“WE’LL HAVE TO make do without our luggage tonight,” Ivy said, shifting uncomfortably in the back seat as the ride-share driver neared their parents’ home. The adrenaline she’d felt at the house had worn off. Now, she couldn’t wait to ease into a warm bath to wash off the travel grime. “Bennett probably took off with it on purpose just to annoy me.”
Shelly fanned her face. “I don’t think so. It’s not all about you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You forgot about our bags, too.”
Something she never would have done in the past. Seeing Bennett again had been disturbing. “Only because of his attitude.”
“Seemed like he was being helpful,” Shelly said. “Look, you’re the most organized person I know, but you have to admit that in the last twenty-four hours, an impulsive, preoccupied woman who looks a lot like my sister has taken her place. It’s okay to forget things. Relax, this gives us an excuse to raid Mom’s closet. You know how much fun that is.”
“I’ll try Bennett again tomorrow.” However, that was easily the last thing Ivy wanted to do. She leaned forward toward the driver. “You can let us off here, thanks.”
The front steps to the home were a steep descent from the curb to the front door because the house was built on a sloping hillside, which was dotted with houses that opened out to a panoramic, edge-of-the-world view of the ocean.
Exhausted by the early flight from Boston and their afternoon in Summer Beach, Ivy started down the flagstone steps. The pathway was edged with delicate, green baby’s tears and shaded by gnarled, silvery-leafed olive trees and pepper trees with pink peppercorns. Filtered sunlight shone through the arched canopy.
The coffee hadn’t done much to revive Ivy, except make her jittery. Shelly dragged behind her.
Midway down the hillside, Ivy paused by a hand-carved stone bench her parents had brought back from one of their trips abroad. As she waited for her sister, she glanced around at the familiar houses of her childhood. Noticing changes and upgrades—the Andersons had added a new Tuscan stone façade, while the Levys and Chens had converted their lawns to stunning desert-scapes—she realized how long she had been away.
When Shelly caught up with her, Ivy asked, “Before we go inside, do you have any idea what Mom’s big announcement is?”
“None at all,” Shelly said, stopping beside her.
“Mom’s nearly seventy,” Ivy said, bracing herself for bad news. “You know what that means.”
“Not sure I do.”
“Her health is probably declining.”
“She looked good at Jeremy’s funeral,” Shelly said. “Mom’s pretty straight with us. If there’s something wrong, she would’ve called us, not summoned us here like she did.”
“I’m just saying we should prepare ourselves for the worst.”
“You do you, sis,” Shelly said, sounding tired. “I’m not going down that path until we have to.”
“No, you never imagine the worst that could happen or plan for it,” Ivy snapped. “That’s why you’ve always ended up with men like Ezzra.” As soon as she uttered her words, Ivy regretted them. She was tired and frustrated that Shelly wasn’t as concerned as she was.
“Didn’t I just tell you that’s over?” Shelly put a hand on her hip. “I might not be the uber-organizer you are, but at least I live in the present.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Like the trips to Nantucket. That summer I joined you guys, you packed enough supplies for an army. You had every minute of every day so structured that you couldn’t enjoy yourself without worrying about everyone else.”
Ivy opened her mouth in astonishment. “That’s what it takes to run a family. Not that you’d know anything about responsibility. You’ve been running from it all your life.”
“And you took everything too seriously. No wonder Jeremy bought that house without telling you. You never would have agreed to it.”
“If that’s the way you feel, you don’t have to move in.” Ivy wished she could just shut up, but words kept tumbling from her mouth. “For all I care, you can go back to Ezzra.”
Shelly glared at her. “If you were so sure that Ezzra wasn’t right for me, you should’ve told me a long time ago. But then, I kept my mouth shut about Jeremy, too.”
Fuming, Ivy crossed her arms. “Go ahead, say it.”
Shelly turned away from her as if to end the conversation, but then she whirled around. “All right, I will. Maybe Jeremy wasn’t the ideal husband you thought he was. Seems no matter what men do while they’re alive, they suddenly achieve sainthood after they die.”
“You were always jealous of what we had,” Ivy charged, aware that their exchange was spiraling out of control, but too exhausted to stop the damage.
“Now you’ve got to be kidding.”
A few steps beneath them, the front door opened.
Ivy shot Shelly a seething frown. “Not a word to Mom about this. We don’t want to worry her.” She blinked. How had they gotten into this sniping contest?
Their mother stepped outside. “My darling girls, welcome home,” she exclaimed, holding her arms open wide, her gold and silver bangle bracelets tinkling just as Ivy had remembered. Carlotta looked more vital and alive than Ivy had recalled.
Ivy glanced at Shelly, who’d noticed that, too, and looked smugly triumphant.
“Mom, you look gorgeous,” Shelly said. “New hairstyle?”
“And a week at the spa.” Carlotta shook her fluffy dark hair. Glossy silver streaks framed her face, giving her an elegant appearance. “I feel fabulous.”
Ivy was momentarily relieved. Carlotta Reina Bay was a woman who seemed to grow more striking with age. Ivy favored her mother with her petite frame and dark hair, while Shelly took after their father.
Their mother was descended from Spanish aristocrats who had once owned vast expanses of land in California before the state became part of the union. Carlotta carried herself with an air of authority. Even in a casual turquoise-and-white striped sundress and a chunky turquoise necklace, she looked as regal—and as fierce—as a queen.
As Carlotta observed the two of them, her smile waned. “What’s wrong? You both look angry. Come here and give me a hug.”
Ivy rushed to embrace her mother. “We’re just worn out, Mom. It’s been a long journey. Is everything okay? We came as fast as we could.”
Carlotta looked amused at her daughter’s worry. “Couldn’t be better, my dear. Come, your father’s waiting for you, too.” Carlotta turned, her skirts swishing around her slim, muscular calves.
Ivy followed her, not daring to look back at Shelly. This argument will blow over, she told herself, though she couldn’t help but wonder what Shelly had meant about Jeremy. An uneasy feeling pinched her neck. Did her sister know something she wasn’t telling her?
Carlotta led them through the spacious Mediterranean home that her parents had built shortly after their marriage and expanded as their family grew. Colorful, hand-embroidered pillows from Thailand punctuated long white sofas that rested on polished terra cotta tiles. Talavera Mexican pottery in deep blue hues, orchids in traditional Burmese pottery, and splashes of modern art blended to create a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere. The windows and doors stood open to the fresh ocean breezes.
Upbeat jazz piano music piped throughout the house. Ivy smiled in recognition. The recording was one of her father’s own private sessions. He’d sent an audio file to her, and she had it in her music collection on her phone and computer.
“You haven’t changed the house much,” Ivy said, noticing everything.
“Except for the photos,” their mother said, motioning toward a long hallway gallery where framed photographs and children’s artwork told the story of the Bay family. “Lots of new photos from your nieces and nephews.”
Ivy saw Shelly quickly glance away. Immediately, their silly argument diffused in her mind. What had they been thinking? She touched her sister’s shoulder. I’m sorry, she mouthed.
Shelly nodded. Me, too.
Carlotta led them to the rear patio, where the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the distance, and they had all gathered to watch sunsets and roast marshmallows over the years. Ivy folded back her sleeves, grateful for the sea breezes that cooled the hillside. The scent of honeysuckle from rambling vines mingled with those from orange blossoms, gardenia bushes, and Carlotta’s roses, perfuming the air with a mesmerizing mélange.
Gazing around the lush yard perched on a promontory, Ivy breathed in. She’d almost forgotten the intoxicating scents. These were the aromas of her childhood, imprinted on her olfactory memory. This is where Shelly had spent hours helping her mother plant and propagate all manner of plants.
“Hi, Dad,” Ivy called out.
Sterling Bay, a bear of a man with thick, steel-gray hair was at the barbecue pit assembling dishes for dinner.
Shelly raced toward their father, and he enveloped her in his arms.
“Two of my three favorite daughters,” he said, chuckling. “Good to have you back on the west coast.”
“Missed you a lot, Dad.” Ivy eased into his generous embrace.
“My darling Ivy,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Tell me, how’re you doing?”
She knew what he meant. She hadn’t seen her parents since Jeremy’s funeral. “Every day is a little better. Sometimes I have setbacks, but I’ve been making the necessary changes.”
“She made a huge decision today.” Shelly scooped up a slice of fresh zucchini from a platter of raw vegetables and bit into it. “I’ll let her tell you. I’m starving.”
“Tell us what?” Carlotta asked.
“It’s kind of a long story.” Ivy wondered where to start so she wouldn’t sound completely crazy.
Listening and waiting, Carlotta brushed a light veil of olive oil over the raw vegetables arranged in stainless barbeque mesh holders and finished them with a sprinkle of oregano from the herb garden. She handed the flat mesh holders to her husband, who positioned them over the flames with care.
When Ivy didn’t go on, her mother said, “I also made a lime-cilantro aioli for the veggies.”
Ivy peeked at the grill. Rosemary salmon and garlic shrimp were sizzling on the barbecue, sending out the most enticing aromas. With the three-hour time difference from the east coast, she realized they hadn’t eaten in hours. No wonder she and Shelly were hangry.
“Are you painting again?” Carlotta asked, her voice laced with hope.
“I’ve been teaching.” That’s a valid reason for not painting, Ivy thought. Yet it was still an excuse. After Jeremy died, she’d thought she’d lose herself in her painting, but instead, her creativity had been at an all-time low. She’d been so lethargic that she had barely picked up a brush except to instruct a student.
Her mother saw through her thin defense. “Find time for your own work, mija,” she said with a subtle nudge.
For years, Ivy’s mother and father had marketed the crafts of indigenous people from around the world—Asia, North and South America, Europe, Africa, Australia, New Zealand. As they traveled, they discovered new and traditional artists and connected them to their network of retail stores. Carlotta understood the artist’s journey.
Her father ignored her mother’s comment. Shifting the vegetables on flame, he asked, “So what kind of momentous decision did you make today?”
“I finally visited the house that Jeremy bought in Summer Beach,” she said in a light tone, minimizing the difficulty of the visit after she’d been avoiding it for so long. Falling back into the familiarity of an old routine, Ivy picked up a stack of woven cloth napkins and silverware her mother had left on a table and began to set the places.
“Very glad you did,” her father said, pride evident in his voice.
Shelly grinned at her in solidarity. Continuing to listen to the conversation, Shelly wandered around the yard, inspecting the roses and the garden.
“Any luck selling the house?” Carlotta asked, drawing her fine, dark eyebrows together.
Ivy folded a napkin and placed it at one end of the table. “Not even a showing.”
“That’s odd,” Carlotta said. She was arranging a vase of her fresh-cut roses for the table. “Flint told me Bennett Dylan is quite successful in real estate.”
“That’s okay. I’ve decided to move into it.” Ivy glanced at Shelly, who nodded. This decision solved both of their housing problems. “Shelly, too. We’re going to fix it up and rent out rooms.”
“Why, that’s a wonderful idea,” Carlotta said. “You’ll be close to your brothers and their families.”
“I’ll ask your brothers to help,” Sterling said. “I’ve heard the old Erickson estate needs a lot of work. Are you sure you can manage the finances?”
“Fairly sure. I’ve run some preliminary numbers. Without a mortgage, I only have to cover insurance, repairs, utilities, and taxes. There should be profit left over for both of us.” She’d have to create a spreadsheet and perform proper projections, which she had done in a business class that she’d taken as an elective. That had been a long time ago, but she’d managed the household expenses for years.
Ivy lit the candles on the table. “What do you know about the place, Dad?” Her father was a local history buff.
“Been vacant a long time.” He removed the roasted vegetables from the fire and slid them onto a platter. “Lot of old stories about that place.”
“Like what?” Ivy placed a salad and bread basket that her mother had brought out on the table.
Her parents exchanged glances. “The Erickson woman knew a lot of artists,” Sterling said as he opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass for each of them.
Shelly carried platters of food to the table. “What? Is it haunted or something?”
“Not unless you believe in that sort of thing,” Carlotta said.
Ivy looked from one to another. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that Amelia Erickson was an avid collector,” her father replied in a reassuring tone. “That place has a lot of history. Come, let’s eat and celebrate your homecoming.”
Ivy raised her glass of wine to theirs, though she couldn’t help but wonder. Exactly what kind of history? And had she made a prudent decision?