Page 85 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

“What’s this man’s name?” she asked.

“Greg,” Remy said. “He’s fabulous at what he does. I use him all the time.”

Meredith didn’t understand one thing about the art world.

“He’s an appraiser and an art dealer,” Remy said. “He can find the people who will want to buy Jacob’s work.”

“And you think he’ll get a lot of money for Jacob’s pieces?” Meredith felt doubtful that Remy’s art friend could get the prices estimated for Jacob’s art.

Remy nodded. “Yes. I think you could get a good amount for the sheer volume of work he had that hasn’t been shown to the public.”

Meredith crossed her arms against her stomach, wondering what the best thing to do was. Did she keep the art for her children? Did she keep it for her?

She stood in front of a painting with a sea dark as night, the sky even darker, and a wooden dinghy heading out to sea. A shadowed figure huddled at the bow. Off in the distance, along the cliff’s edge, stood one purple lupine lit up by a single ray of sun.

“Do you think I was cruel for never wanting to meet him?” Meredith asked.

“You have never been cruel in your life,” Remy said, shutting the portfolio they had created for Greg. “You have always been the best, most protective big sister a girl could ask for.”

Meredith smiled, but Remy hadn’t answered the question. “But with Jacob, I never listened to Mom and reached out to him. And now I’m selling his life’s work.”

Remy scoffed at that. “So?”

“She wanted me to meet him and I didn’t.” It had been one of Jacqueline’s wishes at the end of her life.

“Mom had her own reasons.” Remy sighed at this. “But you had no reason to go and hunt down a man, who clearly could reach out himself.” Remy shook her head. “Look, I understand all the stories and how he offered the land and took Kyle out fishing and helped all the widows, but you owe this man nothing. He had fifty years to sober up and do the right thing, but he didn’t, so don’t blame yourself for his mistakes. Just like Phillip. You were the best wife. You didn’t do anything wrong to make him leave you. It was Phillip who made the mistake.”

Meredith studied the painting in front of her. The rocky cliffside had pines on top of the earth, and the dark sea hung below, churning on the edges of the world. Madness came to her head as she continued to examine the oil painting. The strokes of color were thick and heavy clumps of paint. It felt messy, rushed, and darker than his others. They estimated that the painting had been Jacob’s last finished piece.

Had he known his body was dying? Had he ever experienced more than this isolated madness?

“We should have a public viewing of his art,” Remy said. “Invite the Queens and stuff. We could display all his work. I bet no one around here saw much of it besides Ginny.”

Meredith made a face at first, but then she thought about it.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Meredith said.

Remy beamed. “I can plan everything. All you need to do is show up.”

Meredith shook her head. “No, I want to help. I think it’s a great idea.”

“We could have something here,” Remy said. “Let people see the farm and display his work in the barn. Let the Queens show off their hard work over the years.”

Meredith sat up thinking about the Queens. “Maybe more people will want to join.”

Remy looked at Meredith. “Then maybe we shouldn’t.”

“What do mean?” Meredith said.

“Well, if you’re going to sell this place, the whole thing is over anyway,” Remy said. “There will be no Queens.”

Meredith didn’t want to end the gardening club but could she really keep this place?

Car tires pulled up into the drive, and the conversation stopped, but Meredith couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of the Queens ending if she sold the property.

But she simply couldn’t keep up with two houses. She didn’t even want to think about what the lawn looked like in Andover. She would have to sell it—she knew that. But would she sell the cottage?

A month ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

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