Page 47 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

“Never hurt a fly,” another said.

One woman came right over to Meredith and hugged her. “We simply loved your mother and father.”

Meredith looked to Remy, and realized she had tears in her eyes as the woman hugged her. And it struck her that she had been so stuck in her own pain and grief, Meredith had forgotten Remy’s own pain of losing their mother.

Right after Jacqueline had died, that’s when Phillip announced he was unhappy with their marriage so Meredith didn’t even think about Remy. She was in crisis mode. She never even checked in with Remy to see how she was dealing with the loss of their mother.

“If you need help with anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask,” Ginny said, placing her hand on Meredith’s arm.

Meredith stiffened at the touch, but then Ginny’s gentle hand felt nice, comforting.

“Do you know anything about his art?” Meredith asked.

Ginny’s eyes perked. “Yes. I do.”

“If you have any free time, my sister and I were about to start going through some of his stuff,” Meredith said.

“It would be our pleasure to help,” Hazel said, as her smile grew. “Come on, Queens!”

Just as they all walked toward the barn, coming over along a path, Quinn met them with a leather bag strapped against his chest. “We started making an inventory before Jacob died.”

Meredith followed behind the group to the barn. Quinn pulled open the massive barn doors as sunlight poured through the windows from outside. Dust sparkled in the air, making the whole space feel magical and mysterious. Just like the house, paintings leaned against every surface, each wooden beam, and stacked against each other.

“Wow,” Remy said, slowly walking inside. “There must be hundreds of paintings.”

“These are mostly of his own collection of art he painted throughout the years,” Quinn said.

“Look.” Remy pointed to a painting.

“It’s Mom.”

Another portrait hung in the center of the barn—a woman holding a child’s hand on a rocky beach as she looked out at sailboats floating in a harbor.

“It’s you,” Remy said to Meredith.

Meredith studied the painting. She calculated her age by the height and the clothing she wore. She must’ve been young, four or five.

“It’s right around the time she met Dad,” Remy said, looking at Quinn’s open computer screen.

Meredith looked over at what they were looking at. There on his screen were organized images of Jacob’s paintings. Under the painting, a caption listed the information.

Mother and daughter

Jacob O’Neill

1978

Oil canvas

She’d been five years old. It must have been just before Jacqueline had married Gordon. Had Jacqueline still loved Jacob at that point?

Meredith looked out at the water, glistening in the sun. The bay appeared calm and peaceful. A white steeple marked the center of the tiny village of Blueberry Bay. Off in the distance, dotted along the coast, were white houses punctuated by their chimneys.

“After the boat accident, everything changed. Jacob changed,” Ginny said. “He was never really the same. Your mother found out she was pregnant shortly thereafter, and well…”

Meredith waited for the sinking agitation that came when her biological story came up. But it didn’t. A new feeling came instead, one she hadn’t felt about Jacob…Curiosity.

“He never forgave himself for being the only survivor,” Ginny explained. “That’s when the drinking started, and he stopped communicating.”

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