Bowie followed Carly as she moved through the main floor. When they came to the ballroom, he saw a lone rocking chair with an afghan sitting by the massive window. He knew instantly this was where she sat. He would, too, but for other reasons. He left her standing by the double doors as he went to the window. The view was indescribable. People along the harbor had tried to emulate what they’d seen from this ballroom, but no one had come close. He would know because he’d either built or renovated many homes along the cliff, and none of them compared to what he was seeing now.
“The windows stay,” she said, as if she thought he was going to suggest they change. He wouldn’t do anything different here and didn’t bother to respond. In due time, he would see the sunset from this window, reminding him of a different time in life. A time when all he cared about was drinking with his buddies, sneaking stolen glances with the girl he was in love with, and thinking he was invincible.
Carly shut off the lights, an indication that she was ready to move on. She paused in front of the grand staircase, her hand resting on the end of the banister. It was almost as if she was deciding whether to go upstairs.
“Mrs. Woods?” Bowie tentatively asked. “Is there more on the first floor that you want to look at?”
It was a long minute until she acknowledged him. “I need to talk to . . . I don’t know yet.”
“Talk to Simone? Do you want me to get her?”
Carly shook her head. “Shall we?” she asked with a smile. She climbed the wide planked steps one at a time. Bowie stayed a step or two behind her, fearful that she might fall. He realized he’d been mistaken earlier when he’d assumed the color of her hair was all that had changed. The death of her son had aged her, more so than what he deemed normal. His mother was still full of life, running half marathons and working. She had pep in her step, whereas Carly could barely move around. He’d had no idea death could affect people like this, and the thought that he could’ve possibly prevented any of this by coming around and being present in her life weighed heavily on him.
At the top of the stairs, the second-floor hallway was laid out in front of them. He knew there would be another staircase halfway down, as well as an elevator. Whether the elevator worked was a whole other question. He wasn’t going to test it out now; he’d wait until he had a crew member here.
She set off toward the first room. The inside was much like the downstairs, covered in cobwebs. He made a note to have the place fumigated, as well as to have the building checked for rodents and termites. This was turning out to be a much bigger job than he had thought. An idea came to him, one that would allow him to stay on as staff once the remodel finished. He could be the handyman, or his company could, making sure the inn was always functioning the way it should be. He’d talk to her about a permanent solution once the job he was there to do was completed.
Each room they entered as she led him through was like the previous, and he noticed that Carly made no bones about it. She told him her design ideas, what colors she wanted for each of the rooms, and he continued to argue with her that the lodge theme was their best bet, but she wasn’t listening. His pleas for change fell on deaf ears.
They finally found their way downstairs, once again avoiding the kitchen. The temptation to walk in there was great, but he would wait until tomorrow, when he came back to measure for wood. He could do that now but wanted to give the cleaning crew she hired a chance to wipe the grime away. Maybe then, Carly would see that changing the decor wasn’t necessary.
He left Carly in her house and went back outside. He walked the perimeter, making notes. The driveway needed to be dug up and repaved, and for the most part, the windows were sound. He moved brush away from the foundation and ran his fingers along the creases, looking for weak spots. Still, he decided that adding a layer of concrete to the exposed portions would be helpful. While out there, he stopped and admired the view. He hadn’t had a chance to take his family’s boat out yet this season—with the divorce and his company failing, he hadn’t felt like it. But standing there, seeing the barrage of colorful sails of the sailboats, made him miss being out on the water. It had taken years after Austin died for Bowie to set sail again. It was something they had loved doing together. His best friend gone, his life changed forever.