The Beach House

Chapter Twenty-six
“I’ll take the girls to the beach.” Daniel holds his hands out for Lizzie and Stella as Bee nods gratefully, sinking down on the chair next to Michael, both of them smiling at each other before looking out to sea, letting the silence envelop them for a few minutes before Bee starts to speak.
“I always wanted a brother when I was growing up,” she murmurs. “I had a best friend at school, Sophie, who had three older brothers. Going to her house was so exciting. There was constant noise and activity and friends over, whereas my house always felt like a museum.”
“You should have been here.” Michael laughs. “I’m an only child too . . . or at least I thought I was . . . until now. But this house was always filled with people. I used to long for a little peace and quiet.”
“This is just so weird.” Bee shakes her head. “I can’t believe that my dad had this whole other life before us, that he abandoned you all. It seems so out of character.”
“I barely remember him,” Michael says. “I mean, I know all the stories and I remember snapshots, but I was six when he . . . left. It becomes harder and harder to distinguish memory from the stories you hear or the photographs you see.”
“You look like him,” Bee says, turning and gazing at Michael. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me before, but I wasn’t looking for it. Now, of course, I can see how much you look like he must have done when he was younger.”
“So what did he tell you about his old life? I still don’t understand how he could have just turned up out of nowhere with no friends, no family, and have no one question it.”
“Because I think we accept people at face value. My mom always said he fit into the community, and they all thought he’d been through a bad divorce with no children, was making a fresh start somewhere else. I guess, as well, in those days people weren’t as open, didn’t feel entitled to know everything about a person, and of course how could you have found out, back then?”
“What was he like?”
“As a father or as a man?”
“Both.” Michael looks at her.
“He was a wonderful father,” she says. “I don’t want to hurt you, I can’t even imagine the pain of growing up without a father, but maybe he was trying to do for me what he couldn’t do for you, because he was always there for me. He was fun. He’d take me places and always talk to me. Talk and talk and talk. He would explain everything, so going out with him, especially when I was little, was such an adventure.” She sighs. “I used to feel so proud.”
Michael lays his head on his arms to listen.
“When I went away to school, Dad was always the one I wanted to talk to. He always seemed to have such wisdom. We disagreed on a lot of things, though. He and Mom are both religious and I don’t really do anything. But he would always pause and think things through before giving me advice. His advice was almost always good.”
“How old were you when he divorced your mom?”
“It was more like she divorced him. I was eighteen. She always used to say she was tired of the secrets. I never understood what she was talking about, although now of course,” she says with a snort, “it all makes perfect sense. He was closed with her, at least that’s what she always said, but I never felt it. Never felt him be anything other than warm and loving and open with me. What about you?” She turns her head to look at Michael. “What do you remember?”
“Not much. I remember loving being with him. When he was here, all I wanted to do was help him do whatever he was doing. I remember hero worshipping him, even though a lot of the time he wasn’t around. When he was, he seemed to be lost in thought, concentrating on something else. I remember him being irritated a lot of the time.”
“Irritated? My dad? Wow.” Bee shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him lose his temper.”
“I didn’t know this until I was much older, but he left us in horrible debt. Mom had to sell off all the houses on this property and our home in New York. This was just a summer house but we had to move here because it was the only place we had left. He used to gamble. He gambled away everything, plus—” he laughs mirthlessly—“a ton of stuff we didn’t have. For months after he . . . disappeared, people would turn up at the front door demanding money.”
“God, what did your mom do?”
“She’d usually invite them in, pour them a stiff drink, then pour out her story. They’d usually stay for dinner and end up friends. Seriously.” Michael laughs. “A few of the more frightening heavies came to our Christmas parties for years afterward.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bee says, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just so sorry that you thought your dad was dead, and I got him instead.”
“I’m sorry too,” Michael says. “I grew up with such a loss, and now . . . Well. Now I don’t know what to feel, other than completely betrayed.”
“He says he didn’t think he had a choice back then,” Bee says quietly. “He’s in so much pain. He wants to make it up to you, to you and your mom, but he doesn’t know how if you won’t let him in.”
“I can’t. Not yet.” Michael exhales. “I’m just not ready.”
“Could you at least think about it?”
“Yes. I could do that. I could think about it.”
“Please do,” Bee says. “Instead of looking at this as a betrayal, could you maybe look at it as a blessing? That you have your father back after all these years, you have a chance to learn where you came from, before it’s too late.”
“It’s not as easy as that.” Michael shakes his head sadly. “I’ll try. Honestly. Hey . . .”
“What?”
“Put your hand out.”
Bee puts her hand out and they both laugh.
“Look at that,” she says with delight.
“We have the same hands.”
“Even the way our little fingers curve slightly. How weird.” And the two of them sit there gazing at one another’s hands before Bee starts to speak.
“I know you can’t see this as a blessing,” she says, “not yet, and I’m struggling with it too, but it is kind of a blessing, to have found something you always wanted, particularly at a time when everything in your life is horrible, when everything you thought was precious and treasured and safe seems to be falling apart.”
Michael turns to look at her. “You’re talking about Daniel and the divorce.”
“Yes. And the fact that he’s gay, so my entire marriage, from the very beginning, was a lie. I’ve been feeling like there is no light at the end of the tunnel, like there will never be a light at the end of the tunnel. Until now.” Bee pauses and looks at Michael. “I don’t want to get soppy or sentimental, but I think finding a big brother may be a truly wonderful thing in my life.”
Michael reaches over and takes her hand, squeezes it gently. “Thank you,” he says. “My life’s been pretty awful recently too. Thank you for showing me there’s another way to look at this.”
“There’s always another way,” Bee says softly. “There’s a reason we came to Nantucket and rented the house, a reason Dad came back here and found you.”
“I believe the same thing,” Michael says with a small laugh. “Everything does, indeed, happen for a reason.”
He thinks of Jordana, of his child growing inside her.
“Sometimes it’s just hard to figure out what the reason is.”
“I’m calling a family meeting,” Nan says. “I’ve been worrying myself sick. I’ve suddenly realized that I’m trying to do everything myself, make all the decisions myself, and I can’t do it all alone. I need my family around me.”
Daniel and Daff exchange a look.
“Um, I’ve grown terribly fond of you,” Daff ventures. “I’m just not sure I qualify as family.”
“You do now,” Nan says. “As far as I’m concerned the people I love are my family, and I’m afraid that now counts you. And I’m still getting to know young Jessica but I’m pretty certain you’re family too.”
Jess blushes but can’t hide the beam of joy at being included.
“Michael, my darling, I don’t want to say anything that might upset you. For years I tried to hide the truth about your father, but the time has come for all of you to know the truth . . .”
“He gambled everything away and you were forced to sell the cottages and then the apartment in New York?”
“Oh.” Nan stops. “I thought you didn’t know.”
“Of course I knew. You told me a million times.”
“I did? I always thought I was protecting you.”
“You did when I was younger. Then you’d just tell everyone who came to the house, and I’d sit on the stairs and listen.”
She sighs. “That’s all beside the point, rather. The point is I think he’s come back because he wants Windermere. I can’t think of any other reason why he would show up here, out of the blue. He did a terrible thing, all those years ago. As far as I’m concerned the sort of man who can fake a suicide, abandoning his wife and child without a second glance, is the sort of man who can steal a house that he believes is rightfully his.”
“Surely the house is in your name, though?” Michael says.
“Well, no. I never bothered changing it,” Nan says. “I thought it was a way of honoring Everett’s memory, to keep the house in his name. It felt like a way of keeping him alive somehow, although when I found out the nature of the debt he’d left us in I was furious. I just never got around to doing it.”
“Oh Jesus.” Michael whistles. “He could. He could claim it.”
“No!” Daff says. “Are you sure? I think any judge in the country would have a hard time awarding him the house after he’s been presumed dead for over thirty-five years. I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about, even if he were to go after you. He’s here because he had a fall, because he’s Daniel’s ex-father-in-law.”
“She’s right,” Daniel says. “He had no idea I was staying in his house. I agree that this is all coincidence.”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence,” Nan says wearily, convinced she is right. “Jessica? What do you think?”
“Me?” Jess, slouched in the sofa, sits forward, unused to being asked her opinion.
“Yes. Do you think he’s come to take the house away or do you think it’s innocent?”
“Well. This kind of reminds me of a show I once saw on TV. The husband came back, except he hadn’t pretended to be dead or anything, but he came back pretending he wanted to get back together and he missed his family, but he murdered his wife and tried to steal everything.”
“Jess!” Daff is mortified.
“What?”
“Oh don’t worry.” Nan bursts out laughing. “I doubt very much Everett’s come back to murder me.”
“What channel were you watching?”
“Lifetime,” Jess says and Michael grins.
“Sounds like a Lifetime special.”
“I do think he’s come back to reclaim the house,” Nan continues smoothly, “and the only thing I can think of to do is sell the house and hide the money. I never thought I’d sell my house, but I’d rather sell it than let Everett get his hands on it, or a penny of the money that results from the sale.”
“How do you hide money?” Michael smiles at her benevolently. “You can’t hide it anymore, Mom. The IRS knows everything. You can’t slip it into offshore accounts or pass it over to a bank in Switzerland. You have to declare everything now. Everything.”
“I know,” Nan says with a smile. “So here’s what I’m thinking. We sell it partly for cash—enough for me to live the rest of my days out quite happily, and we can always store cash in a safe deposit box on the island, and the rest of the money can be put in trust for you, my darling. That way, Everett won’t be able to get his hands on it.”
“I’m not sure whether you can actually do that,” Daff says cautiously. “But—” and she has to look away as she says this next bit—“I know that Mark Stephenson is desperate to buy this house.” There. It’s out there. She put his name forward and it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t as if she had to talk Nan into selling Windermere: Nan is going to sell it anyway. Now she’s just made sure that Mark Stephenson has a shot, that her own future is protected.
A six-figure number. She should feel good about this. Hell, she should feel great. She doesn’t. She feels shifty and guilty, and suddenly she wants to be out of this room.
“Mark Stephenson! The perfect man!” Nan says. “I’m going to give him a call right now.”
“Mom?” Michael stands up. “Are you sure about this?”
Nan’s eyes sadden. “Oh Michael, even though I love this house more than anything, at the end of the day it’s only a house. It’s more important I have the people I love around me. I fully intend to buy a little house on the beach somewhere, a tiny, cozy cottage that I will make just as much of a home as Windermere has been. A place to start afresh. A place that doesn’t hold the memories.”
“Okay.” Michael steps back as Nan walks into the kitchen, and Daniel and Jess move silently out of the room.
“Wow,” he says, turning to Daff. “It would never have occurred to me that he’s come back for the house. Do you really think that it’s possible he would end up with it?”
“I don’t know,” Daff says, unable to quite look him in the eye. “But I very much doubt it. Either way, though, it’s probably better to be safe than sorry.”
“Are you okay?” Michael says.
“Fine. Why?”
“You suddenly seem a little odd,” he says. “Distracted.”
“I’m fine.” She forces herself to smile and look at him. “I guess I am a bit distracted. I got a call this morning about a client looking for a house back home, and I’m just trying to think of the inventory I can show them when I get back.”
“Of course! I always forget you work in real estate. You need to help Mom do this. You’re the perfect person to hold her hand and make sure that Mark Stephenson doesn’t take advantage of her.”
“Sure,” Daff says, wishing he hadn’t said that.
“Mark Stephenson?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Nan Powell here.”
“Mrs. Powell!” His voice is loud and cheerful on the phone. “What a glorious surprise.”
“I’ve told you before,” Nan says. “Please call me Nan. And it may turn out to be an even better surprise. I have a business proposition I want to discuss with you. I was hoping we could get together sometime.”
“Now that’s exactly the kind of phone call I enjoy receiving,” Mark Stephenson says. “How about I come over this afternoon?”
“Why don’t we say five? Cocktail hour. I’ll make martinis.”
“Now how do you know that’s my favorite drink?”
Nan laughs. “I’ll see you at five, Mark.”
Daniel is not used to picking up the phone and asking someone out for dinner. He was never particularly good at it, hence his tendency to stay in long relationships. However, he is single again and at some point he is going to have to get out there, to actually live his life as a single gay man. He knows that the hardest part will be the beginning; once he starts, it will be plain sailing.
Matt is clever, and helpful, and good to be around. He’s also handsome, funny and cute. He seems a little like Daniel’s guardian angel, and the very least Daniel can do to repay him for his kindness is take him out for dinner. Somewhere nice. Somewhere special. Somewhere Daniel can truly thank him.
“I was wondering about the Pearl,” he says, after Matt has picked up the phone and they have exchanged the requisite niceties. “I thought perhaps you’d like to have dinner there.”
“Is this a date?” Matt smiles down the phone.
“No! I mean, yes. I don’t know . . . is it?”
“I’m kidding,” Matt says. “You sound so awkward. It’s adorable. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you and the Pearl is just fabulous. When were you thinking?”
“When are you available?”
“If I said tonight would you think I was easy?”
Daniel laughs. “Tonight would be great. The girls are with Bee. Everything’s gone slightly crazy here.”
“I’ve heard,” Matt says. “Is it really true that Nan’s husband, presumed dead, has suddenly reappeared to claim the house?”
“Oh my God.” Daniel’s eyes widen. “Where did you hear that?”
“You can’t keep anything a secret on this island,” Matt says. “So it is true. I hope you have good stories for me tonight.”
“I can’t say anything.” For as much as Daniel is tempted to gossip, his loyalty lies with Nan. “Shall we meet there?”
“Absolutely not. If this is a date you can come and pick me up.”
Daniel laughs again. “Okay, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Nice to see you again.” Mark Stephenson winks surreptitiously at Daff as he shakes her hand, and she shivers, knowing how awful it would be if Michael found out, how wrong it feels to be taking a kickback.
“The house looks wonderful,” he says to Nan. “It looks like you’ve spruced it up hugely since I was last here.”
“A little.” Nan laughs, handing him a martini, straight up, with olives. “I had to get it ready for the tenants. You still love it, then?”
“I do.” Mark leans forward on his chair, the excitement in his eyes clearly visible. “As I told you before, Nan, I’ve always wanted this house.”
“I’ve loved it here,” Nan says. “But I think the time has come for me to move on. I’m not entirely convinced—not yet— however I’m curious as to what you think the house might be worth if, say, I were to sell.”
“Well, it would depend on a number of factors.” Mark Stephenson stalls for time, wanting to delay having to give an actual number for as long as possible. “How many acres do you have here? Seven?”
“Nine point two,” Nan says firmly.
“Right. That’s good. Ocean views, direct beach access. I’m interested in it for me, as my family home, but I’d still need to put a fair amount of money into it. I noticed there are a number of missing shingles and the windows will all need replacing. With these old houses once you start renovating they usually turn into a money pit, so I’d say it would probably need around a million put into it.”
“A million dollars?” Nan gasps.
“Absolutely. That’s the starting price.” He nods sincerely. “Most people would just knock it down and start again, it’s probably cheaper in the long run, but I love these old houses and I’ve always wanted to live in something like this.”
“You really wouldn’t knock it down?” Michael is dubious as Mark Stephenson shakes his head. “Surely you’d get far more money if you sub-divided it and developed, say, three or four houses here.”
“Most other builders would do that, you’re absolutely right. I see this as a home, a home that’s held wonderful memories, and you can’t build that. I could see my children growing up here, climbing up the ladder to the widow’s walk, running down to the water.” He is looking at Nan as he talks, trying to convince her, and doesn’t see Michael look at Daff and suppress a grin.
“So what do you think it would fetch?”
“Difficult to say,” Mark says. “I would think anywhere between three and four.”
“Three and four million dollars?” Nan says incredulously.
“I know. Property has gone up tremendously on the island.”
“Is that all?” she says imperiously. “Tell me, Mr. Stephenson—” he has switched to Mr. Stephenson which, in this case, is not a good sign—“how is it that the Clearys’ house, on five acres, which was torn down to make way for two giant houses, each of which, incidentally, is on the market for around five million, sold for six point seven? And the Harbinger house, on ten acres, with no ocean view, sold for eight?”
“Ah . . .” He stalls. “I’m not completely familiar with those houses. I’d have to look into them more. That’s the problem with pricing,” he says unhappily, dismayed that Nan has done her research. “I didn’t want to give you a figure because I haven’t had a chance to go through the comps.”
“Well, I suggest you do,” Nan says cheerfully, holding up her glass. “Cheers.”
“So what did you think?” Michael watches as Mark Stephenson’s Land Cruiser takes off down the driveway, spraying gravel.
“What do I think?” Nan says slowly. “I think he’ll be knocking Windermere down faster than I can say Sconset, that’s what I think. And he’ll put up four huge houses, sell each one for five or six million dollars, minimum.” She turns to see Jessica staring at her with her mouth open. “Darling, close your mouth. You look like you’re catching flies. I showed him, though, didn’t I?” She grins delightedly. “I’m not quite as dumb as I look.”