Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
We found several paper clipped stacks of papers relevant to the ownership of the property—old tax bills and surveys—and some hand-sketched plans for a renovation that obviously never happened. Seeing my grandfather’s spidery handwriting was bittersweet. I felt connected to him when I saw the hard work he’d put into the Sea Sprite for so many years, but it also reminded me with a gut punch that he was gone.
Sorting through all of those papers wore heavily on my heart and nearly drowned me with memories. It made me miss my parents and grandparents all over again. Grief was such a sneaky motherfucker. One day you felt fine, and then something just came along and tipped your boat completely over.
“You okay?” James asked softly. I glanced at him.
“It’s hard letting go.” It was the first time I began to see my family’s legacy in the past tense. Seeing all of these old papers and evidence of renovation plans they’d never been able to put into action for the same reasons I was having trouble putting my own plans into action was a stark reminder that this was never going to work.
And maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe I was holding on to the past too hard and I needed to let go.
I stood up and stretched before wandering over to the cooler to fill up my water bottle. James’s questions from earlier wound on repeat in my mind. What would I do with a million dollars? Why hang on to the Sea Sprite when I could start fresh with a brand-new project. It would mean losing the legacy and history of this place, but it would also mean giving Karlie’s baby a new future. It would mean giving the rest of my family financial peace of mind.
“You okay?” James asked from across the room.
I nodded absently, my eyes skimming over old framed photographs and articles on the wall behind the counter. I’d seen them so many times I never noticed them anymore, but I took the opportunity to study them with new eyes.
One of them was an article in the Barwich Bee from 1981 when Dolly Parton had stayed at the Sea Sprite. She’d called it “charming” and said she’d love to come back one day. I laughed to myself at the thought of Dolly Parton or any other celebrity deigning to stay here today. They wouldn’t even give this dump a second glance.
Then my eyes fell on another portrait, the one from Labor Day the year before. It was the last family portrait we’d taken, the last that would ever contain both of my grandparents. My throat tightened as I looked at the way they held each other’s hands tightly, surrounded by generations that only existed because of their love for each other. I’d told them about my plans for renovating the Sea Sprite that day, and they’d been so excited and supportive. I’d truly believed that down the road it would be me and my husband and our children and grandchildren sitting for a family portrait on the bluff.
Two weeks later Grandpa had his stroke, and two months after that, Nana had died in her sleep, presumably of a broken heart. Our family had been left reeling. Losing my parents had been horrible, but losing Nana and Grandpa only a few years later had gutted me. And now their dream was going up in a puff of smoke.
“Let it go,” I muttered to myself, reaching out to push a bit of dust off the top of the frame with my fingertip.
Strong hands landed on my hips as James stepped up behind me. I could feel the warm puff of his breath against the back of my ear. “Let what go?”
A shiver traced down my spine. His touch was so firm, so reassuring, that I felt myself lean back against him. “This place. My dreams for it.”
He was silent. With my back to him, I couldn’t see his face to know what he was thinking. Was he grinning, knowing he’d finally won? Somehow I didn’t think so. He knew how much this place mattered to me. He knew what it would mean to give it up. James wasn’t the type to gloat over someone else’s misfortune.
He let out a long breath and spun me in his arms until I faced him. “Your vision for how to renovate and revamp this place is strong, Sawyer. And smart. You know what you’re talking about, and you’re good at it.”
His words embarrassed me, and I tried looking away, but he brought his hand to my cheek, forcing me to meet his eyes. “If this is what you want to do, take this concept and apply it to other properties, then you should do it.”
I wanted to laugh at how easy he made it sound. “How?”