Page 3 of Widow’s Walk

Sully’s expression remained neutral, his shoulders tensed slightly as he continued. “They also found iron nails hammered in specific formations beneath the floorboards near the entryways. We discovered them when we had to replace some water-damaged sections.”

“Iron nails?” Amy murmured.

“One of the crew, Garrett, said his grandmother has similar markings in her house.” Sully shook his head. “Old superstitions, probably.”

Amy studied him; there was more he wasn’t saying. Like when he delivered news about budget over-runs in the renovations. “But you’re worried enough about these ‘superstitions’ that you don’t want your crew hearing about potential ghosts.”

Sully ran a hand over his face, a gesture Amy had noticed he made when particularly frustrated, which was a lot when they spoke. “Look, I’m a practical person. I deal in measurable things—load-bearing walls, foundation depths, proper wiring. But my crew… many of them come from families that have lived on this island for generations. They’ve grown up hearing stories about the mansion.”

“What kind of stories?” Amy pressed.

“The usual haunted house fare and the Woman in White on the widow’s walk during storms.” He shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Island folklore.”

A silence stretched between them as Amy sipped her tea. Her bangles jingled on her wrists. Sully’s frown deepened. Amy set her mug down, a realization crystallizing.

“Neither of us can walk away from this project, can we? Not you, not me,” she said.

Sully met her gaze, surprise flickering across his features at her frankness.

“No,” he admitted. “My company is the largest employer on the island after the ferry service and the school. The construction is planned through the summer, so the crew is counting on the work…” He didn’t finish the thought.

“And I’ve invested everything,” Amy whispered. The familiar shame of failure squeezed her lungs. Another incomplete project, another dream abandoned. Just like her “business ventures” with maxed-out credit cards and nothing to show for them.

Amy was a stark contrast to her sister Kelsey, who had succeeded at everything she’d ever attempted—nursing school, single motherhood, even a second chance at love. Meanwhile, Amy kept chasing dreams that dissolved like morning mist. The mansion was supposed to be different. Truman Costigan had believed in her enough to leave her this property. She couldn’t let him down. She couldn’t let herself down. Not again.

As Amy spoke, her eyes drifted to the framed photo on her mantle, a snapshot of her and Kelsey as children, arms around each other, grinning at the camera with identical smiles. Even then, Kelsey had been the one with the sports trophies and perfect report cards.

Amy’s gaze then landed on the painting hanging above the fireplace, a vibrant abstract piece she’d completed during her brief stint at school, before self-doubt and the realities of tuition costs had forced her to withdraw. The swirls of color mocked her now. They were nothing more than a reminder of the creativity she’d once believed could carry her through anything.

The blaring sound of Sully’s cell phone jarred them both. He answered it and after a brief, curt exchange, turned back to Amy. The familiar scowl was deep between his eyes.

“I trust you’ll figure this out,” he said. “I have work to do. The bill for this week will be on your desk by Monday. Just a reminder, by our contract, you have an obligation to give adequate notice prior to any changes in the work.”

“You mean I will owe you whether or not I opt to finish the project.”

“Yes, and I would ask that you refrain from spooking my crew with your talk of ghosts.”

Amy raised her eyebrow at him, relieved somewhat that they had gone back to their typical antagonistic exchanges. Amy caught a fleeting glimpse of a weariness in his eyes that went beyond the physical exhaustion of long workdays. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual mask of irritation, but it was enough to make her wonder, just for a moment, what burdens Sully carried beneath his gruff exterior.

“Please let me know if your crew finds any more of those odd markings or bottles,” she said.

Sully nodded, then exited her kitchen. The glasses rattled in the cupboard as the door slammed behind him.

The cottage seemed to exhale as he left, the familiar quiet settling in after the storm of his presence. She leaned against the door for a moment, pressing her palms flat against the wood before rolling her shoulders and forcing herself to breathe. This was her sanctuary. She could reclaim her calm.

Ollie padded over, toenails clicking on the hardwood, before flopping onto the rug with a hopeful sigh. “You’re right,” Amy murmured, stroking his small, warm head. “Let’s reset.”

She reached for the wicker basket tucked by the bookshelf and pulled out her worn yoga mat. Spreading it across the living room floor, she tried to ignore the faint shake in her hands. She felt the familiar rhythm of sun salutations begin to steady her. Breath in, arms reach; breath out, invert and fold.

The simple pulse of movement was a balm, something she could sink into when her thoughts threatened to spin apart. Warrior, plank, downward dog. Her body remembered the positions, even if her spirit lagged behind.

Ollie yawned, curling into a crescent on the nearby rug, ears flickering in time with her flow. By the time Amy settled into child’s pose, the edge of panic had dulled. Stretching into lotus, she folded her hands loosely in her lap, closed her eyes, and let her breath fall soft and deep.

Warmth. Balance. Release. The mantra she had repeated for years, to clients and to herself, rose automatically to smooth her jagged nerves. She tried to picture light rising through her spine, candle flames in her chest and throat, brightness at the crown of her head.

And beneath that vision, she reached outward—toward the sense of calm she had felt from the first day she’d stepped foot on the grounds. A warmth that had pulled at her, grounded her. That presence was why she had stayed on this island after moving so suddenly years ago. Why she had pressed Truman Costigan again and again about his plans for the empty house. Why she had built impossible dreams for it in spite of its reputation.

She felt it again now. Just for an instant.