Susan Mallery - Three Sisters

Andi turned to admire the view. On a clear day the water of Puget Sound sparkled. Granted, clear days were relatively rare in this part of the country, but Andi was okay with that. She liked the rain. The gray, drizzly sky, the squish of her boots against the sidewalk. All that gloom made her appreciate the sunny days.

She turned west, looking out over the sound. The houses had a perfect view. They’d originally been built by sea captains, oriented to watch the ships sail in. In the late 1800s, seafaring had still been important to the area, not yet overtaken by the lure of logging.

This was right, she thought happily. She belonged here. Or she would belong, with time. If the renovations started to get to her, she would simply look at her view. The dance of the water, the peninsula beyond were far different from the high-rises of downtown Seattle. The city might only be a couple of hours away by car, but it was another planet when compared to the small town that was Blackberry Island.

“Hello! Are you the one who bought the house?”

Andi turned and saw a woman walking toward her. She was of average height, with long dark red hair that flowed halfway down her back. She wore jeans and clogs, with an ivory cable-knit sweater that just grazed her hips. Her face was more interesting than pretty, Andi thought as she approached. High cheekbones and large green eyes. Her pale skin was probably a result of both genetics and a complete lack of sun exposure since the previous September.

“Hi. Yes, I am.”

The woman smiled. “Finally. That poor place. It’s been so lonely. Oh, I’m Boston. Boston King.” She pointed to the house with the sculpture of the bird on the lawn. “I live there.”

“Andi Gordon.”

They shook hands. Weak sunlight broke through the clouds and highlighted what looked like a dark purple streak in Boston’s hair.

Andi fingered her own dark hair and wondered if she should do something as dramatic. The most she’d ever managed was a trim.

“Any relation to Zeke King?” Andi asked. “He’s the contractor I’ve been emailing about the house.”

Boston’s expression brightened. “My husband. He and his brother own a local firm here on the island. He’d mentioned he’d been in touch with the new owner.” She tilted her head. “But he didn’t say anything about you, and I’m dying to know the details. Can you spare a few minutes? I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

Andi thought about the cleaning supplies in the back of her SUV. With the moving van arriving in the morning, she had plenty to do to get the place ready. But there were only three houses on the small cul-de-sac, and getting to know one of her neighbors seemed just as important.

“I’d love a cup of coffee,” she said.

Boston led the way across the ragged grass to her own yard, then up the steps to the front door. Andi noticed the boards that made up the porch floor had been painted dark blue, and there were stars and planets scattered around. The front door was dark wood with stained-glass panels.

The eclectic mix of traditional décor and whimsy continued in the foyer. A Shaker-style bench stood by a coatrack. On the wall was a mirror framed by silver squirrels and birds. The living room to the left had comfortable sofas and chairs, but there was a huge painting of a naked fairy over the fireplace.

Boston led the way down a narrow hallway, painted bloodred, and into a bright, open kitchen. There were cobalt-blue-painted cabinets, sleek, stainless appliances and a gray-and-blue marble countertop. The smell of coffee mingled with fragrant cinnamon and apples.

“Have a seat,” Boston said, pointing at stools pulled up against the breakfast bar. “I just heated a couple of scones. I have cinnamon apple butter I made last fall.”

Andi thought of the protein bar and cup of coffee that had been her breakfast and heard her stomach growl. “That sounds great. Thanks.”

She took the offered seat. Boston opened the oven and removed a cookie sheet with two large scones on it. The apple butter was in a glass jar. Boston put the scones on a plate and passed one over, then poured coffee.

“Just black for me,” Andi told her.

“Ah, a true coffee drinker. I have to conceal my caffeine in hazelnut and vanilla.”

She got the flavored creamer from the refrigerator.

Andi glanced around. There was a big window over the sink and another in the corner eating area. A large pantry took up most of one wall. While she could see the original molding and beadboard by the back door, the rest of the kitchen had been updated.

“I love your space,” Andi said. “I’m not sure my kitchen has seen so much as a coat of paint in the last sixty years.”

Boston collected two knives and handed her one, then cut open her scone and smoothed on apple butter. As she worked, several silver charm bracelets clinked together. “We saw your place at the open house. The kitchen was very 1950s.”

“I don’t mind the retro look,” Andi admitted. “But nothing works. I have a thing about turning on a faucet and having hot water come out. And I’d like a refrigerator that keeps food cold.”

Boston grinned. “So you’re a demanding sort.”

“Apparently.”

“I know Zeke’s been drawing up plans. I haven’t seen all of them, but he and his brother do beautiful work.”

Andi looked at her kitchen. “Did he update your house?”

“About six years ago.” Boston picked up her coffee. “Where are you moving from?”

The island was small enough that Andi wasn’t surprised Boston assumed she was from somewhere else. “Seattle.”

“Big city, huh? This is going to be a change.”

“I’m ready for a change.”

“Do you have a family?”

Andi knew she didn’t mean parents and siblings. “No.”

Boston’s expression registered surprise. “That’s a big house.”

“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician. I want to use the main level for my practice and live upstairs.”

Boston’s shoulders seemed to tighten. “Oh, that’s clever. You’ll avoid the hassle of commuting.” She glanced out the window over the sink toward Andi’s house. “There’s plenty of space for parking and I can see how the conversion wouldn’t be difficult.”

“The biggest modification will be moving the kitchen upstairs. I was going to have to gut it anyway, though, so it won’t add much more to the bill.” She reached for her scone. “How long have you lived on the island?”

“I grew up here,” Boston told her. “In this house, actually. I’ve never lived anywhere else. When Zeke and I started dating, I warned him I came with about three thousand square feet of baggage.” Her smile faded a little. “He said he liked that about me.”

Andi chewed the vanilla-flavored scone, enjoying the tart apple and cinnamon spread, then swallowed. “Do you work outside the home?”

Boston shook her head. “I’m an artist. Mostly textiles, although lately...” Her voice trailed off and something dark entered her eyes. “I sometimes do portraits. I’m responsible for most of the strange things you see around here.”

“I love the porch.”

“Do you? Deanna hates it.” Boston wrinkled her nose. “She would never say anything, of course, but I hear her sighing every time she steps on it.”

“Deanna?”

“Your other neighbor.”

“Her house is beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? You should see the inside. I’m sure she’ll invite you over. The front rooms are furnished true to the time period. The historical societies love her.” Boston glanced out the window again. “She has five daughters. Oh, customers for you.” She frowned. “Or is it clients?”

“Patients.”

Boston nodded. “Right. The girls are very sweet.” She shrugged. “And that’s the neighborhood. Just the three of us. I’m so happy someone is going to be living in the middle house. It’s been empty for years. A vacant house can be sad.”