Page 21 of Love Conquers All

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Sylvie said, waving her hands.

“I’m serious,” Graham said.

“But Graham, come on. You have a life to get back to, too,” Sylvie said.

“I don’t.” Saying that aloud felt like being struck in the chest with a rock.

Sylvie tilted her head. Her eyes were filled with questions.

We don’t know how to be honest with each other anymore,Graham thought.

“But what about your protests?” Sylvie asked.

“I’m here to fight the Next Generation Nantucket Designers. They’re enemy number one,” Graham said. “And it looks like a part of that fight will involve running an inn.” He shrugged. “Protesting takes on many forms. You know that better than most.”

Sylvie lent Graham a crooked smile.

“Come on. Let’s at least go check out the place together,” Graham suggested. “We can chase out all the ghosts and see what’s left.”

Sylvie raised her shoulders. “Valerie’s my witness. I didn’t twist your arm.”

Valerie laughed. “I never know what you kids are going to get up to.” She said it as though she were exhilarated and having just as much fun with this time travel as Graham was.

Before they left the wake, Graham stole a bottle of white wine and told the server who spotted him, “Sylvie’s his only daughter. He messed her up.”

The server didn’t say a thing. It was as though he’d worked at enough wakes to understand. Nobody left the earth without marking the ones they’d tried to love.

Chapter Ten

Sylvie hadn’t brought the keys for The House on Nantucket with her to the funeral and wake. But on an island like Nantucket, where residents were eternally trusting and eager to display that trust, it wasn’t so hard to break into an inn. Despite having known of his death ahead of time, James Bruckson had left the spare key exactly where it had been all of Sylvie’s life—under the turtle-shaped stone in the back garden. When she pulled the key up, it glinted in the light of the streetlamp. Graham whistled.

“I feel like we’re breaking and entering,” he said.

“Unfortunately, I own this place.” Sylvie sighed heavily.

Sylvie half expected the key not to work when she put it in the lock. She half expected it to break. But instead, the doorknob turned easily and welcomed them into the back entrance of The House on Nantucket. From there, a hallway to the left led to the kitchen, and the hallway directly in front of them brought them to the main living area, where, once upon a time, guests had sat, reading magazines, gossiping, and exchanging stories from their travels. From there, a mahogany staircase led to the rooms upstairs.

Graham sneezed and laughed at himself. “It’s dusty.”

It was true. The place was far dustier and messier than Sylvie had ever seen it. This was a surprise, as, previously, her father had hired cleaners to keep The House on Nantucket well-maintained during the non-tourism months. But maybe the illness and funeral plans had distracted him.Or perhaps he wanted to make things harder for me,Sylvie thought. She slid a finger through the dust on the staircase banister and groaned.

“This is disgusting,” she said. She watched Graham’s face to see if he regretted his offer to run The House on Nantucket for the following year.

“It’s certainly something,” Graham said. “But I still haven’t seen a ghost.”

Sylvie laughed, despite herself. “Come on. You can tell me you don’t want to do this.”

Graham raised both hands. “If it helps you, I’m happy to do it.”

His words tugged at her heartstrings. She wanted to rebuke them. “Graham…” We were strangers.

But instead, she said, “What about Mrs. Galloway? Or Frank?”

Mrs. Galloway and Frank had worked at The House on Nantucket since Sylvie was a little girl. Both were hardworking and dedicated to the inn and its many guests. Sylvie’s father had often spoken of them as the only people he could trust.

“Are they too old? Retired, maybe?” Graham suggested.

“Mrs. Galloway was younger than my dad,” Sylvie remembered. “And Frank was her son, so…”

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