Page 8 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

“I guess I could make a few calls…” the attorney said.

Remy nodded her head. “Figure out all your options.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful if you could do that,” Meredith said into the phone.

“Sure,” he said, but his friendly demeanor had changed. “There are many other items you’ll have to go through, like his art, books, and other personal effects.”

Remy whispered, “You should go up there.”

Meredith shook her head…but she could use a day from doing nothing but perseverating on Phillip’s baby, Jacob’s death, and the fact that her mother had a key to his cottage. What else didn’t she know?

“If you could get back to me about the real estate agent, that would be great,” she said into the phone. “Otherwise, I’ll have to check my schedule about coming to Maine.”

“Okay.” The attorney sounded surprised. “I’m happy to meet with you to go over everything if you’d like. I could come back down to Massachusetts in another week.”

Meredith tapped her fingers against the table. Should she go up there? Figure this all out and deal with it like a big girl?

“Go up there,” Remy insisted. “What else do you have to do?”

Meredith looked at her sister. The comment meant nothing to Remy, but it cut through Meredith. She had nothing in her life. No husband. No kids. Her summer was as free as free could be. None of her piano students wanted to continue through the summer. No one needed her around.

“I’ll have to get back to you, Mr. Michaud,” she said. “Have a nice day.”

“Would you like me to call—”

She hung up.

Meredith put her phone down on the kitchen table and stared out.

“So?” Remy lifted her eyebrows. “Are you going to go?”

“He left me a house and a boat,” Meredith said in utter disbelief. “And apparently our mother had a key to his cottage.”

This man had enough money to have a cottage on the ocean, a boat, and more assets?

She opened the article again, staring at the photo of the artist in front of the statue. The byline readLocal sculptor, Jacob O’Neill, describes his muse for the mermaid.

She closed the screen, unable to read more. She did not want to hear about his muse or inspiration to create her mother as a sea maiden. She’d been Gordon’s wife for over forty years at that point.

She could not see if there was a tattoo on his wrist or not. But one thing she was certain about—it had been Jacob O’Neill the day they had visited Maine when she was a little girl.

CHAPTER4

Meredith stepped inside her childhood home. “Dad?”

“I’m in here!” Gordon called out from the kitchen. He poked his head around the corner. “I’m cleaning up.”

Meredith had always known Gordon wasn’t herrealfather. Her mother, Jacqueline, would talk about how Gordon had been her knight in shining armor. The doctor who had helped a single mom after Jacob had been “unable” to be a father. Gordon had adopted her after her parents had gotten married, giving her his last name. He did everything for her and loved her unconditionally. Meredith had always been grateful for Gordon coming into her life, and her loyalty ran deep.

So, what was Jacqueline doing with a key to Jacob’s cottage?

Jacqueline had been open, to a point, about Meredith’s father. He’d had mental issues and addiction, but she had never provided details. She’d never explained why her father couldn’t be a father, but Meredith hadn’t wanted to know. She only knew a few things about her real father through different conversations she had overheard throughout her lifetime. And she preferred it that way.

The facts she did know were slim.

Jacob O’Neill had been a fisherman due to family obligation but had wanted to be an artist.

Jacqueline’s high-society, old-money family had disapproved of Jacob and their relationship.

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