Page 27 of Hibiscus Heights

The wind off the water was chilly, even in the summer. Grant draped his lightweight jacket around her shoulders. “Would you be more comfortable inside?”

“I would be. You stay out here, though. It’s a mesmerizing sight.”

The ferry’s engine hummed beneath Grant’s feet as Crown Island emerged through the morning haze. He leaned against the railing, enjoying the salt spray mist on his face.

As they cleared the marine layer, the island spread before him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Sherbet-painted houses climbed the hillsides, palm trees swayed against the bluest of skies, and rising above it all, the Majestic Hotel. Even from this distance, the Victorian-era structure commanded attention with its red-tiled roof and white clapboard siding gleaming in the California sun.

His camera bag sat at his feet, but he resisted the urge to start shooting, even though a gallery in Miami had already expressed interest in an island-themed collection. First, he wanted to see the place where his father had spent his happiest years.

And many of his, too.

Sometimes, Grant wondered why he’d never returned. He knew the answer, though.

Beside him, a young couple were taking photos. They seemed excited about visiting Crown Island.

“First visit?” he asked.

They nodded. “It’s our honeymoon,” the young woman said.

Grant gestured to her mobile phone. “Would you like a photo?”

“We’d love that, thanks.” She handed him her phone and posed with her beaming husband.

Grant adjusted a couple of settings in the camera app and framed the pair with the hotel visible in the background. Nature photography was his specialty, but he liked to see people smile, and they usually did for photographs.

After snapping a few shots, he said, “That’s great. Now turn slightly toward each other and dip your chins.” He took a few more before handing the phone back to the young woman.

She opened the photos and stared with delight. “Wow, these look professional.”

Grant grinned at that. “They should,” he added with a wink. “Have a great time on the island. It’s a special place.”

He cut through the crowd to the cabin. His mother sat beside a window seat, staring out.

A woman’s voice rang out behind him. “Why, Grant Emerson, what are you doing here? Ellen Hunt, in case you forgot.”

He looked up, surprised to see her. She had remarried and moved to Chicago a few years ago. But here she was, looking like she’d just stepped from a salon. Not a hair was out of place on a sea-going ferry. She must use industrial-strength hairspray.

He stood to offer her his seat. “We needed a break and thought we’d spend it here with family like we used to. You remember my mother?”

“Of course.” She raised her voice. “How are you?”

Grant winced at Ellen’s assumption that his mother was hard of hearing.

Nevertheless, Kitty graciously extended her hand. “Healthy enough to travel, thank goodness. And my hearing is fine, dear. What brings you here?”

“Rob and I decided to build a beach house on the island. He says it’s a good investment, and honestly, we need a change of scenery. I was on the mainland looking for interior designers. My husband doesn’t have time for that sort of thing.” Ellen turned to Grant. “Is your sister joining you?”

“She’s already here,” he replied.

“And the boys?”

“They’re with her as well.”

A trace of sadness filled Ellen’s face. Before she could say anything, Grant asked, “How is the building process?”

She waved a diamond-studded hand. “Slower than Rob would like. He’s impossibly difficult about every detail, and we’re not really in sync. On the design, I mean.”

“Of course,” Kitty said, inclining her head.

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