Page 42 of The White Oak Lodge

It was more than she could have asked for.

Amos got in and smiled at her. “How was the drive?”

“I had plenty of time to think, and I needed it,” Nina said.

“I imagine so. Listen, I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I hope you aren’t too angry with me about what happened.”

Nina shook her head. “Why would I be angry with you? You were a kid. You were being taken advantage of. And I hate that my Tio Angelo—my beloved uncle—was the one who was doing that.”

Amos looked reflective. “He was kind to me in ways I didn’t know were possible.”

“He also ruined your life.” Nina pulled the car out of the driveway.

“Maybe I’m to blame for that, too,” he said.

Nina thought Amos was probably right about that. We can only blame other people so much before we have to take responsibility for what happens in our life.

Amos gave Nina directions to the address Ralph had written out for them and pulled up in front of a two-story beach bungalow with a gazebo on the edge of the beach. The bungalow was quaint and unassuming, so much so that Nina almost suggested they bail and go out to dinner. Whoever Seth Green was, he wasn’t Jack Whitmore. This was a silly detour. A distraction.

Maybe there was nothing else to find.

But that was when she saw there was a car in the driveway. Someone was home.

“Whatever this leads to,” Amos said, reaching for Nina’s hand, “we’ll keep going. I promise you that.”

Nina thanked him and got out. Her legs were shaking so much that she found it difficult to get herself up the walkway and all the way to the front door. Amos was there, ready to steady her if she stumbled. Up on the porch, she pressed the doorbell with all her strength and listened, waiting for some sign that someone was in there. But after fifteen seconds, there was nothing.

“I don’t think the doorbell works,” Amos said finally. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Nina’s heart nearly burst. She tried again and listened hard. Amos was right.

“Anti-climactic,” she joked.

But before Nina could say another word, Amos raised his fist and smashed his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed through the house and practically made the windows rattle. Immediately, Nina heard footsteps.

Was I about to see my brother for the first time since he faked his own death?

Was I about to understand the secrets of my family’s past?

Don’t be silly, Nina. Don’t get your hopes up.

The door cracked open. Nina and Amos stepped back as a waft of feminine perfume came out onto the porch: jasmine and another flower Nina couldn’t place.Not my brother,Nina thought at once. Her sorrow nearly knocked her over.

“Hello?” A raven-haired woman in her forties wearing a purple dress and a headband appeared before them. She was tan and olive-skinned and practically a portrait of Francesca Whitmore from so long ago.

Nina grabbed Amos’s arm to keep from falling to her knees.

“Charlotte?” she cried. “Charlotte, is it really you?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Nina

June 2025

Never in Nina’s wildest dreams had she imagined pulling up to “Seth Green’s” house and finding her sister Charlotte at the door. Never had she imagined throwing her arms around her and sobbing with the kind of power and fear that only children were allowed—sobbing at all the time they’d lost and how little she understood. Suddenly, Charlotte was guiding her through the foyer and into the living room, where she sat Nina and Amos on a soft-as-satin sofa and hurried to the kitchen to make tea.

“We might need something stronger!” Nina called, half laughing, half crying.

---