“Mom, please. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m a strong woman. I’ll be fine.”
Ivy’s hand flew to her mouth. “You are ill.”
“Mija, stop. Please.”
“Is it Dad?”
Carlotta hugged her. “You’re only worrying yourself, and there’s no cause for it. None of us live forever anyway.” She nodded toward the sheets and towels. “Now take whatever you need. I’m going to the kitchen for a wheatgrass juice drink before Zumba.”
“Wheatgrass? Has Shelly influenced you?”
“Dear me, no. But if the two of you would like a glass—”
“No, thanks.” Ivy liked to think of her diet as healthy, but clearly, she hadn’t gone as far down that path as her mother had. Why was her mother suddenly embracing wheatgrass?
Shelly was in her old bedroom. Ivy made her way there and poked her head in the doorway, just as she used to do years ago. Photos of ballet recitals, old toe shoes, gardening gloves, and horticulture books were still strewn around the sunny yellow bedroom. “Hey, I have to talk to you.”
“Sure,” Shelly said. She had propped herself against a stack of ruffled pillows and was texting on her phone. “Can you believe Mom kept everything we left here? Except for Honey’s room. She converted that to a fancy guest room.”
Ivy eased onto the bed next to her sister. “Did you know Mom’s drinking wheatgrass juice?”
Shelly stopped texting. “What’s wrong with that?”
“A lot of people with serious illnesses drink that stuff.”
Shelly turned on her side to face Ivy, propping herself up on one arm. “A lot of healthy people drink it, too.”
Ivy stared at her sister, desperate to make her understand. “She offered me all the linens in the linen closet.”
“So? It’s not like she needs that much anymore. Some of those sheets and towels must be twenty or thirty years old.”
“Plus the new dress and shoes she lent me.” When Shelly failed to look impressed, she added, “And any of her jewelry.”
Shelly shot up in bed. “What? Which pieces?”
“Anything I wanted. Shelly, she’ll give us anything she owns if we want it. You know what that means.”
Finally, her words sunk in.
“Like Grams did before she died,” Shelly said, nodding solemnly.
Ivy flopped back against the bed. “She won’t tell me anything—even though I confronted her. Said she has to wait for all of us to be together. Dad insisted.”
Shelly’s eyes widened. “Could it be Dad?”
Ivy didn’t like that idea either. “Something is wrong. But I’m glad we’re back now. We can help them.”
“We’ve been away a long time,” Shelly said quietly. “I never came back as often as I should have.”
“And Honey is in Sydney. Even farther away than we were.”
“Flint and Forrest are here,” Shelly said. “Maybe they know something.”
Ivy thought about their brothers who lived not far away in another small coastal town. “I don’t think so. They never could keep secrets.”
Shelly sighed. “They definitely would have told us. So what should we do?”
Ivy chewed on her lip. “Wait for the party, I guess. Doubt if Dad would give it up before then.” Carlotta and Sterling Bay were the sort of married couple that finished each other’s sentences and had each other’s back. They’d go to their grave with their secrets, not that they had any, Ivy thought.
Except for right now.
The next morning, Ivy and Shelly brought necessities that Carlotta had insisted they take to the Summer Beach house. They each cleaned the bedroom they’d chosen—Ivy, the master bedroom, and Shelly, one on the other side that was almost as large. Each one had magnificent ocean views, along with a fireplace, deep claw-footed tub, and antique furnishings. After dusting their bedrooms, Ivy and Shelly helped each other make their beds.
Ivy stepped back from her bed. The room was cool, and all morning she’d imagined Amelia Erickson’s presence. She could hardly describe the feeling she had, but she sensed a sort of welcome. Almost as if Amelia had been waiting for her.
Placing a pillow on the bed, Ivy said, “Life is strange, isn’t it? A month ago, I never would have thought I’d be moving in here.”
“Me neither.” Shelly grinned. “After I told Ezzra I wasn’t returning, he had a melt-down.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Totally over.”
They planned to fly back to Boston soon—Ivy to move out of her rented room at the professor’s home, and Shelly to collect her things from the tiny apartment she shared with a friend from college. Ezzra had been so demanding that she hadn’t spent much time there.
Ivy surveyed the bedroom. She loved the mahogany armoire with cherrywood inlays that stood near a fainting couch—a good place for reading, she imagined. An antique Chinese dressing screen partly obscured the entry to an entire dressing room filled with shelves and mirrored closets with beveled mirrors—more than she would ever use. “You know what this room needs?”
“Your artwork,” Shelly said.
Ivy walked to the window and pushed back the old navy drapes that covered white shutters. With care, she folded the shutters back and gazed through the old glass panes that were a little wavy. “I’d like to sketch this beach soon.” This vantage point was perfect.
“You will.”
Ivy turned back to Shelly. “But before I start that, we have to get this place ready for guests.”
“Let’s get the kitchen set up,” Shelly said.
After they brought in more supplies their mother had packed—coffeemaker and coffee, toaster, and an assortment of citrus fruit from the trees in the yard—they placed it all on the kitchen counter.
Ivy flicked a switch. “Lights work.” The windows were large and flooded the room with sunshine. They’d have little need for lights during the day. She opened the turquoise refrigerator they had plugged in. “Wow, it’s cold. Amazing that it still works.”
“Like I said. Built to last.” Shelly put a few supplies inside the old unit.
Ivy emptied another bag. “I need to change the utilities and stop by City Hall to get the business license. Want to come?”
Shelly pushed aside a curtain and peered outside. “I’ll stay here. I want
