Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(100)

“To hell with the house,” Cara said.

Palmer’s eyes widened.

“Come on, Palmer, Mama and Daddy bought that house in the sixties. It’s not like it’s been in the family all that long. And frankly, I always hated it. It was never a happy home. And besides, it’s haunted.”

“What?” Palmer was both surprised and amused. “You sensed it too?”

“Why do you think I don’t come around?”

Palmer barked out a laugh. “So that’s why.” Then his smile fell, and he said ruefully, “Julia loved it.”

“She told me she’s glad to be moving to Sullivan’s Island. She’s tired of tending that big old house. And she’s especially happy you ruined the portrait of Daddy.”

He paused, comprehending the magnitude of the words. “She did?”

“Yes. Do you think she’s been happy watching you sink under the weight of it? She loves you, Palmer. Why, I don’t know.”

They both laughed, knowing Cara was joking.

“I’m going to have to sell the lodge too.” He looked at her sheepishly.

Cara shrugged. “It’s yours to do with what you will. Besides, I don’t hunt.”

Palmer smiled gratefully. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s that.”

“Not quite.” Cara drew herself up and addressed her brother as she would a client. She moved the white folder with her index finger across the table toward him. Palmer looked at it, then at her, curiosity shining.

“I’ve come up with a proposal,” she said. “We both know you’ve been after me for years to sell the lot and build a house on it.”

Palmer’s brows rose in surprise. “Yes,” he drawled, and leaned forward over the table. “Like I told you, I’ve got plans—”

Cara lifted her palm. “Hold on, brother. This time, I’ve got plans. This is going to be a joint project. Here’s what I propose. I’ll provide the land. You’ll use your money from the sale of the Tradd Street house and whatever else you choose to sell to build the spec house. We’ll work out an LLC with Bobby Lee. Each of us will, hopefully, see a profit. That should, at the very least, buy you time to decide your next venture.”

Palmer sat back in his chair, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. We’re family. You were there for me when I needed you. I’m only glad I can be here for you with meaningful support. Mama loved us both equally. You know she didn’t have a mind for figures. As bright as she was, she was na?ve about such matters. I suppose many women of her generation were. But she was very smart and had her own set of values that didn’t always equate with dollars and cents. When you got the house in Charleston, Mama was pleased because she knew it mattered to you and Julia. It made you happy. She gave me the beach house because she knew I loved it. She never took into consideration the monetary value. For her, it was the emotional value that mattered.

“The land, however, posed more of a problem at her death, because of the secrets it shrouded. But times have changed. We have changed. It feels right to use the land to help you too,” she said, tapping the white folder, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “It’s all detailed in that folder. Take your time reading it. Palmer, if we use the land in this way, the secret will be kept between us. The land is in my name, not hers. When I sell it, we’ll both be bequeathed a final gift from Mama.”

Palmer brought his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. She saw the tears squeeze out of his eyes.

Cara said, “Russell Bennett wrote to Mama that he believed the mind often dictates to the heart. But he believed the heart was the truer guide. He was a very wise man.”

The chair creaked along the floor as Palmer stood. He brusquely wiped his eyes, then held out his hand.

Cara rose to take it. They shook on the deal.

He led her to the sunroom. The sun poured in, and beyond, the mighty Atlantic rolled in and out in its predictable manner. Moutarde, still in his molt, began chirping at the presence of humans, curious, delighted.

Palmer went to stand before the windows and, crossing his arms across his barrel chest, stared out.

Cara joined him by the windows, but watched her brother instead. She imagined he was visualizing, as he always had, the house the two of them would build on the lot. One house, slightly to the left so that she could keep her view. She smiled to herself. That had always been Palmer’s biggest selling point in all the years he’d tried to convince her to sell the beach house. It was funny how life turned out, she thought. She felt lucky to be here, alive and well, to witness the end of this chapter of their lives.

“Can you see it?” she asked him.

Palmer turned his head. “You want to know what I see?”

She nodded.

“I see Linnea and Cooper surfing out there. And someday, their children. They’re my real treasures. The best things I’ve ever done.”

Suddenly the room was filled with the scent of jasmine. It was pervasive, stronger than ever before. Cara looked at her brother to see his eyes widen with wonder.

“Is that it?” he asked in a whisper.

Cara smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

Behind them the canary began to chirp insistently. Curious, Cara turned her head to look. Moutarde was hopping back and forth on his perches, clearly excited. She looked beyond to the living room. The bookshelves, the fireplace and mantel, the paintings. Suddenly she gasped. There was a shimmer of light, ethereal as a sunbeam, coalescing in the center of the room. The floating dots flittered like dust motes, then gathered to form a hazy image—transparent, vague, but unmistakable. Cara clutched her brother’s arm tight and pointed.