“It’s musty. We’ll air it out.” She propped the door open and headed inside. “Are you coming?”
Deirdra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a look of disgust on her face. “You can’t be serious. We’re not sitting in there. It’s awful. I say we lock it up, take that offer, and run.”
Abby sighed. “This was Daddy’s dream. Don’t you remember how he taught us to cook here? Friday nights dancing with him on that very patio? Watching him and Mom mingle and dance? How can you want to leave all that behind?”
“It’s called living in the present, Abby. Dad’s been gone for nineteen years.” She softened her tone and said, “I know how much you miss him. I do, too. But you’ve worked hard to get where you are at your job, and this is a money pit. The whole thing needs to be redone. Not to mention that neither of us knows a darn thing about running this place.”
“Excuse me?” Abby said sharply. “I’ve been a cook for years, and we worked here every night from the time we were nine and eleven and all summer, every summer. I basically ran the place after graduating from high school. We know enough to make it work.”
“You’re such a dreamer.” Deirdra shook her head and walked away. She stood at the edge of the patio with her back to Abby, arms crossed, gazing out at the water.
Abby was used to their differences, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed arguing with Deirdra. She went to her, but rather than argue, she watched the sandpipers along the shore and let the sounds of the waves calm her.
“It’s a mistake, Abby,” Deirdra said softly. “I love you, but I can’t give up a six-figure career for memories I’d like to forget.”
Abby felt like she’d been poked with a hot needle. “You want to forget Dad?”
Deirdra turned with glassy eyes and said, “No, of course not. But everything after he died?” She nodded solemnly. “Everything but you.”
Tears rose in Abby’s eyes.
“Excuse me . . . ?”
They both turned at the unfamiliar voice, meeting the cautious eyes of a tall woman with jet-black hair cut just below her ears and porcelain skin. She looked like the lead actress from Blindspot. Her gray sweater hung loosely over her lithe frame. Her legs went on forever, and her cropped jeans revealed a swath of pale skin decorated with a colorful tattoo a few inches above her flat, black leather ankle boots.
“Hi,” Abby said.
The woman looked down at an envelope she was fidgeting with, and Abby noticed tattoos on the back of her hand and snaking out from the edge of her collar.
“I’m looking for Shelley Steele.” Her voice was as cautious as her green eyes.
“Shelley?” Abby said, exchanging a curious glance with Deirdra. “She should be here soon. I’m Abby and this is my sister, Deirdra. We’re actually meeting with Shelley this morning. How did you know she’d be here?”
She looked down at the envelope in her hand again, her finely manicured brows knitting as she held it out to them, her unsure eyes moving between Abby and Deirdra. “She sent me this letter and asked me to come here.”
Deirdra took the envelope and read the letter with a pinched expression. “This says our mother left you something in her will. Your name is Cait Weatherby?”
Cait nodded.
Deirdra looked at Abby, her silent question—Do you know her?—hanging between them. Abby shook her head. Deirdra handed Cait the envelope and said, “How did you know our mother?”
“I didn’t,” Cait said softly.
“You didn’t know her at all and she left you something? Are you sure? Ava de Messiéres?” Deirdra sounded out their last name slowly—de mess-ee-ay. “She was tall, about my height, and skinny, with shoulder-length sandy hair and a gap between her two front teeth like Lauren Hutton.”
Cait shook her head again.
“Have you ever been here before? Maybe you met her in the restaurant,” Abby suggested. “She could have taken a liking to you. Are you an artist?”
“This is my first time on the island. I’m a tattooist and body piercer at Wicked Ink on Cape Cod.” There was a quiet strength behind Cait’s voice that was at odds with her fidgeting hands. She slid one arm across her stomach and leaned her other elbow on her wrist, her knuckle grazing her chin, as if she needed a barrier, a shield of protection.
“Okay,” Abby said. “I don’t know if our mother had hidden tattoos or piercings, but it wouldn’t surprise me. She could have been one of your clients.”
“Sorry I’m late!” Shelley exclaimed as she flew around the side of the building, a whirlwind in jeans and a blue clingy top, carrying a thick messenger bag. “The meeting at the winery went on forever.” She was a big, beautiful woman with long auburn hair and bangs that made her look like she was in her forties rather than fifties. She had a zest for life, a heart of gold, and a contagious smile.
“Shelley.” Abby hugged her, and Shelley enveloped her in the maternal warmth Abby knew she’d never get enough of. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart.” Shelley embraced Deirdra and said, “I’ve missed you, too, honey.”
“Me too, Shelley. Thanks for taking care of Mom’s will.”
“I loved her, and I love you girls.” Shelley turned to Cait with a warm smile and said, “You must be Cait Weatherby.”
Cait nodded.
“I’m Shelley, and, darlin’, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Shelley embraced her, but Cait stood rigid, her face a mask of apprehension. When Shelley let go, Cait’s breath rushed from her lungs, as if she’d been holding it.
“I assume you girls know each other now?” Shelley asked, her eyes moving between the three of them.
“Yes,” Abby said. “But we’re confused. Cait said she didn’t know Mom, but the letter said Mom left her something?”
“That’s right, honey. Why don’t we go inside and sit down,” Shelley suggested.
“That’s a big no,” Deirdra said. “It’s pretty bad in there.”
“We can bring chairs and a table out here. Come on, Dee. I’ll wipe them off.” Abby hurried into the restaurant, and Deirdra and Cait followed her in.
The three of them set up a table and chairs on the patio. Abby and Cait wiped them down while Deirdra took a call from Malcolm. When they finally gathered around the table, Shelley seemed a little uneasy with the three of them looking at her expectantly. The buzz of the unknown reminded Abby of the day many years ago when Shelley had sat her down and told her that her mother was not her responsibility and that she needed to study hard and get a scholarship so she could one day leave the island and build her own life. Deirdra had been in her first year of college and doing just that, but at the time Abby couldn’t imagine leaving her mother, who, though she was a functioning alcoholic during the day, at night was nearly drowning in her sorrows and threatening to take everything else down with her.
“I’ve been thinking about this day for months, since Ava told me she was sick,” Shelley said. “The first thing you need to know is that I did ask Ava to do this herself, just as I’d wanted her to tell Abby and Deirdra that she was sick and her diagnosis was terminal. But she wasn’t strong enough. She felt she’d already been enough of a burden on you girls when you were growing up, and she couldn’t . . . well, she couldn’t do any of it.”