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Kelsey stood barefoot on the damp grass, watching the taxi disappear around the bend. Noah was already circling the gleaming, dark blue Forester, pressing his nose against each window.

“Look! It has a sunroof! And the seats are leather!” He tugged at her arm. “Can we try it out? Please?”

“In a minute, honey.” With trembling fingers, she tore open the envelope. The note inside was typed on plain white paper:

To replace your car. Apologies for the delay in getting it to you. But it’s all yours. Mac.

“Mom?” Noah’s voice seemed far away. “Are you crying?”

Kelsey touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet. The morning sun caught the car’s pristine paint, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

“Can we go for a ride?” Noah bounced on his toes, still in sock feet. “Please? Just to Aunt Amy’s and back?”

“You need to finish breakfast. And put on shoes.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. “And I need to... I need to figure out what to do and how to thank him...” So, this Mac was not a con artist, but perhaps something even more elusive.

“Who?”

She looked at her son’s eager face, then back at the note. “How to thank the person who sent the car.”

Chapter 4

Mac stood at the cottage window, watching the morning fog roll across the bay. Behind him, his grandfather’s wheezing had grown more pronounced over breakfast, though the old man insisted on making them both proper Irish tea. The dense mist obscured the island’s familiar contours, turning the harbor into a ghostly dreamscape where boats appeared as mere shadows, their moorings uncertain. It suited his mood perfectly.

“She’s beautiful,” Mac said, referring to his new boat, the Nereid. “Forty-two feet, state-of-the-art navigation. Perfect for solo sailing.”

“Mmph.” Truman Costigan settled into his worn leather chair, teacup rattling slightly in his hands. “And how long do you plan to run away for this time?”

“I’m not running, Grandad. It’s an adventure. Six months exploring the Caribbean, maybe longer.”

“Adventure?” The old man’s brogue thickened with emotion. “It’s hiding, boy. Same as selling your business, same as getting rid of the Boston house. You can’t sail away from grief.”

Mac turned from the window, jaw tightening. “I’m not having this conversation now.”

“No? Then when?” Truman’s voice softened. “You’re thirty-five, Mac. She’s been gone ten years. She wouldn’t want...”

“Don’t.” Mac paced the small room, dodging piles of books. “You don’t get to tell me what she would want.”

“I’m dying, lad.”

“You’ve been ‘dying’ for two years now.”

“And this time I mean it.” Truman set his tea aside and fixed Mac with a stern look. “My heart’s giving out. I’d like to see you settled and happy again before I go.”

Mac dropped into the chair opposite his grandfather, running a hand through his dark hair. “I am settled. I’ve got the boat. I’m fine.”

“Alone on the sea for months? That’s not living, that’s existing.” Patrick leaned forward. “Speaking of existing, did you take care of that nurse you crashed into?”

Mac stiffened. “How did you…?”

“Small island, boy. She’s my nurse practitioner. Comes by once a week to make sure this old heart keeps beating.” Truman’s eyes twinkled. “And I still have a way with women. She also called the trucking office. Apparently, they told her no one by the name of Mac worked there. She believes you lied to her.”

“I had Johnson handle it. New Subaru, delivered this morning.”

“Bit extravagant, buying her a whole new car.” The old man gave him a sidelong look.

Mac studied his hands. “It wasn’t her fault. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Mac’s voice softened. “I couldn’t... after she helped those people. You should have seen her, Grandad. In the middle of chaos, she was just... calm. Competent. She likely saved the life of some guy who was bleeding out on the road. Didn’t blink an eye doing what needed to be done and getting herself covered in blood in the process.”

Truman’s smile deepened, crow’s feet crinkling around his eyes. “Sounds impressive.”