I said.
Jackson turned to walk away without another word.
“Oh, by the way,” I called to him, “there’s an old desk in the storage shed. Can you have one of your guys bring it up here for me? This room will be my office during the renovation.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what? I need a place to work.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You being here during the renovation will just interfere with our work.”
“I won’t interfere with your work. You won’t even know that I’m here,” I told him. “You can just work around me. But I want to be here.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.” From the look on his face, Jackson was becoming unnerved. But I didn’t care. Who was he to tell me where I could or could not be?
“Sorry about your discomfort, but I’ll be here every day from now on. So you probably should get used to seeing my face around here.” I gave him a wicked smile.
“Good night, Miss Talbot.” His face was hardened and his jaws were clenched before walking away.
I was under his skin. I could tell.
“I’ll lock up when I’m done here,” I yelled to him.
He kept walking, never responded. I heard his footsteps on the stairs and then the front door shutting. Not only had I gotten to him, I had to admit Jackson Conner got on my nerves, too. Who did he think he was anyway? And he may have made an investment in the property, but for him to tell me how often I could be on the premises of my family’s inheritance was ludicrous. I’d address that with Edward the next time we spoke.
* * *
I went back to sorting through old photos and remembered when we first heard about the Grove. Our parents had commissioned the six of us back to the islands—our home—for a family meeting. The news of the inheritance took us all by surprise, and everyone expressed strong opinions about what should be done with the properties. My brother Nate immediately suggested that we sell the properties and split the proceeds. He had no intentions of returning to the Bahamas long-term. Atlanta, Georgia, had long become his home and a place where he’d built a wonderful career as an artist. The Bahamas held too many bad memories for him, and even coming home for this family meeting had been a struggle.
I, on the other hand, had great memories of home and immediately thought that the family should convert the old houses into bed-and-breakfasts. I knew that the Bahamas was a beautiful, tourist-driven place, and such a business would generate a nice income for all six of us—an income that I desperately needed in my life at the moment.
“Who has time to run a bed-and-breakfast, let alone three of them?” asked Alyson, my oldest sister, who was the successful real-estate agent in the family. “I certainly don’t. I’m with Nate. I say we revitalize the properties and place them on the market. I can have a solid contract on them in no time.”
“I definitely can’t move to the islands right now. I’m up for reelection!” exclaimed Edward. “But I have a friend who owns his own construction business. He can definitely do the work. I’ll fly over and assist as much as I can, but I can’t move here.”
Finally we agreed that we weren’t going to sell the properties, but develop them. We wanted to honor our father’s wishes—to do something great with the properties, as he’d suggested. But the reality was, the properties would require more time and effort—not to mention resources—than any of us would be able to provide alone.
“I like Jasmine’s idea of developing the properties into bed-and-breakfasts. And I think we should call it the Grove,” said my sister Whitney. “I’d be happy to help run the place when the school year ends.” Whitney had gone to college in Dallas, Texas, and never returned to the Bahamas. Instead, she’d accepted a teaching position at an elementary school there and made her home in a cozy little Dallas suburb.
My youngest brother, Dennison, had been as quiet as a church mouse for most of the conversation. As the baby of the family, he was often forgotten.
“Denny, you haven’t said what you think about all of this,” I said. “What would you like to see happen with the properties?”
“I don’t really care one way or the other,” he said.
“I think if we do this bed-and-breakfast thing, Denny could probably play a major role in running the place,” suggested Alyson, “especially since he’s the only one who lives at home right now.”
“No,” said Denny.
“Why not?” asked Alyson. “You’re not doing anything else! It’s not like you’re going to college.”
Dennison, who had been a few weeks from graduating high school, hadn’t yet identified a school of higher education.
“Of course he’s going to college,” said Nate, the ever-protective brother. “He just hasn’t figured out where. Get off his back!”
“I haven’t applied anywhere because I’m not going to college,” said Denny matter-of-factly.
The entire household fell silent. No one said anything for what seemed like a lifetime. We all waited for hell to break loose.
My mother, who hadn’t said much either, stood with her hands on her hips. “Dennison Talbot, what do you mean you’re not going to college?”
We waited for Denny’s response.
“I’ve enlisted in the Royal Bahamas Defence Force. I’ve already sworn in, and after graduation, I’m due to be deployed to the United States to train with the US Navy Seals.”
“Have you lost all the sense God gave you, child?” My mother’s Bahamian accent suddenly seemed stronger than normal. It usually came and went, considering she wasn’t a native. She turned to my father. “Paul John, did you hear what your son just said?”
“Daddy.” Denny tried to whisper, but failed. “You said you would talk to her.”
“You knew about this, Paul?” she calmly asked my father.
“Beverly, this is not the time for this discussion,” my father said calmly. “Not while we’re discussing the children’s inheritance. One issue at a time.”
“This discussion is not over.” She pointed a finger at Denny and then at my father. “We will revisit it.”
With Denny going away soon, the idea of turning the properties into a successful business had seemed impossible, particularly since we were all scattered about the US. Pulling this off would require a sacrifice that no one was willing to make—except for me. Having had very little success as a model-turned-actress, I was ready to return home.
“I’ll do it,” I volunteered. “I’ll move back home and oversee the construction. And I’ll even write the business and marketing plan.”
“Have you ever written a business plan before, Jasmine?” asked Alyson.
“Yes, at Spelman,” I told her. My classes in
