Then there were her dreams. Try as she might to block her imagination from dwelling on Morgan Donovan during the day, at night her mind betrayed her. The result of her frustration and confusion was this: a freshly painted house. Crossing the task off her mental check list left the following list of things to resolve before she could get out of Seal Cove: put the house on the market, scatter her father’s ashes, and figure out the rest of her life. It didn’t bring her the sense of closure she’d hoped. Paint met her nostrils instead of the lingering whiff of tobacco. The walls looked significantly less terrifying without their taxidermy occupants, but she almost missed their glassy stares.

“What did we do, Nell?”

The dog leaned against her leg in response.

Had this whole thing been a mistake? Not that she’d had much choice as executor of her father’s estate, as well as the inheritor of said estate. The house had needed work. She could have paid someone, but that would have come with its own anxieties.

“Mom?” she said when her mother answered her call.

“Hi, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

“No. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Oh honey. It’s hard. It’s so, so hard. Do you need me to come up?”

“I don’t know.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I finished painting, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“Take it easy for a few days. Take Nell to the beach and read a book, or see your new friends. Then think about contacting a real estate agent to help you.”

A real estate agent. Someone who would set a price on what was left of her father’s life.

“Do I have to?” She sounded like a child.

“You don’t have to do anything, love. Your stepdad and I can take care of everything if you want us to.”

“I just . . .” She took a deep breath. “I just can’t believe he’s really gone.”

“I know.”

“I thought it was supposed to get easier.”

“It does, and it will, but easier doesn’t mean easy.”

“Do you ever miss him?”

A long pause echoed on the line.

“Parts of him. I miss the way he used to make me laugh. I miss listening to him play guitar. I miss how much he adored you.”

Emilia heard the unspoken litany of the things she didn’t miss. The drinking. The infidelity. The unpredictability of his moods and his refusal to change. Ben, her stepfather, was a much better husband, and he’d been a more reliable father.

“Tell Ben I say hi.”

“He misses you. You should give him a call.”

“Sure.” She couldn’t call Ben, though. Not about this. It seemed unfaithful somehow.

“I still don’t like you being all alone up there.”

“Anna Maria said she’d come up some time.”