Page 20 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

Meredith sat there. She could feel the energy in the room change. The friendly secretary talking about her quaint town now looked upset.

“How much land is there?” Meredith asked.

He looked at his mother. “Thirty acres.”

“Thirty acres!” Meredith’s jaw dropped. Thirty acres! On the water. It had to be worth at least her portion of the house, if not a little more. Maybe. “How much is it worth?”

The secretary frowned. “It’s a piece of our town. Jacob has always opened his land to the public—”

“Mom,” the attorney cut her off. “I’m not sure the current estimate of its worth, but a few years ago, it was appraised for slightly over a million.”

“A million!” She couldn’t believe it. “The land is worth a million?”

“Yes,” he said, shifting some papers.

The secretary’s face dropped in disappointment as she looked at her son.

“It’ll be torn up and destroyed.” The secretary turned to her. “Wildlife, the shoreline, the blueberries—all of it will be destroyed by builders if you sell it to the wrong hands. Jacob hoped you would want to continue the family tradition and allow the town to use the farm.”

Meredith thought of the liability of having strangers walking along the ocean’s edge plucking blueberries.

“Mom, seriously, you need to leave now,” the man said.

The secretary shot him a look in shock.

He gestured his head to her desk and widened his eyes. “Please.”

She turned her attention to Meredith. “You seem like a very lovely woman. I apologize if I come across pushy, but I’m just deeply passionate about my town and keeping some of it untouched.”

She shot her son a look before she walked to her desk, opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a purse, hooked it on her shoulder, and headed toward the door.

“I’ll have the leftovers in the microwave,” she said to him as she pushed the door open.

And with that, she walked out.

Meredith watched through the office windows as the woman walked to a station wagon and got in.

“I apologize for that,” he said once she turned back around. “She doesn’t want to see the land sold to developers.”

Meredith folded her hands together and placed them on the table, wishing she had taken Remy’s offer to come up with her.

“Mr. Michaud,” she began.

“Please, call me Quinn,” he said.

“I never knew Jacob O’Neill,” she said, beginning with the most glaring fact. “Who I just recently found out has died. To say I’m a bit overwhelmed by all of this is an understatement.”

“Yes, I apologize for my mother,” he said. “She shouldn’t have interrupted our meeting. I’m sorry for that.”

“Am I walking into a town dispute about land?” she asked. She remembered when a house at the other end of town had wanted to build an addition and the town of Andover had the poor couple jump through hoops and cut tons of red tape to no avail.

But, if she did sell, she could keep her home in Andover. “What do I need to do next?”

“Jacob’s art is still in a few galleries,” he said. “I talked to all the owners, and they’ll keep them until they sell for now.”

She thought about her mother’s artwork. After she had died, Meredith hadn’t been able to look at her mother’s stuff. She hadn’t even been able to go into her art studio above the garage. The regrets filled her when she looked at her mother’s paintings. From the little questions of her muse to what she felt about life’s purpose. How she felt as a single mother and if she’d been proud of her accomplishments of motherhood.

So many questions she hadn’t asked.

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