Page 6 of Love Conquers All

Sylvie’s stomach churned. “What charity?”

Timothy sighed. “It says here he wants the money to be donated to the Next Generation Nantucket Designers.”

“What is that?”

Timothy studied her. “He knew you’d react like this.”

“I can’t react in any way until you tell me what it is,” she said.

Timothy got up and walked to the window. “The Next Generation Nantucket Designers are in charge of brand-new hotel and luxury resort developments on Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard.”

A feeling of dread crept through her. She was beginning to understand.

“So,” she offered, “if I don’t run his stupid inn for a year, all that money will be donated to a company that goes against everything I’ve worked for throughout my entire career?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And he did this on purpose.”

“It looks like it.” Timothy winced. “I can’t pretend to understand your relationship with your father.”

“I can’t pretend I’ve ever understood it.”

“But I think he loved you, Sylvie. And I think—for better or for worse—this is him trying to draw you closer to him. This is him trying to make you understand him a little bit better.”

“Oh, I understand him.” Sylvie crossed her arms. “That isn’t the problem.”

Timothy dropped his head. “Why don’t you think it over while you’re here? The funeral’s tomorrow. We can meet later this week to discuss your thoughts.”

Sylvie’s head was spinning. She was exhausted after the drive.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll think it over.”

“I hope you’ll let me know if you need anything,” he said.

“I need a better father.” Sylvie sighed.

“Nobody is perfect,” Timothy said with a soft smile.

“Not everyone is manipulative. This is manipulative,” Sylvie said.

There was a knock on the door. The receptionist entered to say that Timothy’s next client had arrived and asked if he was ready to see them. Timothy gave Sylvie a look that meant he was sorry, that he wished there was more he could do, but that he was bound by the legality of the document on his desk. Sylvie gathered her things and left without saying goodbye.

Chapter Four

Graham was at the post office to pick up a package. It was two days since his day in jail, and he felt emotionally wounded and under-slept, waiting in line behind other Nantucketers with his arms crossed. His main hope was that he wouldn’t be recognized as Graham Ellis, the intelligent kid who went off to do insane things in the name of “environmentalism.” But the Nantucketers at the post office were far too eager to gossip than pay him any attention. Their topic today was—impossibly—the funeral of James Bruckson. Graham’s heart stopped.

“Such a tragedy what happened with his daughter,” one of the women stage-whispered to another, holding her envelopes tightly against her chest. “I don’t think she’s been back even once since she left.”

“It’s rude,” another said. “He raised her. He gave her a sturdy roof over her head. And she never comes back? After a few little arguments? You’d think a smart girl like that would grow out of that moodiness. What is she? Fifty?”

“She must be thirty,” the other said thoughtfully. “Maybe younger.”

Smack-dab in the middle, Graham wanted to say to them. She was forty. We both were.

Graham weighed up what would happen if he asked them about James Bruckson’s death. Would they immediately peg him for who he was? Or had they perhaps already pegged him for who he was, and that was the reason they were talking about this right in front of him like this? Was this an elaborate performance to see how he’d react?

I won’t give them the satisfaction,Graham thought. But on the inside, he was falling apart.

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