“Bard, I’ve already explained; there’s no need to build up the firewood stores. The priority is cleaning the grounds and making it presentable to buyers.” They have to be able to envision the estate’s potential, and that’s hard to do when everything’s overgrown with weeds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to help with cleaning out the main house, but can you at least tackle the rose garden?”
“Your grandma gave explicit instructions that no one but her is to touch the garden.”
I release a puff of air, trying not to let my frustration build. I’ve already gone over this with Bard.
“Grandma isn’t here,” I say, knowing that despite Bard’s lack of outward emotion, her death has hit him hard. He’s been working here for twenty-something years. My mom actually hired him. After she and my dad disappeared, Bard stayed around to help Grandma. Over the years their friendship grew—not in a romantic way—but as kindred cantankerous spirits who loath the outside world.
I gently squeeze Bard’s stout arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t need to say that.” He knows perfectly well she’s gone. “I’m only trying to point out that we have to do our best to clean up this mess and move on.”
He stares defiantly with his intense blue eyes.
“Bard? You do understand that I can’t keep the estate, right?”
“I know nothing of the sort.” He folds his arms over his broad chest. It means he’s digging in his heels, and like a mighty oak, he will not be moved.
I groan. “Then you tell me where I can come up with the money to pay the estate tax or fix the roof and replace hundreds of thousands of dollars of dry rot.”
“River Wall Manor has survived for over two centuries.”
How is that an answer? “Uh, yeah. And it has that many years of deferred maintenance.”
“Every Norfolk who has lived here has found a way to keep the estate intact and away from the hands of outsiders.”
“Bard, I can’t just make money magically appear. I need at least a million dollars to fix up this place, and let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I had that sort of cash. What the hell am I going to do with this massive estate? I’m not going to live here all alone in that big house.”
Bard’s crisp blue eyes twitch, and I know it means he’s about to lose his shit.
He leans down, speaking in a low quiet voice. “You are never alone here.”
Wonderful. I’ve offended him.
Did I mention that he and I have a long intense history? It goes something like this: me not speaking to him for a few years, then him not speaking to me, and back again. We can never seem to find an equilibrium. There’s always tension, and our old wounds are never far, lurking just beneath the surface.
“Bard,” I say softly, “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, you’re here, too. You and Master, but—”
He shakes his head. “I am not speaking of myself or the fucking dog.”
“Sorry. Did I forget the mice? Or the owl in the attic? How about the possums hunkered down in the basement?”
He stares like he wants to throttle me but doesn’t speak.
“Bard, I don’t have time for this. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I’ve got Dave and his crew arriving in five minutes, and there’s work to be done.” Work that is not going to be easy for me. Grandma’s things are in that house. Her clothes, her books, her life. Sorting through what she’s left behind is going to take every ounce of strength I’ve got. “And try to keep in mind that I’m doing this for you. You, Bard. You need something to live on.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
I shake my head. “Where’re you gonna live, huh? Because I’m selling this place. Accept it. I have.” I step outside, close my front door, and walk past him, heading up to the main house. Bard is a good man. Complicated, but good. So why’s he trying to make this so difficult? I’m doing the right thing here. For him.
“Promise you’ll keep the estate when the money shows up,” he calls out.
I continue walking up the stone path and glance over my shoulder. “Whatever.”
“Promise!”
“Fine!” I keep walking and throw my hands in the air, not bothering to look at him. “If a giant pile of cash shows up, I’ll keep this glorious wreck so you can live here all alone with nothing but your perfect coffee and cranky ass to keep you company.”
By the time I get to the front of the mansion, Dave is pulling up in his electric blue Ferrari.
I lack the words to describe how little I want to speak to him right now. Or ever.
He parks to the side of the front porch, right over a bed of bright purple New England asters—my grandma’s favorite flowers. They grow wild here and bloom in the fall.