A FEW WEEKS after the first of the year, I sat next to Gramma on the couch in my parents’ living room, watching the Seahawks in the playoffs. She wore a blue and lime green sweatshirt and matching wristbands in support of the team.
“Pops and I used to have season tickets when they first opened the King Dome. But you weren’t born then, so you wouldn’t remember.” She patted my arm.
“Wish we still had those season tickets,” Dad complained from his recliner.
“You could afford a box now if you wanted,” I said. It was true. He had the money, but came from a long line of cheapskates. It ran in our blood.
“Nah. You see the game better right here in the living room.” He dunked a chip in Mom’s crab dip. “And the food’s better.”
My sisters and mom were in the kitchen, probably drinking white wine or mojitos, and gossiping. After what I overheard on Thanksgiving, I knew to avoid eavesdropping on their opinions on my social life. Or lack thereof.
I had to admit, right now I had zero life. Cold, rainy days followed one after the other and nothing seemed to dry out, or warm up. Work sucked. I spent a week exposed to the damp, welding the hull of some rich man’s yacht. Work, complaining about the cold, carving in the shop, eating over here . . . was the extent of it. I still played pool with John on Thursdays, but otherwise avoided the bar scene.
New Year’s Eve and my polar plunge marked the turning point. I hadn’t gone out and picked up a woman in weeks. It didn’t appeal to me. Spending time with Gramma, listening to her tell stories about her life with Pops before I was born kept me more entertained than inane conversation to get laid.
“Someone wants to buy the old place overlooking Mutiny Bay,” Gramma said out of the blue.
“What?” my Dad and I asked at the same time.
“Where the old barn still stands,” she clarified.
“I know the property, Mom, but since when have you wanted to sell any land?” Dad sat up and flipped down the footrest, planting his feet on the carpet and leaning forward to focus on her.
“Oh, I hadn’t given it any thought. It’s always had a lovely marsh near the beach, and for years there was an eagle’s nest in the cedar grove near where the house stood.”
Sometimes I forgot how much land my family owned around here. The Mutiny Bay farm came down through Ellie’s family and sat apart from the main holdings closer to Double Bluff. A crooked barn leaned precariously in an overgrown field, but the fifty acres of land around it were a jewel. We rented out the fields to a local family who kept up the tradition of farming on the island.
“Who’s interested in the place?” I asked. Her comment after the funeral flashed through my mind. “Were these the same people who gave you their cards at Pops’ funeral?”
“What?” Dad exploded from his chair. I didn’t see it often, but he carried the same gene for the Donnely temper I did. “Someone came to Pops’ funeral to talk to you about selling land?”
“Ken, sit down. No, they only gave me their business cards. And yes, Tom, it’s the same young man. I think he’s an island boy, but lives over in Seattle now. Really made a success of himself.”
Bile rose in my throat. “What’s his name, Gramma?”
“Oh, I don’t remember, but I said no. I felt terrible about it after they made such a nice presentation with model homes and all their ideas for how the land could benefit the island. I’m not in a place right now to make any decisions. I told your cousins the same last week after we left.”
Dad’s neck went red with anger and his eyes bulged out, however his voice remained calm. “Mom, start from the beginning. Which cousins?” He began pacing the room.
“Bob set up the meeting.”
Of course. Bob, the only Donnely in generations to serve time.
“Now, Ken, I don’t want to start any trouble, not after losing Pops. We all need to stick together. I explained the estate was still in probate.”
“It’s a matter of respect, Mom. Pops hasn’t been gone two months, and they’re already sniffing around for an in. Like the miserable coyotes around here.”
“Dinner’s ready!” Amy announced cheerily from the hall. “Let’s eat—Hey, what’s going on in here? The Hawks losing?” Her eyes swept the room and landed on me. I gave a subtle shake of my head to say not now.
Mom entered the room, wiping her hand on an apron, her other hand still holding a glass of white wine. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a phone call to make. Start without me.” Dad stomped off toward his office.
“Not now, let’s have dinner,” I whispered to Mom, gesturing to the dining room.
Gramma fretted under her breath to Mom as they walked ahead of us.
I lagged behind to fill in Amy on the dirty dealings of our favorite cousin. I had to cover her mouth to keep her cursing from being overheard in the dining room.
“I think I know who’s behind this,” she said once I removed my hand.
“Go on.”
“Kurt Jones,” she whispered like it was a bad word and we were kids.
“Jones? The last name doesn’t ring a bell. And I only know one—” Shit.
“Kurt. Hailey’s ex.”
“That little fuckwad.” I spat out the words.
“I never liked him, but didn’t think he would sink to trying to get a grieving widow to sell property when the grave is still fresh,” Amy whispered.
“He gave her his card at the funeral. Shit. I saw him at the church. He stood near the door with a bunch of other guys I didn’t recognize.”
“He did not!” Her voice rose.
“Yep. I thought he must have been there to support Hailey, but I never saw him at the reception.”
“They broke up months ago and she was more than clear she wanted nothing to do with him, so he wasn’t there for her.”
“Unbelievable.”
She echoed me and then continued, “Hailey’s going to die if she finds out he did this. I guess he was always talking about how underdeveloped the island was. He thought more subdivisions and fewer woods and farms would, to quote him, “bring you into the 21st century” as if we were some backward time warp.” She huffed with the remembered insult.
“Well, he went after the wrong land and the wrong family.”
“He picked on the wrong little old lady, that’s for sure.” She bumped shoulders with me as we made our way down the hall. “I can’t say I don’t want to kick his ass, though.”
“Amy! You’ve never been in a fight in your life outside of tackling our sisters or whatever emotional warfare you waged on each other as teens.”
She sighed. “I know, I know. But I love the idea of a good old-fashioned movie style ass kicking for Kurt. Come on, it would be awesome.”
I blinked at her. “You know, I’m so going to bring this up when Sam gets in his first fight at school.”
“That’s different!”
“Uh huh. You’re such a bruiser, Amy.” I sat down and smiled at Mom, who appeared worried, and Gramma, who quietly ate her stew.
A few minutes later, Dad sat at the head of the table. “All settled. Where’s my dinner?”