It was strange, Rebecca would muse later, that it took a death to pull her back into the life of the island.
Word of Christine’s passing had quickly spread, and she’d gone to the cottage as soon as she heard. She helped Louisa and Jenny clean and change Christine’s body into an unsoiled nightgown. When all was done there, she called Kathleen into the room.
“You should help with this.”
“With what?” Kathleen hung back as Jenny went downstairs.
“Preparing her for her journey.”
Louisa took Kathleen’s hand. “Come, Katie.”
Jenny returned a moment later with a bowl of ashes. Rebecca reached into her bag and took out a container of coarse salt and another of soil. The latter, she handed to Kathleen.
“What are these for?” Kathleen asked. She peered into Jenny’s bowl. “Are those from the fireplace?”
“Yes,” Jenny said.
“Told you,” Rebecca said, taking the lid off her container. “Preparing.” She grasped a handful of salt and sprinkled some on Christine’s chest and then more on the sheet, forming a ring all around her. Jenny did the same with the ashes.
“Christine Turnbull Halloran,” Rebecca said, “we honor your passing with these things: salt of the earth, earth itself.” She nodded to Kathleen to sprinkle the soil in the same pattern. “And ash, to which you will return.”
Jenny rubbed some ash into Christine’s forehead, each eyelid, her lips, and finally her chest.
“It reminds me of my tar abháile,” Kathleen said.
“It is,” Rebecca said. “The final journey home.”
They wrapped the sheet around the body, swaddling it.
“What now?” Kathleen asked blankly.
“Molly and Joe are building a casket,” Jenny said, placing an arm around Kathleen’s waist. “When they have it ready, we’ll place her in it for the ferry.”
“Will she come back here?” Louisa asked.
Kathleen shook her head. “I don’t know what my father has planned.” She glanced at the oar propped in the corner. “She wanted that to be cremated with her, but I don’t know if funeral homes allow anything else to be… in there.”
“Don’t worry,” Jenny reassured her.
“When did she ask that?” Rebecca asked.
“Couple of weeks ago.” Kathleen didn’t look her way, but her tone was definitely sullen. “You haven’t been around.”
“No,” Rebecca admitted, feeling the weight of her self-absorption. “I… I’m sorry.”
Kathleen gestured toward the bundled figure of her mother. “We didn’t do this for Miss Olivia.”
“Yes, we did,” Jenny said. “Before we laid her in the crypt at the cemetery. Remember, she died at Christmas, and it was weeks before we could get her to the mainland.”
“My grandmother?” Kathleen asked.
Rebecca nodded. “Everyone who dies here. Even Bryan, but we had to do it in secret before your parents arrived.”
“What about a wake?” Kathleen asked. “The only one I’ve been to was Miss Olivia’s, and I don’t see the island turning out with happy memories of my mother.”
“No,” Louisa said slowly. “But they will want to support you and Michael. So maybe a small one.”
When Molly and Joe carried the casket up a couple of hours later, they set it on the floor beside the bed. Michael trailed in behind them, standing back.
Molly removed the lid. “Hand me the oar, will you?”
Kathleen retrieved it, and Molly set it into a recess that had been hollowed out in the bottom of the casket.
“Now, when we lay her inside,” Molly said, “they can cremate everything, just as your mother wanted.”
“That’s clever,” Rebecca said.
Gently, they gathered around the bed to shift Christine’s body over to the edge of the mattress and then lowered her into the casket.
“Wilma and Nels are preparing bags of ice,” Molly said. “We’ll pack them around her when they’re ready.”
“We’ll take turns staying with her until the ferry arrives tomorrow,” Rebecca said. “I’ll take this first watch. Go get something to eat.”
The others filed out, leaving her alone with the casket. Rebecca sat down, trying to pray, but after fifteen minutes, she got up in exasperation and went to the window. The rain had stopped for the time-being, but the skies were still dark and angry-looking.
“Kind of like me,” she murmured.
A steady breeze playfully blew salt spray over the deck of the ferry. Meredith tossed her head, trying to keep her hair from blowing across her face as she stood at the bow. Glancing over her shoulder, she waved up at Aidan in the pilot house. Her first trip to the mainland since coming to live on Little Sister. It was somewhat somber, as the ferry carried Christine Halloran’s casket. Even Fred was more subdued than usual.
“We’re a funeral barge today,” he’d commented as he guided Michael’s Range Rover on board.
With the back seats laid flat, the casket was secured and draped with a dark blanket for the drive to Philadelphia. Molly, in her role as sheriff, had written up a death certificate and had arranged for the proper paperwork for him to transport the body.
When a stronger gust splashed her with spray, Meredith gave up and went inside to join Jenny, Joey, Michael, and her mother on the hard plastic seats lining either side of the cabin.
“Coffee?” Fred offered, but she caught Irene’s warning shake of the head and noticed her cup looked untouched.
“No, thanks,” Meredith said quickly. “I’m good.”
Jenny hid a smile. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Want to do a little shopping,” Meredith said. “Aidan and I are looking for rings.”
“But not for her wedding dress,” Irene lamented. “I have to admit, I’d looked forward to helping you pick one out ever since you were a little girl.”
“The beauty of this bonding ceremony,” Meredith said. “Whenever it happens, it won’t involve an expensive dress or tux.”
Joey, his arm still immobilized in his sling, snorted and turned to look out the window.
“You see the surgeon today?” Meredith asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Better let me out of this damned thing.”
“If he’s allowed to start physical therapy,” Jenny said, “we’ll stay with Bobby and Laurie for a few days.”
Meredith glanced toward Michael, who sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into his dented coffee mug. “Will you do a funeral or memorial service right away?”
It took him a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “No.” He sat up. “Um, after the cremation, there’s no hurry, so we can plan something whenever.”
An awkward silence fell over the group for a few minutes.
“Roy didn’t want to come along today?” Jenny asked.
Irene rolled her eyes. “He said he had something he wanted to do. I have a feeling he was waiting for a time when I was out of the way, and he could be alone with Louisa. I never have any idea what that man is planning. Now that we’ve got internet set up, it’s scary what he can research.”
“And order,” Meredith added. “Who knows what will be arriving on the ferries this summer.”
“Speaking of which,” Jenny said, “it’ll be here before we know it. The kids will be back. Your students next year.”
“I know.” Meredith felt a thrill of nerves just thinking about it. “I’m excited.” Looking at Joey, she said, “Maybe your arm will be better in time to help finish the interior.”
He shoved to his feet and slammed the cabin door open to stand on the deck.
“Sorry about that.” Jenny frowned in his direction. “He’s so bored and restless. Aidan was always my problem child, but now…”
Meredith got up and followed Joey outside. Approaching him cautiously, she simply stood beside him at the rail for a few minutes.
“You okay?” she asked at last.
“Just grand.”
She smirked. “You do sarcasm well.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about the only thing I do well.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged but immediately winced and grabbed his injured arm. When Meredith simply waited, he gave in. “Molly’s had her sheriff and fixit work for years. Aidan used to be the family screw-up, but now he’s a captain.”
“And you’re a fisherman. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except—” He stopped abruptly.
“Except what?”
He stared out at sea, the wind whipping his black hair back off his face. He looked, she thought, like an old-time whaling captain. Or a pirate.
“Joey?”
“Brandi’s been working on Matty,” he grumbled. “Ever since…”
“Ever since the storm last summer,” she finished for him. “I can’t say I blame her for worrying. It nearly killed all of you.”
“I know.” He ran a thumbnail over a chip in the paint on the railing. “Anyway, she’s been after him to maybe quit fishing. Repair boats full-time. Maybe even move to Little Sister.”
“Really?” She nodded. “So that’s why they were here for more than that day.”
She faced him, leaning against the rail. “But what would that mean for you? Would you fish with someone else? You can’t go out alone.”
“No. Too dangerous.” He drove his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’ll do. Feels like everything, my whole life, is up in the air.”
She rubbed his good shoulder. “I know the feeling. Starting over in our thirties. Scary, huh?”
“Yeah, but you’re starting over with Aidan and Miss Louisa and your folks.”
And I’m all alone.
He didn’t say it, but she heard it nonetheless.
“You know,” she chided gently, “you have us, your family.”
“I don’t have anyone.” He shoved off the rail and circled around the cabin to the stern.
With a window-rattling sneeze, Molly finished sanding the last of the drywall seams. Cleaning up the dust would probably take an entire day, but this least-favorite part of the finish work was done. Joe and Aidan had helped her get all the windows in a few days ago. The wiring and plumbing were all finished.
“Just needs primer and paint now,” she said, turning in place to look everything over.
Baseboards and trimming out the windows and doors was something she was looking forward to.
Outside, she removed her mask and brushed off as much dust as she could from her jeans and T-shirt. She reached for the door and laughed when she saw her reflection in the window. Staring back at her was a white-haired version of herself.
“Guess that’s what I’ll look like when I’m as old as Miss Louisa.”
She leaned over and mussed her hair to knock out the dust. Driving home, she wondered what to expect today. Having the cottage to themselves again was nice, just the three of them, but Kathleen’s mood had been mercurial ever since her mom’s death.
Molly felt she was walking on eggshells every day when she got home, waiting to gauge Kathleen’s emotions. Sometimes, she wished Kathleen would sob and shout and get it over with, but the exact opposite had happened. Rather than cry, Kathleen had been weirdly stoic, going about the business of getting everything taken care of—packing up her mother’s things, taking care of most of the cremation preparations for her father—punctuated by unprompted bursts of anger. Not at Molly, nor at any particular thing that Molly could see, but a fury that sometimes left Kathleen shaking with it.
Joey’s doctor had cleared him to start his therapy, so Jenny hadn’t returned to Little Sister yet. She told Joe that Michael had gotten off okay for the drive back to Philadelphia. As far as Molly knew, Kathleen hadn’t talked to her dad since he got home. That alone seemed strange.
Blossom greeted her at the door. She let him out and cautiously entered the house, pausing for a moment when she heard banging from upstairs. Up in the hall, she found an old iron headboard leaning against the wall. She peered into the bedroom that Christine had used to find both beds in pieces. The twin mattresses were leaning against a wall, and Kathleen was bent over a frame, using a hammer to pound the hooks loose from the other footboard.
“What are you doing?” Molly asked.
Kathleen didn’t straighten. “Taking these apart.”
Molly quickly considered the wisdom of pointing out the obvious, and opted instead to ask, “Why?”
“These beds are older than my father. Think it’s time we replaced them.”
“Re—” Molly paused again and repeated, “Why?”
“Because.”
“Oh. That clarifies things.”
Kathleen stood at last, her glasses slipping down her sweaty nose. She pushed them back up. “Don’t just stand there. Help me.”
Molly quickly dropped to her knees and took the hammer from Kathleen to rap on the metal frame a couple of times, knocking it loose from the footboard. Another couple of whacks freed it from the headboard. Kathleen carried the pieces out into the hall and down the stairs. Molly grabbed the headboard in the hall and did the same, stacking them with the other bed parts on the porch.
“Where are they going?” she asked.
“Don’t care. I want them gone.”
Kathleen stomped inside and back up the stairs, leaving Molly staring after her. Blossom hopped up the stairs and leaned against Molly’s leg.
“Has she been like this all day?”
His tail thumped the floor in reply.
“That’s what I thought.”
Without asking any more questions, Molly helped Kathleen carry both mattresses and the other bedframe down to the porch. Upstairs, Kathleen stood in the middle of the empty room, her hands on her hips.
“That’s better.” Kathleen strode to the window and shoved the sash a little higher. “Need the air.” She spun slowly, inspecting the walls. “Think we need to paint in here, too. I’ll see what Tim has in stock.”
“Okay,” Molly said, still not sure what was going on. “I can help once I’m done at the library.”
“No need.” Kathleen gave a decisive nod. “This room I can paint on my own. Specially now it’s empty.”
“What about the beds downstairs?”
“Ask around. See if anyone needs them.”
“I can do that.” Molly glanced around. “What do you want to put back in here?”
“Don’t know yet.” A shadow passed over Kathleen’s face. “Let me live with it like this for a while, see what feels right.”
Molly stepped closer and rested a hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
For a moment, Kathleen didn’t answer, and Molly wondered if she might finally be ready to talk about whatever was going on.
“I’m fine,” Kathleen said brusquely. “Just ready to move on.”