Page 11 of Widow’s Walk

Sully killed the engine and climbed out, dust still clinging to his clothes.

“Didn’t expect you today,” Sully said neutrally.

“You never do,” the old man answered. His voice already carried the edge Sully had known since childhood—with sharpness wrapped around every word. “You’ve got guys falling off ladders now?”

Sully exhaled. “Garrett’s fine. Slipped, maybe. Got checked out at the clinic.”

“That’s not what I heard.” His father stood, squaring his shoulders. “You were supposed to be supervising. Safety first. That’s how I ran the business for forty years. Now you’ve got one of your men almost breaking his neck.”

Sully bit down hard on the reflex to argue. That was the trick—stay calm, fix it, never give the man more proof you couldn’t handle the job. “It was an accident, Dad.”

“Accidents don’t happen when people pay attention.” He jabbed a finger toward Sully. “You’ve got your head too far in the clouds. Always have. You want to paint? Fine. Do it on your own time. But when you’re on a job, you’re a contractor. A foreman. A business owner. Not some daydreaming artist.”

Sully felt the heat climb his neck. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” His father snorted. “You think it’s fair watching you destroy a decent business? Those clouds in your head likely cost you your marriage too.”

That landed like a hammer. Sully stared at him for a long moment. “She left me for another man. Had nothing to do with art, or clouds.”

His father waved a dismissive hand. “A woman doesn’t walk unless she’s not happy. A good man keeps her happy. Fifty years, your mother and me. You think that happened by chance?”

Sully bit back the reply burning in his throat—that his mother had decided to endure an unhappy marriage just to keep their family together. He’d learned long ago that arguing only gave the old man more ground to stand on.

“You know,” his father went on. “I’ve been hearing rumors about this mansion job. I’m not sure it’s good for the company’s reputation. The place has got bad history with those murders, whatever people are saying. You ought to be careful tying our reputation to it.”

“Our reputation,” Sully repeated.

“Yeah. Sullivan’s still means something on this island, even if you forget it. And that York woman? I hear she’s been applying for town funds. That kind of talk gets around. You sure she can pay your crew if the money doesn’t come through?”

Sully crossed his arms, jaw tight. “She’s paid every invoice so far. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Hm.” His father tugged his cap lower, studying him the way a man studies a cracked tool handle—something that used to work but doesn’t fit right anymore. “Just don’t make a fool of yourself. Or the business.” He stepped off the porch. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he crossed to the car. “You’ve got potential, Sully, but potential doesn’t mean a damn thing if you don’t focus.”

Sully knew the old man’s bark was all he had left; it was the only language he knew for love. The door slammed shut, the sedan’s engine turned over, and just like that, he was gone—leaving the smell of exhaust and old anger in his wake.

Sully stood there in the quiet for a long time. Wind brushed through the trees, cool and sharp as regret.

He’d never be enough for the man. And no matter how carefully he measured every cut, every nail, the old man still lived in Sully’s head counting mistakes.

Seven years ago, Sully had walked away from the family business, from the island. Walked toward art school and a chance at romance. It had bruised his father’s pride beyond repair. When Sully had finally come home—after the divorce, after his mother’s diagnosis—his father had treated the return as surrender.

Now, every interaction with the man felt like an audit of his worth.

Sully leaned against his truck, staring at the horizon where the sea burned gold under the last light. He tried to shake off the conversation, but it clung stubbornly like lead in his gut. It was the same familiar ache—that he would never be enough. That his life, as he’d lived it so far, would never measure up to his father’s expectations.

Somewhere in that empty gold line of sea and sky, he still wanted to believe there was one person who’d look at him and see more than the measure of his mistakes.

Chapter 5

Three weeks later, Amy sat at her desk in the mansion’s temporary office. Papers and fabric swatches were strewn across the surface, along with Sully’s latest complaints scrawled across sticky notes stuck to the blueprints he’d left behind. His notes were, as usual, blunt and borderline rude: This design doesn’t work for the load-bearing wall. You’re going to collapse the east wing if you don’t adjust this. Amy rolled her eyes and muttered, “Sure, Sully, because I’m just dying to collapse an already haunted mansion.”

She scanned the overall work plan that had guided the massive renovations and restorations since last fall, when they began the work and promptly had to overhaul the timeline due to Ollie’s discovery of human remains.

She sighed, chewing on the end of her pen as she reviewed Sully’s notes for modifications. Most of the big electrical and HVAC work was completed. They would be working on the flooring, and plaster/drywall repair once the hospital wing was completed. Then there would be painting the walls and exterior siding. There wasn’t a surface of the old building that wouldn’t be touched. The plan was to be finished mid-summer.

Outside, the air had shifted. The oppressive warmth of the late-spring afternoon gave way to a sudden coolness. Through the tall windows behind her, the sky was darkening. Bruised purple clouds were rolling in from the sea.

The wind picked up, rattling the loose panes in the old windows. Amy glanced up as a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The storm was moving fast, carrying with it an unsettling energy that seemed to seep into the mansion itself. She shivered and pulled her cardigan tighter around her.