the bungalow she shared with Rafe on the other side of the island—from which they managed the eight neighboring vacation cottages for Josephine—and take up residence at Coldiron House?
Keith knew Roxanne wouldn’t move. She and her husband ran two businesses in Louisiana. They couldn’t leave their livelihood behind. Neither would Rocki uproot her three kids.
A sudden longing sprang up, to walk through the halls of Coldiron House, to see his childhood home through different eyes, to somehow find the peace that had eluded him there. He’d loved visiting his grandfather on Fairham Island, before they moved there, when Grandpa Henry was alive. He used to say that Keith would own it all someday, that he would be the one to carry on the Coldiron legacy. Although Keith had never been close to his own father, not like Maisey, and he’d struggled just to get along with his mother, he’d been Grandpa Henry’s favorite. Henry had always admired strength and spirit, even when it turned into willfulness—what had gotten Keith in so much trouble. Grandpa Henry had said he was once the same.
Maybe Keith would’ve put his grandfather’s traits to better use if Henry had lived longer. Sadly, he’d died when Keith was only eight and that house hadn’t represented the same thing since. They’d moved in after his death and it had been the family home ever since. But going back wouldn’t be easy. For one thing, he’d be stepping out of his current routine, which kept him busy and focused on the right things. His schedule, the distance and his refusal to think about the past were what kept him safe from himself.
Still, he had to attend his mother’s funeral. Had to help lay her body to rest in the family cemetery behind the house, beneath the moss-draped trees. Common decency demanded he attend the service, even if he didn’t stay any longer.
After waiting a few minutes, he called Rocki. She’d just hung up with Maisey and was crying.
“You okay?” he asked.
“For the most part. Are you?”
“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you planning to attend the funeral?”
“Of course. We’ll fly to South Carolina as soon as we know when it is. We can’t come before that. With our financial situation, we can’t take much time off.”
“Things are that bad?”
“They’re not good.”
She hadn’t mentioned this to him before. She’d always said they were getting by.
“Is there something I can do to help? I’ll pay for your flights, give you a loan—”
“I appreciate the offer,” she broke in before he could list other options. “But we’d rather not accept that kind of help. I’m afraid it would make Landon feel...inept. Just between you and me, he’s already been dealing with some kind of midlife crisis. And even if we didn’t have the financial pressure, the kids are in school.” She sniffed and he pictured her wiping her face. “What about you? Will you go to the funeral?”
“Do I have any choice?”
“Sure you do. Don’t go if it’ll threaten your sobriety, Keith. Your first obligation is to remain drug-free and healthy. Do what you need to in order to avoid a relapse. That’s what the past five years have been about, right? If returning to Fairham could create a problem for you, Maisey and I will handle everything.”
He wouldn’t rely on his sisters to take care of burying their mother and dealing with the aftermath. What kind of brother would dump it all on them? “No, I’ll be there. You and Maisey have enough to worry about,” he said and opened the laptop on his desk to purchase a plane ticket to Charleston. He had to attend an important meeting tomorrow afternoon, so the earliest he could reach Fairham Island would be Tuesday.
He wasn’t convinced he was ready to gamble on the progress he’d made. But he had to go. If he couldn’t do his part when his family needed him, what was the point of changing at all?
THE SMELL HIT him the hardest—that familiar scent of the island, with its briny waves lapping up over the beaches, the soggy wood rotting around the dock and the damp wind sweeping over the fecund marshes to the southwest. As Keith drove his midsize rental car off the ferry, which ran every three hours between eight and eight since they’d added one more crossing at night, he couldn’t help taking a deep breath and feeling as nostalgic as he was apprehensive.
From what he could see, not much had changed in the past five years, but he lowered his head to get a better look as he entered Keys Crossing, the island’s only town. An elaborate display of exotic flowers adorned the windows of Love’s in Bloom, the flower shop that Josephine had purchased with some of the money she’d inherited, along with the house and everything else, from Grandpa Coldiron. The shop, or “shoppe” as she’d had it spelled on the sign, also sported a new coat of pale green paint.
With the sun setting behind the building, only those details could be seen in the dim glow of his headlights, but he assumed that the place looked as appealing as ever. Josephine had always had good taste.
Sitting back, Keith studied the Drift Inn on the other side of the street. Its marquee advertised a “winter special” of $99/night. The vacancy sign below glowed orange and would probably remain lit until the tourists came in spring to swell the ranks of the local population, which stood at about 2,500. There wasn’t a lot to do on Fairham during the winter, especially in damp, windy weather such as they were having now. He could see the dark outline of the palm trees up ahead, on the ocean side of the island where he was going, swaying as black clouds blocked what was left of the fading sun.
A storm approached. He felt like one of those black clouds rolling in—and he had no doubt many of Fairham’s residents would feel the same. He didn’t have a good reputation here. The locals would consider him bad news, the prodigal son returning. But he deserved it; he certainly hadn’t done anything to make anyone admire him back when he lived here.
He checked his watch. He’d taken the second-to-last ferry of the day; it was a little after five. He wondered what Maisey was doing. They’d spoken several times since that ominous call that’d disturbed his sleep. He’d spoken to Roxanne in Louisiana more than once, too. And yet he hadn’t told either one of his sisters that he was coming to the island today. He’d known Maisey would insist on meeting him the moment he got off the ferry, and he felt reluctant to face her so soon. He needed time to acclimate, to ease into the memories that were rising up and washing over him as if he’d been caught out at high tide.
Ease... He chuckled without mirth. Aside from the connection he felt to his grandfather, which sometimes made him homesick, and a general feeling that he belonged here, coming back was as difficult as he’d expected, especially when he thought