Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(42)

Had Meridith found these albums? He couldn’t see Eva making these. She wasn’t creative, and organization had been a foreign concept to her.

He touched the bag of ribbons and stickers. Was this Meridith’s doing? Was she making the kids albums? Why else would these things be in her closet? He replaced the lid and stood, then shut the closet door. She really did care about the kids. Probably wasn’t even planning to sell Summer Place. And he was rooting around in her things for nothing.

You’re a real jerk, Walker.

Turning, he surveyed all the drawers in the chest and dresser. How could he make himself finish?

He dug his hands into his pockets. If she was planning to move the kids, surely there was evidence in here somewhere. If he found nothing, he’d assume the best, and he wouldn’t do this again. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe even settle for shared custody, if the bipolar wasn’t an issue. As if it were up to him.

Feeling justified, he moved to the chest and began pulling drawers. The entire thing was empty. That was easy.

The dresser was next. Each drawer held a few neatly folded items, divided by clothing type. Sweaters, jeans, rolls of socks, then a drawer he knew he had no business in.

Nothing here. There was only one drawer remaining, and he’d saved it for last. The nightstand drawer where people kept personal things. He’d just give it a pull, a quick glance, then he’d be done. Back to cutting holes in the walls.

He approached the white table. A photo of Meridith and Lover Boy was propped in the corner beside a lamp. He picked it up and looked at the guy. Neat haircut, weak jawline, practiced smile. He shook his head and set it down.

An alarm clock topped a stack of library books. He tilted his head and scanned the titles. Kids and Grief, When a Child Loses a Parent, 25 Ways to Help a Grieving Child.

He really was a jerk.

Jake forced himself to reach for the vintage knob and pulled. The drawer squawked at him as he pulled it. Yeah, yeah, I know. When he released the handle, it settled at a cockeyed angle.

If he’d hoped to find it empty, he was disappointed. A copy of Restaurant Hospitality Magazine topped a stack of papers. So much for a quick glance. He looked out the nearby window and down into the empty drive. Still gone.

No excuses now. Just get it done.

He lifted the stack and scanned the bottom of the drawer. A pen, a CD entitled Soothing Classics, Carmex, a packet of tissues, and a paisley printed eye mask. The scent of lavender wafted from the drawer.

Nothing there. He’d sift through the papers and be done. He grabbed the stack and flipped through. Papers from the attorney’s office, a copy of Eva and T. J.’s will. He stopped at the last group of papers, stapled together. He scanned the top sheet. She’d had an inspection done on the house. The date confirmed it had been after her arrival.

The papers listed the repairs needing done on the house—the ones he was in the process of doing.

A feeling he didn’t like settled in his middle, heavy and unyielding. People had inspections before they sold a property, to avoid delays and problems during closing.

But people had inspections done for other reasons as well. A new owner wanting to get the place up to snuff. An overcautious safety inspector wanting to avoid mishaps and lawsuits.

He blew out a shaky breath, and as he returned the papers to the drawer, his eyes caught something he’d missed earlier. A white rectangle stuck in the groove against the drawer face. He slid the business card out. He recognized the woman’s name and face from local advertisements, as well as the logo across the top of the card. Jordan Real Estate.

He flipped the card over. A message was scrawled in blue pen. “Thanks for your call, Meridith. Let me know when you’re ready. Lora”

The card blurred in his hand as his thoughts raced. It was true. The thing he’d been convincing himself wasn’t happening, really was. She was planning to take the kids from the island, from their home. From him.

He slammed the drawer shut, picked up his saw, and left the room. His feet took the stairs quickly, and he was out the door in a matter of seconds. He dropped the saw on the porch and followed the flagstone path to his truck, sucking in gulps of cool air.

Inside his truck, he turned the key. He wanted to scream, wanted to hit something. He banged the heel of his palm on the steering wheel for good measure.

She was taking the kids away. Of all the stupid, selfish things . . . and he was helping her. Helping her ready the house so she could sell it out from under the kids. Keeping it a secret from them, on top of everything else.

But it would all work in her favor because she’d profit from the sale. The place was worth a bundle even if it wasn’t in perfect condition. He had no idea what Eva and T. J.’s mortgage was like, but surely they’d managed to accumulate equity in all the years they’d been here.

He jammed the gear in reverse and backed from the drive. He wished he were on his cycle right now. He’d head for Milestone Road and open the throttle until the landscape was nothing but a blur. He pressed the gas pedal on his old truck and settled for a spinout on the shelled lane.

How could she even think of doing this? Sure, she was awkward when it came to people and relationships, it didn’t take a genius to see that. Maybe she’d initially come here planning to sell the place, he could even accept that.

But now she knew the kids. She’d read a few books, and surely they told her what would be obvious to the average person: you don’t uproot children from all they know when they’ve just lost their parents.