Page 4 of Spindrift

“Highschool reunion?” Emilia guessed, wondering how she could get out of thisincreasingly mortifying situation.

“Ithink you have to go to an event for it to get ranked, and I’ve managed toavoid those reunions. I’m Morgan, by the way. You might not remember me, but you’reRay’s daughter, Emilia, aren’t you?”

“Iremember you,” she said to forestall the kick that came with the wordsRay’sdaughter. The German shepherd tilted his head as he appraised them. Knowingthe next words out of Morgan’s mouth would be condolences, she seized on theopportunity. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Kraken.”

“Kraken?”

“Myhousemate named him. She wanted to be able to use the phrase ‘release thekraken’ at least once a day.”

Emiliacouldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. The idea was ridiculous, andtherefore made her feel slightly less so. “Well, I appreciate that you didn’tlet him pull me into a watery grave.”Not that I needed the help.

“Ikeep his tentacles trimmed.”

Emiliaopened her mouth to crack a joke about the veterinary politics surroundingdeclawing and if they applied to de-tentacling, but stopped herself. She wasn’tDr. Russo, here. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to be Dr. Russo again.

“I’llget the clothes back to you. And wash them.”

“Don’tworry about it. Just drop them in my skiff. Last name Donovan is painted on it.”

“Okay.”

“Look,Emilia . . .”

“It’sfine.”

“No,I mean—” Morgan paused and took a deep breath. “Your dad was a friend of mine.”

“Oh.”At home in Boston, no one had known her father. She’d accepted that coming herethings would be different, but this was the first time she’d had to face thereality of the life Ray Russo had led when she wasn’t with him. Of course heand Morgan were friends; they kept their boats at the same marina. Had hetalked about his daughter? She didn’t remember seeing Morgan at the funeral,but then again she hadn’t paid much attention to the other mourners. Her owngrief and its ensuing complications had consumed her.

Theproblem with condolences, she’d learned, was people expected the bereaved tosay something in return. For a while she’d said “thank you,” but as the weekspassed and things didn’t get easier, “thank you” grew harder to say. Sheobserved how other people responded in situations like this, watching moviesand listening to podcasts, but how could she say “yes, he was a good man” whenhis drinking had deprived her of a father? How could she say “I am sorry foryour loss, too,” when she had no idea what he had meant to these people?

Isn’tthat why you came here?asked the voice in the back of her head that enjoyed playing devil’s advocatefar more than conscience.No.She’d come here to settle his estate andget away from the dumpster fire of her own life, not to immerse herself in his.She didn’t want to know about his legacy.

Toomuch time had passed since Morgan had spoken and she had said “oh,” thatterminal word, killer of conversations the world over. A chorus of peepersfilled the silence of the chilly late May evening. She wrapped her hands aroundNell’s collar and clung to it, feeling the warmth from her dog’s body againstthe backs of her fingers.

“Well,it was nice to meet you,” said Morgan, in a voice too full of understanding forEmilia to tolerate. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.Sure.”

“Andyou might want to think about taking a boating safety course.”

Heatexploded in her chest. A boating safety course? Really? Who did this womanthink she was? She glared at Morgan, who visibly flinched. She savored thesmall victory.

“I’llconsider it,” she said in a clipped voice. “Nell, come.”

• • •

Morganpulled into the long, winding gravel drive of 16 Bay Road, wincing as the trucknearly disappeared into a pothole. She’d have to see if Bill would grade it fora discount on his herd’s spring exam again. The grass needed to be cut,too—something else she didn’t have time for. The patchy spring growth shot upin some places and remained stunted in others, a testimony to the cruelty ofthe past winter. There were four of them in the house, Lillian and Angie inaddition to Morgan and Stevie—someone else could do it. Lillian liked plants.Grass was a plant.

Hershoulders tightened as she saw the number of cars parked in the small gravellot in front of the barn-turned-doggy-daycare and boarding facility for Angie’sstart of the summer season staff party. She didn’t actively dislike Angie’semployees, but after a day like today, all she wanted to do was curl up on thecouch or crash into her bed. Mingling with a group of teenagers andcollege-aged kids who still believed in their dreams didn’t enter that picture.

Sheparked in her customary spot in front of the sprawling farmhouse. White paintpeeled off the northwest side of the house, but they’d gotten the gardens undercontrol last fall, and carefully pruned shrubs and lilac bushes covered up theworst of the rotted siding.

“Let’sget this over with,” she said to Kraken. He leapt out after her and performed aquick inspection of the darkening yard before bounding onto the porch. Hewaited with obvious impatience for her to kick off her boots. Kraken didn’tmind Angie’s employees. They all showed him the admiration he felt he deserved.

Inside,voices clamored to be heard above the bursts of laughter. The sound of claws skitteringon the hardwood floors alerted her to the arrival of the house’s other residentcanines. Stevie’s brindle pitbull wagged his tail enthusiastically with hisface split in a goofy grin. Lillian’s two dogs followed: an obscenely fluffy seventy-poundmutt and a tiny Italian greyhound. Both were one leg short of a complete set.

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