Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,13

up with your name.”

I laughed. “Oh, did I!” I waved the end of my red hair at her. “Pair this with my name and I suffered through all the teasing. Oh, and people seem to think it’s hilarious to gift me those little oranges.”

“Clementines! Those are delicious.”

“Yep. Not so bad unless people are pelting them at you.”

Emily shook her head. “People suck. Is it a family name or do your parents just like unique names?”

“Not unless I have a family I don’t know about. I have no idea why they picked Clementine. My sister’s name is Ann.”

Emily narrowed her eyes and looked me up and down. “Another wild guess—you two don’t get along?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding!”

“They have those birth-order books, but someone should really write one about names. Like, how your name impacts your personality and how you get along with your family members.”

Emily shook her head, the smell of sunscreen making me want to climb down and hit the beach. Which reminded me of the obvious: we were still perched on the roof, discussing Emily’s name theory.

“I’ll sign up to be the first participant in your research,” I said. “But maybe we should have this conversation on a flat surface.”

Emily stood. “Right. Well, on the plus side, I can tell Jackson the roof is in great shape. It’s really too bad you don’t have a widow’s walk up here or one of those crow’s nests. It would be a great view and likely add value since you can then say beach view.”

She held out her hand, but I shook my head. “Give me a sec. I’ll be right down.”

Emily shrugged, then walked down the roof, swung over the side near where we’d gotten on, and disappeared.

It took me another minute or so to crab-walk on my palms and feet to the edge. Turning over on to my stomach, I slid my body over until my feet touched down on the table. I didn’t even mind the rough grit of the shingles that scraped over my stomach as I lowered myself.

Emily had reattached her tool belt and was looking into the screened-in porch. “This place is a gem,” she said.

“Thank you—” I started to say, but Emily had continued.

“A roughed-up one in need of a lot of work and TLC. But it’s got that Old Island appeal.”

Emily gave air quotes and an eye roll to the phrase Old Island.

I smiled. “You didn’t grow up here, I take it?”

“Nah. I’m Off Island.”

We both laughed at that, and I pushed open the door to let her inside, reminded of two things at once: the AC was still broken, and I needed a new lock. Or key. Maybe both.

“Whew!” Emily fanned her shirt away from her body, looking for a moment like she was going to strip off her T-shirt and continue our conversation in her bikini top.

I was relieved when she kept it on, letting go of the hem so she could tie her hair into one of those effortless messy hairstyles on top of her head. My hair always resembled a bad wig when I tried that. Not that it stopped me from doing it.

“The AC is out. Want to help me with the windows?”

A few minutes later, the room was slightly less oppressive with air circulating through the screens. Usually this was reserved for pre-spring weather, but without the AC, there was no choice.

Emily settled on the only barstool not covered by junk and began tapping on her phone. “So, the roof is good. AC is bad. You need new screens on the porch. Probably a whole new set of windows. Just for starters.”

As Emily looked around, I felt self-conscious about the clinical way she eyed Nana’s house. At least she hadn’t mentioned the hoarding issue.

Setting her phone in her lap, Emily met my gaze. “What do you think? Basic repairs or renovation?”

What I should have said was basic repairs. The faster we listed this place, the better. Ann and I could split the money and this responsibility wouldn’t be hanging over my head anymore. But looking around at this house that held the best memories from my childhood, I just couldn’t do it.

I met Emily’s gaze and said, without hesitation, “Renovation.”

from A Full Accounting of My Mistakes and Failures

#111 - Don’t make critical decisions when you’re hungry.

#112 - Don’t make critical decisions after a night without sleep.

#113 - Don’t make any decisions at all when you’re going through menopause.

7

I expected the rest of the Fab Four to descend on me