of the antique chairs beside me. “Your grandmother was one of a kind and believed everyone had goodness in them.”
Perched restlessly on the edge of the chair, I nod, agreeing with that observation. “She did.”
“Before she died, she left instructions with Ralph to keep the doors open for the lobster fisherman or anyone who needed a warm bed.”
“Anyone can come and go?”
“Sort of. Only the locals know about this place, and the fisherman.”
“Who has keys?” I ask. My mother had given me one, and the other key in my possession came to me after Gram’s death, along with very careful instructions.
“Lots of people. Not that anyone locks their doors around here.”
“I can’t believe it.” I’m from the big city and people coming and going at all hours sort of freaks me out. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
As if reading my body language, he says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”
“I don’t feel safe.” I dart a glance around, half expecting someone to jump out at me. I live alone, have for a long time now. I need my quiet, and I’m not used to sharing space with people. “Not anymore, anyway.”
“You’ll meet the fishermen. They’re good people just trying to make a living, Kira.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The money.” My gaze flies to the jars stuffed with colorful bills. “They’re honest, respectful, and reliable. Do you think the money would still be there if they weren’t?”
“Whose money is it?” I ask,
“Those who come and go pay what we think we should, and that money gets used for upkeep. Ralph helps out by buying things, and we all take care of the lawn, fix what’s broken, clean up after ourselves, do laundry, dishes. That kind of thing. Yesterday, I took a couple hundred from the pot, because the back deck needs some work. I’m good with my hands, so I thought I’d take that on while staying here.”
Back in high school science class, one of our projects was to create a spinner that could twirl the longest. My brain feels like it’s on that ride right now. “I just—so you’re telling me Gram runs the B&B on the honor system.”
He nods and sits back in his seat, kicking his long legs out. “Crazy, but it works.”
“Gram always was a bit eccentric, but this is kind of bizarre—and sweet, I guess,” I say a little more quietly. “I suppose I can believe it of her. The entire fishing village was like a family to my grandparents. Even from the grave, she’s protecting and caring for those she considers her people.” A burst of warmth moves through me, and it’s like I can feel her arms around me now, happy that I understand. Then another thought zaps me like an electric current. “I’m back here to sell this place. The house went to my mother, and she wants it gone.”
Nate sits, scrubs his chin. “All good things eventually come to an end,” he says like it’s no surprise to him. Once again, I can’t help but think he’s had a loss.
“Maybe I can talk her out of it,” I say, but the words are dry on my tongue. Mom hated everything about Lunenburg. She couldn’t wait to see the fishing village in her rearview mirror. I do a quick mental tally of what I have in my bank account, but I wouldn’t even have enough for a down payment. I’m a graduate student using grant money to work on a theorem.
“What the hell?” a male voice says as he comes through the back door.
“That’s Jason,” Nate says when my entire body goes stiff. “He’s like a bull in a china shop and has never learned to use his indoor voice. But he’s a hell of a hard worker and holds the record for oyster shucking.”
Oyster shucking?
“Jason,” Nate says. “In the dining room.”
“Holy shit,” he bellows. “Were you trying to cook dinner or make a sacrificial offering to the gods?” He waves his hand in front of his face as he walks through the