Flynn sped down Market Street toward Kenilworth House, shifting shakily and blinking back the tears that, to her frustration, would not stop rising to her eyes. Although Romy had offered to drive, Flynn had insisted upon manning the wheel for the three-hour journey to the historic beachfront community on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, grasping at the one thing she felt she could still control in her suddenly topsy-turvy world.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Romy murmured for perhaps the hundredth time.
Flynn refused to be soothed. “You don’t know that, Romy,” she snapped. “Virgie’s an old woman. Anything could happen.”
“That’s true,” Romy agreed. “But God’s in control, right? That’s what you’ve always said, anyway.”
“I know, I know,” Flynn said miserably. So, if you’re in control, God, don’t let anything happen to her, okay? You gave me Virgie as an anchor in this world, and I’m not ready to let go of her yet. “I just can’t bear the thought that I might lose her.”
“Sweetie.” Romy patted Flynn’s free hand, her fingers warm and strong around Flynn’s cold, shaky ones. “Virgie’s no spring chicken, you know,” she said gently. “You’re going to lose her one of these days.”
“I realize that.” Flynn sounded nearly as testy as she felt. “But ‘one of these days’ doesn’t have to be today, now does it?”
“Well, not necessarily,” Romy said. “She’s not in the hospital, so maybe it’s not as bad as you think. Still, it might be a good idea for you to prepare yourself for the worst, just in case.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over them as Flynn withdrew her hand and made the final turn down the driveway to Kenilworth House. With one fluid motion, she downshifted her cherry red Miata, cranked the key counterclockwise, and grabbed for the door. Before Romy could say another word, Flynn was out of the car and hurrying toward the grand entrance.
The house was painfully short on modern conveniences, one of the primary reasons Virgie had agreed to let Flynn update it, but long on beauty. With its forest-colored shutters, contrasting against the milky exterior, and its intricately worked gingerbread trim, the classic Victorian looked like one of the expensive miniatures available at upscale hobby shops. Only the general shabbiness of the house, which had received only the barest of maintenance attention since the mid-1800s, kept it from being the perfect model of Gothic Victorian architecture.
God, please don’t take Virgie now, Flynn prayed silently as she surveyed the shabbiness. Not when I’m so close to restoring her home to its glory and to making changes that will make her life so much easier in so many ways. But Flynn knew it was a lie, and she realized that God knew it too; she wanted Virgie to stay alive for no one’s sake but her own.
Without even stopping to knock, she threw open the front door and sprinted up the stairway toward Virgie’s bedroom, calling out a halfhearted greeting as she ran. Though the older woman’s energy and strength had waned in recent years, she’d rebuffed Flynn’s recent suggestions that she move her bedroom down to the main floor, preferring her cozy suite on the second story with its view of the dark, swirling Pocomoke River and the surrounding thick cypress.
On clear days in Snow Hill, Virgie generally left her windows open wide well into the evening, the better to catch the occasional whiff of salt air from the Atlantic, ten miles to the east. As she stepped through the heavy oak door, Flynn noticed that tonight all three windows were tightly secured, leaving the room stuffy and uncomfortable, not at all the way Virgie customarily kept it.
Fighting the urge to throw open the windows, Flynn paused and took quick stock of her surroundings. Her attention was immediately caught by the room’s central piece of furniture, the ancient canopy bed that had been in the Kenilworth family for generations, and, more important, the woman who occupied it.
Throughout Flynn’s life Virgie had been round and healthy. In another person who lacked Virgie’s inherent dignity, such a build most certainly would have been considered “dumpy.” In Virgie’s case it simply gave her the appearance of additional character. Now Flynn barely recognized her friend. She was startled to see how Virgie’s health had deteriorated in the four short weeks since she’d last visited her; it seemed impossible that someone could lose as much weight as Virgie had in such a brief time. A month ago Virgie had appeared remarkably, and oddly, slender. Tonight she looked pitifully withered. Her cheeks were drawn, her once-pudgy fingers knobby against the faded quilt draped across her shrunken frame. Worst of all were Virgie’s eyes. Usually clear, they were now dull as she stared into the distance at something only she could see.
A couple totally unfamiliar to Flynn stood at Virgie’s side. The woman was young, twenty-five years old at the most, and her fine, fair hair just hit her slender shoulders. Flynn watched as she first adjusted Virgie’s head on the pillow, then held a blue plastic cup with a straw in it in the air in front of Virgie’s mouth and urged her to drink.
The man stood close by, carefully watching and tacitly approving each act of kindness. He appeared to be several years older than his golden companion, perhaps thirty years old. His face was somehow childlike, yet at the same time worn; still youthful, but with the first few wrinkles spreading out like tiny W’s from the corner of his deep-set gray eyes. His hair, too, was like a child’s: dark and thick and tousled, in desperate need of combing. Yet his height and bearing clearly communicated that he was indeed a mature man; his shoulders were broad, and he had to hunch over slightly to catch every syllable the woman beside him was uttering.
The man turned and saw Flynn standing in the doorway. In a moment, recognition registered on his face, even as Flynn made a conscious effort to appear impassive.
“Flynn,” he said coolly, the childlike openness and the look of compassion he’d held for Virgie draining from his sculpted features. “Thank you for coming.” As when he had spoken to her on the phone, he kept his voice low and void of emotion. Virgie did not stir.
Flynn moved forward, but the man took several long, quick steps, meeting her at the door before she could ease into the room. Laying one hand on her arm, he steered her into the wide, dark-paneled hallway, pulling the heavy door shut behind him with a solid click.
“Charles.” She gave him a severe nod, holding her arm stiffly in his grip. “Thank you for calling me.”
“Grandmother insisted.” The way he said the words left no doubt in Flynn’s mind that he would not have called her if Virgie hadn’t been coherent enough to demand it.
“I’m glad she did.” Flynn carefully extracted her arm from his presumptuous hold. “Please tell me what happened.” A second door slammed shut somewhere in the distance, and it registered that Romy was probably bringing in their overnight bags.
“Apparently Grandmother has been sick for some time.” Charlie spoke slowly and laboriously, as if doing so were somehow a burden.
“Sick? In what way?”
“It’s cancer.”
Flynn closed her eyes and imagined herself back at her apartment, being teased by Romy, unaware of the news that lay just ahead. If only she could go back in time several hours, several days. How good and simple and peaceful everything had been just hours earlier. Why had she not appreciated it?
“It doesn’t look good,” Charlie added unnecessarily. Averting her eyes to avoid his gaze, Flynn looked down at the floor and noted, to her surprise, that in his haste to get to Kenilworth House, he had pulled onto his feet two different colored socks: one charcoal, one a deep blue. This evidence of Charlie’s humanness at first startled Flynn, then irritated her. She had no desire to feel pity for this man. He was no friend to her.
“Why isn’t she in the hospital, for heaven’s sake?” she snapped. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Charles, but Virgie needs medical treatment. If you’re such a doting grandson, then why aren’t you and your girlfriend, or whatever she is, taking decent care of her?”
Charlie arched one thick, dark eyebrow at Flynn.
“Why aren’t you doing more than feeding her chicken soup?” Flynn sputtered lamely.
“You must understand, my grandmother is very ill.” His voice was stiff.
“Well, obviously.” Flynn glared at him, her anger rising. “Which is why I insist that she go to a hospital at once! There must be something they can do. Clearly, she needs to see her doctor.”
Charlie dragged one hand across his stubbled chin. “I assure you, she has already seen her doctor. Many times since the beginning of the year, I’ve just learned. Grandmother called me this morning, and I flew down immediately. I’ve been piecing together what’s happening ever since. Apparently she’s known about her illness for months, but she’s chosen to keep it from everyone until now. The very end.”
Flynn realized that he was probably just repeating what the doctors had told him, but she glared at him as if he were responsible for the prophecy.
“I suggested she go back to the hospital tonight, but she refuses. Perhaps you’ll have better luck, since the two of you are obviously so close. What’s the phrase? Thick as thieves?” His dislike of Flynn was nearly palpable, though for the life of her, she could think of no reason for it. After all, she was the one with reason to dislike him.
“Months?” Flynn stared at him. “But she never said anything to me!”
“So you’re not as close as all that? Imagine my surprise.” Charlie did not even attempt to hide his disdain.
Flynn felt her cheeks burn. “Oh, and I suppose she told you?”
Charlie looked at her sharply. “If you were really so close with my grandmother, you’d realize that she does things in her own way, in her own time.”
“And this is her way and time? Telling us that she’s sick only after she’s … she’s—”
“On her deathbed?” Charlie said harshly. Flynn cringed. “Apparently it is.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. This can’t be happening.”
“I assure you, it is.” Charlie turned back toward Virgie’s door. “She specifically asked to see you tonight. I realize it’s late, but if you would be so kind as to speak with Grandmother for a few moments, I would be grateful.”
Flynn stared at him, weighing the cost of telling him what he could do with his gratitude.
“I’m here, Charles,” she said, carefully measuring out each word, “because I love Virgie very much. I am not, despite what you have deluded yourself into thinking, here as any favor to you. I assure you, you couldn’t keep me away from Virgie when she’s hurting if you tried.”
The look he gave her made it perfectly clear that he would very much like to try. However, apparently thinking better of it, he simply gave another crisp nod and led the way back to the room. Flynn carefully stayed several steps away, determined not to let him seize her by the arm again.
Upon entering the suite, she quickly noticed another figure she’d missed the first time around. A slim young girl with dark hair and even darker eyes stood just beyond the bed, her back against the wall. Nervously, she watched as the blonde, who Flynn now realized with chagrin was a nurse of some sort, took Virgie’s vital signs. The activity had apparently roused the older woman, because when Flynn entered this time, Virgie noticed her immediately.
“Ah, there’s my other girl,” she said in a creaky voice, apparently making an indirect reference to the adolescent beside her. “Come here. Sit beside me.”
Flynn obeyed, carefully perching at Virgie’s side.
“Well, what do you think, my dear?” Virginia said weakly. “How do I look?”
“Frankly, Virgie,” Flynn said truthfully, “you look like death warmed over.”
Charlie cleared his throat. Casting a quick look in his direction, Flynn saw a man who looked as if he wished desperately he could interrupt but didn’t quite dare.
Virginia smiled weakly. “Honest to a fault,” she said. “That’s just one of the reasons I keep you around.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid you haven’t been too honest with me, dear.” Flynn squeezed Virgie’s hand lightly. Beneath her fingers, Virgie’s skin was cool and loose, the bones of her hand more prominent than ever. “How long have you been sick?”
Virgie’s dull eyes suddenly flashed. “Long enough to have thought through exactly how I wanted to spend my last days.” There was finality to her tone.
“You could have told someone,” Flynn suggested in a quiet voice.
“And have you and Charlie moping about, getting all sentimental and macabre on me? No, thank you.” The old glint was back in Virgie’s eyes. “Although it might not have been such a bad idea after all, having the two of you here together. But there’s time enough for that later.”
Flynn stared at her. Virgie really was far-gone. The woman wasn’t even coherent. She threw a glance at Charlie, who appeared equally disturbed by Virgie’s statement.
“Well, dear, we wouldn’t have had to be as morose as all that,” Flynn said brightly. “Maybe we would have just liked to be here, to give you the support you needed while you were sick.”
“You’ve already given me everything I’ve needed,” Virgie insisted. “And now, I’m going to return the favor.”
“Sorry?”
Virgie’s fingers pressed lightly against Flynn’s. “The time has come to tell you something important. I’ve been considering this matter for years. I want you to do something for me, dear.” She peered over Flynn’s shoulder. “You, too, Charlie.”
Charlie stepped forward obediently. “Anything you say, Grandmother.” He laid one hand on her bony shoulder.
“I want you two to go to my roll-top desk in the library. In the top left cubbyhole, there’s an envelope with papers in it. Go down and read them, then come back up here to see me.”
Charlie shook his head. “Is this about business, Grandmother?” he asked. “Because if it is, I’m sure it can wait. It’s much more important that you—”
“Don’t you argue with me, Charles Simon Kenilworth!” Virgie barked.
“Yes ma’am.” Charlie caught Flynn’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. Perturbed at being thus summoned, Flynn got up to follow him.
“We’ll be right back.” She planted a quick kiss on Virgie’s well-creased brow, then reluctantly turned away. “What’s this all about?” she hissed as she followed Charlie to the door.
“You think I know? I thought you were the one privy to all Grandmother’s ridiculous plans.” He stepped out of the room and started down the hallway without waiting to see if she followed.
“Her what?” Flynn hurried after him. “I suppose you are referring to the renovations?”
“If that’s what you call this plan of yours to tear up my Grandmother’s house for the benefit of an audience whose taste in programming could reasonably be questioned, then, yes. I’m referring to your ‘renovations.’ ”
“I—,” Flynn sputtered. “You—”
Charlie continued to stalk away. “I really don’t think this is the time to discuss your plans for my family home. Or your motivation in implementing them. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this little errand over with and get back to Grandmother.”
How very devoted of you, Flynn thought acidly, but her concern for Virgie was stronger than her irritation, and she determined to bide her time. Charlie Kenilworth was right about one thing at least: There would be a better time to talk about her work at Kenilworth House.
She kept her eyes trained on Charlie’s back as he stormed toward the library. It was odd to see him playing the devoted grandson after all these years. She knew that Virgie still loved Charlie dearly; Virgie had always spoken highly of him, even during his most rebellious years. But she had told Flynn too of the heartbreak she experienced in not being closer to her grandson. Though Virgie had forgiven him for his youthful transgressions, he had never been able to fully accept that forgiveness, and their relationship had been strained ever since.
So what was his angle? Flynn had a hard time believing he was there solely out of concern for his grandmother. Obviously, his nose was out of joint about the plans to feature the house on Home for the Heart. Well, that was just too bad. She and Virgie had an agreement. It was none of his business, anyway. It wasn’t as though it was his house!
By the time she got into the library, Charlie was already rifling through the desk. Roughly, he pushed one stack of papers aside in order to access the shelf Virgie had specified.
“That’s it. There.” Flynn pointed at a large manila envelope.
Charlie cast her a withering glance. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He jammed back the tiny metal brackets holding down the envelope’s flap and pulled out a thick stack of papers.
“What is it?” She peered over his shoulder without actually touching him.
“It’s the last will and testament of Virginia Grace Kenilworth.” His voice was grim. “This can’t be good,” he muttered.
While Charlie scanned the papers, Flynn’s mind raced, spinning wildly back to Romy’s earlier prediction. Surely Virgie couldn’t have left her the house? Regardless of her plans to restore it? If that were true, Charlie would certainly—and, even she had to admit, quite understandably—go ballistic.
She stepped back involuntarily, watching as Charlie’s face reddened.
“What does it say?” she almost whispered.
He threw down the papers and scowled at her. “Please. You expect me to believe you really don’t know?”
“I don’t ‘expect’ anything when it comes to you, Charles,” she said, hearing the tiredness in her voice. “But I assure you, I really don’t.” Her eyes flickered in the direction of the papers. “What is it?”
“Here.” He thrust them at her. “Read for yourself. I’m not an attorney, but I believe I have a fair understanding of the language. It appears you and I will be partners after my grandmother’s death.”
“Excuse me?” Flynn looked at his offering as though it might somehow poison her. “What sort of partners?”
“Co-owners, if you will.” Charlie’s lips formed a grim line. “Of Kenilworth House.”
Flynn lowered herself into Virgie’s desk chair, her fingers grasping the reassuringly solid wooden armrests.
“Congratulations, Flynn,” Charlie spoke in a low, angry voice that Flynn heard as if from a distance. “It appears you’ve gotten exactly what you’ve wanted all these years. But I think it’s only fair to warn you that, as my grandmother’s closest remaining blood relative, I intend to fight you every step of the way!”