Page 34 of Drawing Home
He tossed the dart and hit the bull’s-eye. She hated him.
“Emma, I hear you. I’ve been working for Bea for five years now, and believe me, I put up with a lot of shit. But let’s say she pulls a Henry Wyatt and drops dead at the bar tomorrow over her glass of sauvignon blanc. And then let’s say it turns out that she left everything to me. Here’s the headline: ‘Park Avenue Socialite and Art Patron Leaves Multimillion-Dollar Estate to Assistant.’ Do you honestly think that wouldn’t be questioned?”
“That’s a paranoid way to look at things.”
“I’m just saying Bea isn’t the only one asking questions. She’s just the only person close enough to the situation to get involved.”
“So you’re defending her?”
“I’m telling you she’s not a bad person. She can be a pain in the ass, but she’s not malicious. She’s acting in her own self-interest and I guess in the interest of her friend. This isn’t really about you.”
“No, it’s not about me. It’s about my daughter, because you’re forgetting Henry Wyatt left the house toher. I know it looks crazy, okay? It seemed crazy to me when I heard it. But it’s legitimate. I never asked for it, I never imagined it, but it happened. And I’m not going to let some woman swoop in from Park Avenue and take it away from her.” Emma downed the rest of her beer, set the empty bottle on the bar, and walked out. The air was soupy with humidity, more like August than June. She breathed deeply as she followed Division to the water. How dare he come into her bar and try to justify Bea Winstead’s behavior?
“Emma, wait up,” he called from behind her. She ignored him, crossed the street, passed the Bay Street Theater, and walked by the shops leading to the pier. When she looked back, she saw he was following her.
She stepped over a low wooden plank and sat down on a bench at the edge of the water. Far offshore, dozens of lights winked from a cluster of boats.
She crossed her arms, staring off into the distance. “Go away,” she said.
He sat on the far end of the bench, giving her some space.
“You seem like a nice woman,” he said. “And your kid seems like a good kid. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to tell you what you’re really up against. She’s not some cartoon villain. This is complicated.”
She turned to him. “It’s not complicated. It’s very, very simple. My daughter inherited the estate. This is all legit. So don’t patronize me.”
Sean’s water taxi skimmed slowly to a stop in front of the dock, and she jumped up. “Sean!” she called. “Can you give me a lift?”
“You got it. Where to?” She pointed across the bay.
Kyle followed her to the landing steps. “Where are you going?” he said.
“To my daughter’s house,” Emma said. It was an impulse, but she wanted to make a point. What was the saying? Possession was nine-tenths of the law? “The house that your boss isn’t going to scare me away from. Go back to New York, Kyle. Just leave. You don’t belong here.”
Sean’s dog yipped loudly.
She moved to the helm of the small launch and held on to the metal rail, comforted by the rumble of the engine. Melville settled by her feet as the boat took off. Motion was good. Move forward.Don’t look back.But she did—just one glance.
Kyle Dunlap was there in the distance, watching her leave.
Chapter Fourteen
Bea had always been a firm believer in rising early. There was nothing like Park Avenue when the only souls stirring were the doormen hosing down the sidewalks. The American Hotel at eight in the morning, she found, had a similar tranquillity. There was not a sound from a single guest room, and in the lobby, the only movement was a handful of workers stuffing tea roses into silver vases. And in this quiet, when all seemed ordered and as it should be, she felt overcome by the charm of the place.
She found Jack Blake waiting for her at a table in the dining room where they served a continental breakfast. The space was narrow but bright thanks to the skylight. One wall was exposed brick, the other wood-paneled with long mirrors. The potted plants reached the ceiling, and some hung down, giving the place an airy, garden feeling. The tables were dressed with white linens and set with floral-patterned china.
Jack stood and pulled out a wicker chair for her.
“What a lovely place you have, Jack. I haven’t been here in many, many years but I’m pleased to see it hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Thank you, Bea. That’s the idea.”
“How much time do you spend in Sag Harbor?”
“Winters in Palm Beach, summers here. Sometimes Christmas too, but it depends on my wife.”
“I think it was the holidays when I met you in Palm Beach. Isn’t that right?”
He nodded. A waitress poured them coffee and set the carafe on the table. “Angela, bring us some croissants and the fruit salad, please.” He turned back to Bea. “So, what brings you out here and what can I do for you?”
