Page 17 of Take This Heart
I’m out on the deck, looking at the lake and trying to give Everett and his family privacy, when my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s my uncle.
Of course it is.
I glance back through the big windows where the Whitmans sit inside. Goldie’s silhouette stands out the most, perched on the arm of the couch, one knee pulled up, a wine glass dangling from her fingers. She’s laughing at something her brother said, her head tipping back, and my gut twists.
I’m glad she’s laughing. It hurt to see the tears falling down her cheeks earlier.
I ignore the call, but it just rings again a few seconds later.
I answer.
“Milo!”
“Hey, Bruce,” I mutter, already regretting answering.
“What, I’m not Uncle Bruce anymore?”
“I think I stopped calling you that the first time I did a job with you.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. I miss it though. Any updates? You had your meeting yet? What’s the scoop?”
I stare at the stars reflected in the black water below. I rub the back of my neck, feeling like I might be sick.
“You said the land you were interested in was farther north,” I say. “Not Windy Harbor.”
“Same difference,” he says breezily. “Just nudge the guy. Tell him it’ll be too expensive, too much work to restore.”
“You didn’t say it was this land,” I say again, my voice rough. My heart hammers against my ribs. I hear the echo of Everett’s voice earlier today, talking about how much this place means to him. How he wants to leave it better than he found it. “Why didn’t you tell me it was theWhitmansyou were bidding against?”
Bruce’s laugh grates in my ear. “Didn’t know it mattered.”
“I get the impression that there’s a lot of tension between you and Everett and I find it suspicious that you didn’t tell me any of this.”
He barks out a laugh and my skin crawls. “Where have you been, Milo? Can you seriously say you know nothing about the Whitman/Granger divide?”
I frown and start pacing. “What are you talking about?”
He sighs. “Goddamn it, Milo. This goes way back. And if you want to be part of this family, you’ll help me put the Whitmans in their place once and for all.”
“No, I don’t want any part of whatever this is.”
“Too late. You were part of this before you were ever born.”
“This is ridiculous. Everett’s a good man. And business is business. I’m not going to ruin my reputation over some silly family feud.”
“This goes deeper than that.”
He hangs up and I stare at my phone in confusion.
The stars blur, and for a second, the ground feels like it’s tipping. I sit heavily on one of the deck chairs, dropping my head into my hands.
This is a goddamn disaster.
Everett Whitman has cancer.
It’s awful. On the outside, the man seems to be the epitome of good health. And he’s certainly loved. Through the window, his family still looks like they’re on the brink of tears. Goldie’s face went white when she heard, like someone punched her.
No one but Everett knew until today.
