Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,12

cutting? One who didn’t spend all day drinking?

As the woman’s wagon reached the end of the wooden crosswalk leading over the dunes, I felt an irresistible urge to see the water. I had yet to set foot on the sand and take in the full expanse of the sea. I didn’t have the energy to walk even the short distance. The emotions of the past few days had hit me full force on the drive back from seeing the lawyer.

I eyed the roof. While much of the house looked worn beyond its years, Nana had replaced it a few years back. Insurance covered it after a nasty October storm. When I was younger, I would hoist myself up from the railing, but I didn’t trust that it would hold me now.

Nana’s outdoor table was just the right height. I moved the bench out of the way and dragged the table to the lower edge of the roof near the screened-in porch. I felt a strange surge of pride when I was able to push my arms up and swing my legs onto the shingles a few minutes later.

I’ve still got it!

But the fall from the sides looked a lot farther and the pitch of the roof a lot steeper than I’d remembered, reminding me that I was not, in fact, still fifteen. Afraid to stand up, I scrambled to the chimney, needing something to provide the illusion of stability. With one hand on the warm bricks, I turned to face the beach, pleased when I could still see a slice of green-blue water.

“Take that, mini mansions. We’ve still got our million-dollar view.”

“Hello?”

I almost slid down a few shingles at the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the porch below.

“Just a second,” I called, managing to crawl my way to the edge of the roof.

Standing on the middle of the deck was what looked like a character from a movie. A leggy blonde supermodel type in cut-off shorts, a white t-shirt, and a leather tool belt slung low on her hips. The handle of her hammer extended below the frayed hem of her shorts.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

She shaded her eyes with one hand and stared up at me. “Oh, hi. Are you the roof inspector? Jackson sent me over but didn’t mention anything about the roof.”

“No. I’m actually the owner.” The word felt strange on my tongue and yet also completely right. I felt a surge of possessiveness for Nana’s cottage.

The woman continued to stare at me, blinking large blue eyes. “Okay. Not what I expected.” She gave a small laugh. “I’m Emily, one of Jackson’s contractors. He might not have touched base with you about specifics because he’s having a baby right about now.”

My coffee with Vivi and Jackson seemed like forever ago, not just that morning. His wife was still in labor? Ouch. I was surprised by that, and by the fact that Jackson had someone here so soon. Especially someone who looked like … Emily.

“Mind if I come up?”

“Be my guest.” I gestured to the table, and Emily nodded, then unclipped her tool belt and dropped it on the table with a thunk. Making it look effortless with her long, lean legs, she pulled herself up and joined me on the roof.

I shimmied my way back to the chimney and sat up, watching how Emily fearlessly strode from one end of the roof to the other without any hesitation.

“Well, look at that. Ocean view,” she said pointing.

“I used to climb up here as a kid to see it. Nana would have killed me if she knew.”

Emily walked up the incline and sank down next to me, so close that I could smell the coconut scent of sunscreen. Strings from a bikini top hung over the collar of her T-shirt, the front of which sported what looked like a coffee stain.

She held out her hand. “Emily Echols.”

Maybe it was that coffee stain making her seem more human somehow, but I managed a real smile. “Clementine Firth.”

She groaned. “What a name! I have a theory that names are like curly and straight hair.”

I didn’t follow. Not even a little. “What?”

“Women with curly hair always wish they had straight hair. Women with straight hair want curls. It’s the same with names. I can’t tell you how many other Emilys I ran into growing up. Even now. But Clementine—you’re one of a kind. But I’ll go out on a limb here and guess you got made fun of growing