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Sweeping Amelia out of the office and into the sunny Michigan morning, Megan spoke in hushed tones.
“Kate opened the letter. And that’s why she’s with Matt.”
Amelia’s eyes grew wide. “What was in the letter? How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. But why else would she skip the meeting? I think it’s obviously about Clara. And, that’s where we are going. Kate said to meet her at Matt’s house.”
Shaking her head, Amelia spit a few curses. “Why couldn’t Mom just add Clara to the will? What was the problem with that?”
“I don’t know,” Megan replied. “Hopefully we’re about to find out.”
***
Heading to Matt’s house was no easy task. He lived on Heirloom Island, a tiny chunk of land that floated southeast of town, adjacent to Heirloom Cove. They’d first have to go to the ferry, then sit there and grow nauseous for the next half an hour until spilling onto shore amid smells of the ferryman’s sweat-slicked sunscreen and the flapping fumes of a variety of lake birds. The Birch Harbor Ferry wasn’t known for its glamour. It could probably use a makeover, Megan thought to herself.
But as she sat there, next to Amelia, chewing on her thumbnail and imagining the sort of news that Kate was unwilling to reveal on the phone or via text—the sort of news that demanded they take a damn ferry, Megan thought of something else.
There were a ton of people in town. For May, the number seemed significant. Tourists by the droves. Cute bikini-clad girls and handsome tanned guys vying for attention from each other. Some in groups laughing, some paired off, canoodling in the far corners of the boat. It was fascinating. Megan felt like she was a fly on the wall of The Bachelor on location at Lake Huron, Michigan.
Once the ferry docked, Megan and Amelia hung back, waiting for the crowd to thin before them.
Amelia gripped Megan’s hand. “Should we have called Clara?”
“No,” Megan answered, firm. “Let’s wait to see what Kate says. Maybe something good happened.” Megan wasn’t usually the optimistic type, but who knew? Kate and Matt out on the island instead of holed up in that mahogany and leather office? Maybe something good had happened.
They strode along the deck and up to the parking lot, where Kate said she’d meet them. Sure enough, the figure of a slender woman stood erect at the crest of the slight hill, her hand casting a shadow over her face so as to ease the reflection of the sun from off the water.
Kate waved, her fingers flashing up in a lackluster cascade. “Hey,” she said once they were close. “Matt’s house is just up the shore.” She pointed back toward a pretty Victorian.
“Wow,” Megan replied. “I didn’t know he lived on the island.”
“Moved here a few years back. After his divorce.”
Megan and Amelia raised their eyebrows to one another before following Kate on foot less than a mile to his home. Kate didn’t turn around, preferring instead to walk quietly in front of them.
Once there, Megan noticed Matt, pacing his front porch, one hand pushed through his hair, the other gripping a cell phone against his head.
“Is everything okay?” Megan asked, a feeling of alarm clenching her gut.
Kate stopped at the front lawn and waited for them to catch up before answering. “Yes and no. Everyone is fine. But there’s been... a revelation.”
“And Matt is in on this?” Amelia asked, hooking a finger toward him.
Nodding solemnly, Kate let out a sigh. “Yep. Now you two will be. I had to come to him first. I hope... I hope you’ll understand.”
Megan didn’t, really. Her sisters were her blood. Not this local islander single dad who’d written off the Hannigans just as soon as they’d returned to Birch Harbor after their extended desert vacation.
At least, that was Megan’s thirteen-year-old impression of things at the time.
The women strode to the porch, joining Matt as he thanked the person on the other end of the line before hanging up. “Hi, Megan. Amelia.” He nodded his head to each in turn, and they said hello back.
“What’s going on?” Amelia asked. Kate pressed her palms to her eyes and shook her head.
Matt stepped to her and set a hand on her shoulder awkwardly. Megan would have cringed at the gesture, if the situation didn’t seem so dire.
“Let’s go inside,” he suggested, waving a hand back through a yawning front door.
They filed in and each found a spot at an industrial-style kitchen table—all wood and metal and screws beneath the rustic knotty top.
The next words out of Kate’s mouth stunned Megan into silence.
“We can’t contest the will.”