Page 12 of So Close

“God, yes, that would be a goat fuck. But—did I have to make him hate me?”

“From what you’ve said, he would have been a dick about this anyway.”

“Probably.” Auburn sighed.

“Did you talk to the lawyer?”

“Yeah. Carl can’t sell Beachcrest without Trey’s buy-in, which sucks. The good news is that Trey also can’t do anything without Carl’s buy-in. So they have to meet in the middle.”

“That’s good for you, right?”

Auburn shook her head. “Carl just had a heart attack. He’s seventy-one years old and ready to retire. And it’sCarl. I love Carl. I don’t want to put him in the middle of this. And I really don’t want to make him pick between me and his grandson—”

“He’ll pick you.”

Auburn shook her head. “That’s not the point. He loves Trey. You should hear the way he talks about Trey when he was little. The sun rose and shone on that boy, that was for sure. I’m not going to ask him to screw his grandson over. Not even for Beachcrest. So I think I might be shit out of luck. Maybe I should look into getting a real estate license so I can sell those fancy new condos of Trey’s.”

Her sister’s face was full of sympathy. “I’m pouring you more wine.”

Auburn took a healthy swig, leaned against the white upholstered headboard, and gave in, for a moment, to despair.

“Have you tried explaining to Trey why you love it so much?” Chiara asked.

Auburn shook her head. “I tried, but I just kind of babbled about magic, and he was disgusted. I didn’t tell him any of the real stuff. About how when Mom and Dad died, and you were at college—”

It was hard to talk about. How Levi had been busy trying to save them all. Hannah had been drowning in her own grief. And Mason had been as remote as ever. Untouchable. Unreachable.

Beachcrest had been an island of calm, a place where people went to be joyful. Carl and his wife had been her oasis and working there had given her purpose. She could create a magical experience for vacationers, even if her own life was full of pain. In the kitchen, there was peace—the rhythms of chopping, beating, stirring. In the dining room, there were the distractions of conversations with people from all over the world. There were the glimmering moments—two friends who hadn’t seen each other since high school, reunited. An engagement on the beach. A sixtieth wedding anniversary.

She shook her head. “Even if I could explain it, he’s not going to get it.”

“Maybe—?”

“He’s a bean counter, Chiara. A ones and zeroes guy. Beachcrest is the opposite of that. It’s all peopley and warm and fuzzy. It’s like he and I exist on parallel planes of the universe.”

Auburn’s phone vibrated. She leaned forward and flipped it over.

“It’s Carl,” she said, feeling a tiny buzz of hope. “He says to call him. He wants to talk about the Beachcrest sale.”

“Do it,” Chiara said. She poured herself another glass of wine. “Do you want some privacy? I can go out to the lobby.”

“No. Stay.”

Auburn tapped to make the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, boss.” Carl’s gruff tones filled her ear. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re like a daughter to me, Auburn. Or another granddaughter. Whatever you want to call it.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“And Beachcrest is my life’s work. I’ve had my ups and downs, I told you, but Beachcrest is the one thing I’ve done right. I can’t see it torn down, Auburn. I can’t. I want to fight Trey. I want to sell it to you, and then I’ll know you have it and will take care of it for me.”

The tears ran down her face, but she swiped them away and took a deep breath. What he was offering—she wanted so badly to reach out and grab it, but—she had to keep Carl at the forefront of her mind in all this. Beachcrest was important, sure, but it was a thing, not a person. And Carl was sick, and tired, and old. “Trey doesn’t seem like an easy person to fight, Carl. Taking him on would be complicated and exhausting for you. And as your surrogate daughter or granddaughter or whatever I am, I can’t condone your fighting him when you’re also trying to recover from a heart attack.”

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