Page 16 of The Beach Trap

I look down at the kitchen table, where Harriet has written her estimate of what the house could sell for now. It’s a depressinglysmall amount, especially when divided in half. Despite Granddad’s memory issues, his body is as healthy as a horse. He could live for five or ten more years. My lungs tighten with panic and desperation; I need to get more out of this house.

“Realistically,” I say to her, “what do you think this house could get if it was in better condition?”

Harriet twists her pink-lipsticked mouth to the side, thinking. “The kitchen needs to be completely redone. You see how there’s no natural light in the living room? It needs to be opened up—buyers want open concept. All the wallpaper and carpet need to go. Bathrooms redone. New light fixtures. It would be a huge job.”

“But if all that was done, what could I get for it?”

She spits out a high six-figure number that makes me suck in a breath. I need that money. Ineedit.

I turn around, this time trying to see it through my grandfather’s eyes. I imagine how the place would look without the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. You’d be able to see right out the windows to the beach; it would feel open and breezy. The kitchen cabinets can be painted—a big job, but an inexpensive way to make a huge impact.

Next, I go into the living room, where I bend down and pull up a corner of the carpet. There’s a hardwood subfloor underneath. I personally helped Granddad refinish a similar floor in their house when I was a teenager.

And just like that, I know what he would say about this house, if he were here:It needs work, Blakers, but it has good bones.

“Maybe I could fix it up,” I say, standing.

Harriet gives me a surprised smile. “That would be lovely. This place has tons of potential. Just needs a little love and elbow grease! Well, maybe a lot of love.”

Now that I’ve seen the house, I’m sure Kat won’t want it—it doesn’t fit with her lifestyle. Even if she does, she can buy me outafterI fix it up. Some of these projects are above my skill level, but I’m willing to learn, and it’s the only way I can turn my dad’s crap “gift” into something useful.

The bigger problem is the time this will require. I’ll have to convince the Vanderhaavens to let me stay here with their dog. If I can get them to pay me my entire summer salary now, I can use that as my budget to fix up the place. Kat can pay her share when she buys me out.

I turn to face Harriet, a smile growing on my face for the first time since I pulled my car up to this hunk of junk. “I’m going to do it. Is that crazy?”

“Not at all,” she says. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, if you can swing it. How about you get back in contact with me when you’re ready to talk about selling—”

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?”

My heart seizes and I spin around.

It’s Kat. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking like she’s walked off the runway for a summer fashion show, all glossy brown hair and long, tanned legs. Even though I’ve seen her on Instagram plenty of times, it’s surreal seeing her in person. She’s tall and hourglass-shaped, the kind of woman who oozes confidence and style.

In a heartbeat I’m back at Camp Chickawah, standing on the dock in my bathing suit, holding Kat’s hand and counting to three before jumping. Icy lake water closing over my head, her fingers still clasped in mine, then resurfacing, gasping and laughing in the sunshine.

Blinking, I take a deep breath. “Hello, Kat. The real estate agent and I—”

“Why is there a real estate agent here?” Kat demands, taking her sunglasses off. Fury burns in her eyes. It’s terrifying.

I glance back at Harriet, who has a stiff smile on her face.

“Well,” I say, “we’re discussing how to get the most value out of the house—”

“The mostvalue?” Kat says, her voice rising. “You can’t sell it out from under me.”

My stomach clenches; I hate conflict, always have, and part of me wants to run out to my car and drive away rather than face this fiery, wrathful warrior princess standing in front of me. But I need to stand up for myself.

“I wasn’t going to—”

“How dare you waltz in here like this isyourplace,” she says, steamrolling right over me. “This ismygrandparents’ beach house—I spent my childhood here, and I’ll be damned if I let you steal that away from me.”

That makes me straighten up, indignant. “I’m notstealinganything. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who ended up with everything.”

“Don’t talk to me about what I ended up with—you have no idea!” Kat’s voice is now a shriek. “You’re slithering back into my life, trying to take the last thing I have left, mygrandparents’house, and—” She turns her blazing eyes onto the dog, who has stupidly run up to her, wagging his tail. “And dogs are not allowed!”

Whirling around, she storms down the hall and into the bathroom. She slams the door behind her, rattling the house, and a framed picture falls off the nearest wall, the glass shattering with a spectacular crash.

The dog scrambles behind my legs and cowers there, trembling. I’m shaking, too, though in my case it’s from frustration, not fear.

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