The receptionist chirped, “He’s ready to see you,” so Sylvie got up and crept into Timothy’s office. There he was, sitting at the desk with a pen raised, scribbling a note to himself. Just as he did on his website, he wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and a button-down shirt. But his face was tan and open and friendly. Sylvie found herself relaxing in his presence. She found herself thinking,If only my dad had been more like you.
“Sylvie.” Timothy got up and reached a hand across the desk. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
Sylvie shook his hand.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Timothy said. “James was one of my dearest friends and truly a singular human. I will miss him dearly.”
Sylvie fixed a fake smile on her face but could only maintain it for a few minutes before it fell. She sat down and crossed her ankles, searching the room for some sign of her father. She half expected him to spring out of the wardrobe and saysurprise! Tricked you!
“I’ve read up on you, of course,” Timothy said. “Your father was so proud of your work as a journalist, but I’d never read your work till now. You’re truly a wonderful writer. That piece published yesterday about that Thailand resort floored me. I read that an investigation’s already been started in Thailand, one that might close their doors for good. You have power, Sylvie. It’s really something.”
Sylvie’s cheeks were hot with surprise. She hadn’t expected to be praised like this and hadn’t imagined her father keeping up with her career. But that was so like him: finding things to praise about her from beyond the grave when it couldn’t possibly affect their relationship and didn’t really matter. Had he been here, she knew that he would only have criticized her. Maybe he’d have told her her slacks didn’t suit her. Perhaps he’d have said that she needed to dye her hair.
And although she was proud of that article, she didn’t like to think about Thailand.
“I’ve been very lucky,” Sylvie said next, then cursed herself for dismissing the amount of work she’d done. She’d built this career on her own. Luck had nothing to do with it.
Timothy cleared his throat and removed a thick folder from the second drawer of his desk. He opened it and adjusted hisglasses. “I have here the final will and testament of James Bruckson,” he said.
“I don’t want anything,” Sylvie said firmly, surprising herself again. Why had she come all the way here if she wasn’t curious about what he’d left her?
Timothy arched his eyebrow and waited. The silence felt ponderous.
Sylvie finally said, “I’m sorry for interrupting. Please, keep reading.”
Timothy lent her a soft smile. “I know this is a great deal to handle.”
“Just give me the CliffsNotes,” she tried to joke.
“Gotcha.” Timothy leaned back and shuffled the papers. “Your father has left you a very modest inheritance plus the deed to The House on Nantucket.”
Sylvie remembered the little bed-and-breakfast her father had run next door to the family house. As a little girl, she’d loved greeting the guests, making them little bouquets she picked, asking them questions about the faraway places they’d come from. Sometimes they’d joked with her father and say,She’s perfect! Can we take her home with us?
“I’ll be selling it,” Sylvie said firmly. She had no interest in going back to the inn where her father had spent most of his time, the little universe he’d built up for people he never really knew.
I needed him, and he only had time for everyone else.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Timothy offered.
“Right. So I guess we’re done here?” Sylvie said, shifting forward in her chair.
“Not quite. The thing is, your father put a stipulation in his will,” he said. “If you want to sell the inn, you have to run it for a full year before you can.”
Sylvie’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry?”
Timothy tried to laugh. “I know. I thought it was truly bizarre when I first read it, too.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I have a career. I have a life,” Sylvie said. “I really only came back to Nantucket to meet you and, you know…” She trailed off because she couldn’t bring herself to say “funeral.”
“I understand that very well,” he said.
“What happens if I don’t run the inn?”
“It will be sold at auction,” Timothy explained. “The funds will be donated.”
“And where will the donation go?”
Timothy removed his glasses and looked at her. “He’s playing a trick on you. I hope you know that.”
