“I don’t enjoy it either, for the record.” She turned her back on her mother, fuming. This had been a mistake. Of course her mother couldn’t leave well enough alone. That had always been the case. Have you asked her to stay? The idea was preposterous. Asking Emilia to stick around for her would be unfair and selfish. She’d do her best to enjoy the time they had and deal with the rest later.

Her foul mood ebbed as she set the table. She could see out the door to the porch, where Emilia was laughing, probably at one of her dad’s terrible jokes. She looked so right, sitting there. More so even than Kate, whom her father had adored. Emilia said something Morgan couldn’t hear, and her father threw back his head with mirth while Shannon emerged from the kitchen to place a hand on Morgan’s shoulder in sympathetic silence.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Emilia paused her assault on the weeds in the front garden to wipe a stream of sweat out of her eyes. Late July, she’d assumed incorrectly, would be cooler here than in Boston, but the degree or two of discrepancy didn’t make much of a difference once the temperature surpassed eighty-five degrees. At this rate, temps would hit ninety by noon. Maybe she’d head to the dock for a swim after she finished prepping the yard for the real estate agent.

Her hand tightened violently around the next weed. Calling the agent had been a good idea, she reminded herself. The real estate market was a total mystery to her, and she’d need an agent whether she decided to sell or rent. The woman had seemed nice enough on the phone. Professional, knowledgeable, and objective. Her insight would help Emilia make the decision she’d been putting off for months. Why, then, did the thought make her queasy?

It could be the heat she reminded herself. Haze shimmered over the gravel drive. Nell had opted to remain on the shaded porch, sleeping. Emilia plucked a thistle from behind a wilting shrub and tossed it into the wheelbarrow before slumping. The yard looked fine. She’d mowed the meadow, and the garden was respectably weed free, provided no one looked close enough. The agent—Katherine something—had mentioned photographs. Maybe she could Photoshop the last of the weeds out. Would she have to pay a landscaper if she decided to rent, or would the tenant take care of that? A property management company? But what if the house fell into disrepair and no one told her? Once again, she considered the relative ease of selling. It made more sense, once her emotions were out of the picture.