Silas had been trying to learn about the woman who now owned Mountaintop but somehow got sucked into a wormhole of her social media feed that kept going and going. Selfies. Quotes. Group photos. Travel pictures. More quotes. Antique clocks and furniture. An orange cat who he learned across several posts was named Van Gogh and belonged to her mother.
Spellbound by the photos in front of him, Silas startled at the sound of his doorbell. It had grown dark without him noticing, and he switched on the lights as he walked from his kitchen to the front door.
As he neared, he could hear his niece and nephew, five-year-old twins, talking on the other side of the door.
“Who goes there?” he called out with an exaggerated low voice.
“Maggie and Leon,” they replied together.
“I know no one by those names. I’ll need the secret password.”
The twins burst into giggles, but Maggie, the diplomat of the duo, said, “Uncle Silas, it’s us!”
Silas cracked the door open so only his head could fit through. He ignored his brother to look down at his niece and nephew and study them as if they were faraway stars.
“Oh, of course! Maggie and Leon,” he said, widening the door.
The twins raced past him, and he followed them to the kitchen, where they waited in a specific spot. Silas lifted them both into his arms, and they opened a cupboard stocked with their favorite snacks.
“One each,” their father instructed from behind.
“I think two would be okay,” Silas whispered to them.
And once they had their chosen snacks, they left, chatting unintelligibly, for the living room.
“You spoil them,” his older brother, Isaiah, said to him.
“It’s my purpose on this earth,” Silas replied.
Separated by three years, the Reynolds brothers looked similar enough, but Silas always said his brother was the sophisticated one.
“Where do you keep your corkscrew? I brought champagne to celebrate.” Isaiah said, rummaging through his drawers. “Well, actually, it’s sparkling cider because, you know, weeknight.”
“It’s in the far left one, but there isn't anything to celebrate at this very moment,” Silas said.
“The ink still drying?” Isaiah asked.
“No, ink not used.”
This bit of information made his brother abandon all bottle-opening efforts. “What happened?”
“Raven Coleman happened.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“She’s the one Chuck accidentally left the business to. She’s taking the summer to decide whether to stay or sell.”
“Damn. So you’re under new management until further notice?”
“Yup. And if that’s not bad enough, she has zero clue about the tourism industry,” Silas said. “But if I can help it, she’ll run Mountaintop in name only until she makes her final decision.”
He had to mitigate the damage she could potentially inflict on the business.
“I can get Victor to look over the will and see if there’s any leeway,” Isaiah said.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate that, man,” Silas said.
His brother’s husband had been some big-shot lawyer before he left it all behind to be a novelist and partner to a small-town veterinarian. It couldn’t hurt to hear his thoughts.
