“Come on. Don’t make me enjoy this sunset alone,” Hope encouraged. “This is our chance to relive all those wonderful summers. Like old times.”
Like old times. There was that line again.
Her sister had a point, and Ellie nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She had barely entered the front hallway when Gemma approached, the anxiety in her eyes at odds with the smile on her face.
“What’s going on?” Ellie asked, feeling uneasy. Was it the yard? It had grown again, but she’d told herself she would get to it this weekend, when she had more free time. She’d dared to think that tonight might be different, the kind of night she’d been hoping to have since her sisters announced that they were coming to visit.
But now, it seemed all that would have to wait.
“I was in town today,” Gemma said, and for one horrible moment, Ellie wondered if this had something to do with Simon. Had Gemma seen him? Had she said something about how happy Ellie was to have him back, without knowing of course that he was engaged to be married to another woman?
The humiliation! Ellie braced herself.
“And I saw the real estate listings for properties for sale,” Gemma continued.
Ellie nodded, waiting for Gemma to say more. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten much today. Hadn’t eaten much since Simon’s big announcement, really.
She inched toward the kitchen, eager to get on with things. “So?”
“So…this house is worth even more than I thought,” Gemma said, raising an eyebrow.
“Wait. You want to sell Sunset Cottage?” Ellie felt her eyes bulge as she stared at Gemma. Gemma, who had not been to the island since she had graduated from college, had decided to waltz back in, after Gran was gone, and tell Ellie what she wanted to do with the place? “No. No way. Just no.”
“Hear me out—” Gemma said, stepping forward, but Ellie brushed by her, shaking her head until her ponytail whipped back and forth.
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she pushed deeper into the house and made her way to the kitchen. Tears blinded her eyes as she opened the fridge, only to be reminded that the light was still burned out. She cursed under her breath as she grabbed a bottle of wine by the neck (there were now several, along with cheese and bread and lunchmeat and vegetables, thanks to Hope’s trip to the market this week) and poured herself a glass. To the rim.
“Ellie! Come on out to the porch! Let’s talk!” That was Hope’s voice now. The traitor.
“Talk?” she asked angrily. “Or hear you out?” No one asked Ellie for anything because Ellie was…well, Ellie. Black sheep of the family. Starving artist. Irresponsible Ellie. She may as well have had it tattooed to her forehead. Ellie who had killed the vegetable garden. Ellie who wasn’t much of a handyman.
But they had no clue. None of them. This was an old house, and they each had a share in it. And up until now, she had been the only one contributing to its upkeep, and she couldn’t sink all of her money into it, not when she had the studio rent.
And without her say, they couldn’t do anything. Not even sell this cottage.
“We wanted to have a discussion,” Hope called out.
“Oh, so I’m being ganged up on now?” she cried, hating the hurt that crept into her tone. They’d discussed it, planned it, all before she’d come home. Because like it or not, this was her home. Not theirs. “What is this? Some kind of ambush?” She took a long sip of the wine.
“Please, Ellie! I didn’t mean to upset you!” Gemma called, and Ellie, despite her anger, wavered. She loved her sisters, and the truth was that she had been lonely here. But selling this house?
For starters, where would she go?
She took another gulp of the wine, letting it cool her throat. It was a hot day for May, and it was sticky in the house, even with the breeze floating off the lake. They needed to open more windows. Let the fresh air circulate. Evening was quickly approaching, and here on the island, the evenings were perfect.
Except tonight wasn’t shaping up to be.
“Look,” she said as she walked onto the wraparound porch through the side kitchen door. Hope had lit candles and set them on the wicker side and coffee tables, and the big round table where their mother and Gran and Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Anderson would sit and play cards for hours every evening, their laughter rising in the air, carrying itself all the way up to her cracked bedroom window. She loved the sound of it, even if she did feel mildly left out of the fun. Still, she’d made her own fun. She had Gemma and Hope and the Taylors and the Andersons. They were a staple, a presence that was ingrained in their stays at the cottage. There was an unspoken promise that the fun would start all over the next day. Even when it rained, they could explore the old homes. And they had. She knew every inch of the three homes that hugged the southern bay of the West End.
This house was ingrained in her too.
“Gran gave this house to us,” she said, pleading with Gemma’s emotional side. Gemma had a tender heart, whereas Hope was always the more practical one. Ellie supposed this was why the strain with Gemma hurt so much, because Gemma was supposed to care. And right now, the only thing she seemed to care about was her financial stake in this house. “Gran could have given it to Dad, but she didn’t.”
“Because she knew that he didn’t want it,” Gemma pointed out.
“Exactly. She knew that if she gave it to Dad he would turn around and sell it!” Ellie shot back, and Gemma raised her eyebrows at that, because really, wasn’t that the truth?
Ellie was no fool. She knew how much homes went for on the island, especially on the lakefront, with views as far as the eye could see. Someone with a fat bank account and a crew of men would come in and turn it into a summer paradise or yet another small inn.
But Gran didn’t want that. And Ellie didn’t either. She wanted to hold onto the memories. To this island. She wasn’t ready to let go of this house.
“But do you really want to live here long term, Ellie?” Gemma asked now, her tone gentle, her eyes a little wary. They were entering tricky territory, and she had the impression that Gemma was hoping to avoid another argument like last summer.
Did she regret her words? Ellie could ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the truth.
“I…I…” Ellie licked her lip. The truth was that she hadn’t considered living anywhere else. Evening Island was her home. She’d returned every summer during college before moving in with Gran after graduation. Yes, she had island fever during the cold months, but that didn’t mean she wanted to leave it, did it?
“Because your share of the sale would allow you to find something else,” Gemma said.
Ellie narrowed her eyes. “Are you again implying that I am living here by some sort of charity? I’ll have you know that my painting class is filled every Friday and I may be offering up another soon. And I sold two paintings over the weekend in one shop alone. And I sell others, regularly.”
“That’s wonderful!” Hope said, and Gemma beamed a smile so genuine that, for a moment, Ellie almost dared to believe that she was happy for her. That she didn’t see her as a failure, the way she had implied last summer, tapping in to Ellie’s deepest insecurities.