Page 107 of The Beach Trap

“Of course, that’s if you still want to sell.” She looks at me when she says that, but I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t. Because of course I don’t want to sell. And I hope with every fiber of my being that Blake doesn’t want to, either.

After what I did yesterday, I wouldn’t be able to afford to buy Blake out even at the “before” price.

Blake’s ringing cell phone interrupts my train of thought, and I watch her expression go from embarrassment to panic.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my grandfather’s care facility,” she says, scurrying out the kitchen door to the back porch just as Junior and Henry are walking back inside.

Once Blake is out of earshot, I ask Harriet the question that’s been on my mind the last week.

“I’m curious,” I say, as if the thought just came to me. “If we don’t sell, would renting the house out be a viable option?”

“Absolutely,” Harriet says. “Rental houses in this area are filled all year long—not just in season—and you could charge a premium price being on the water.”

“If we went that route,” I say, “would we be able to block off certain dates where the house wouldn’t be available? Like holiday weekends?”

I know I might be getting ahead of myself, but I have a clear vision of all the Fourths of July Blake and I could spend here together, creating new memories.

The sound of the back door closing echoes and we all turn to see Blake. Her eyes are red, her face as white as a sheet.

“Is everything okay?” Junior asks, stepping toward her.

“I think so?” she says. Her hands are shaking, and I worry something terrible happened in the last forty-eight hours that wasn’t part of the plan. “Apparently an anonymous donor gave a grant to the memory ward to cover expenses for families who needed a little help, and the director thought of me and my granddad.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, playing dumb.

It was Henry’s idea to make it look like a general donation to the facility rather than something specifically earmarked for Blake’s grandfather. Henry knows Blake almost as well as I do by now, and he pointed out that if Blake knew it was me—well, Rachel Worthington, by extension—who was paying for her grandfather’s care, she might refuse to accept the money.

But I need her to take it. Not just so we can keep the house—I know there’s still a chance she’ll want to sell—but because it feels like the least I can do.

Last week, Blake and I agreed to stop blaming ourselves for the things our father did, but that doesn’t mean I can’t compensate for some of the hurt he caused. Blake’s grandfather put his life on hold to raise Blake when our father took the coward’s way out, and now it only seems right to help Blake help him.

“It means...” Blake stops and looks at me, her mouth hanging open. I don’t know how to read her expression—she seems shell-shocked.

And then her face crumples and she’s sobbing, tears running down her cheeks. She covers her face with both hands, like she’s embarrassed at the outburst of emotion but can’t control herself. Her shoulders shake and her chest heaves as she slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor.

I watch, terrified that something has gone wrong with my plan. I’ve never seen Blake lose control like this before. Junior comes over to her, looking concerned, but she motions him away, still crying so hard she can’t get any words out.

My shoulders tense. “Are you okay?” I ask.

Blake’s gasping for air, trying to speak. “I’ve been so worried,” she says between sobs. “So worried about Granddad—how to pay for his care. I didn’t know how I would do it. And now...” She hiccups, wipes her eyes. “Now he’ll be safe.”

My heart aches for her; until this moment, I hadn’t realized how heavily this responsibility has been weighing on her. She’s weak with relief—I can see it in the way her body relaxes as she leans her head against the wall behind her, tears sliding down her face. And I know that no matter what she says next—even if she doesn’t want to keep the beach house with me—I did the right thing.

Still, I hold my breath as I wait for her to speak again.

“And it also means...” Blake stops, a sob caught in her throat. “It means we don’t have to sell the house.”

I suck in a breath. “We don’t have to sell?” I ask, a cautious question in my voice.

Blake looks up at me from where she sits on the floor. Her brown eyes are impossibly big, shining with tears. Slowly, her mouth breaks into a huge, radiant smile. It’s like the sun coming out after a storm. “We don’t have to sell,” she repeats.

I rush over to her, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet, throwing my arms around her in a huge, impulsive hug. She feels small and fragile in my arms, but she squeezes so tightly it takes my breath away.

When we separate, I’m crying, too. I laugh and wipe away tears.

“Call me if you decide to go the rental route,” Harriet says behind us, reminding me that we aren’t alone.

We thank her for her time and she says goodbye. Junior and Henry have stepped to the edge of the room, giving Blake and me space to talk.

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