The Last Will of Moira Leahy (29 page)

EPILOGUE

T
hree days after playing my soulful tune, after not chucking my new sax into the sea, I picked up a box of Sunset Sky and dyed my hair as close to its natural color as I could make it. Then I packed up my few belongings, hugged my parents good-bye, and made my way back to Betheny.

I knew I should go to my apartment first, get a clean change of clothes, visit with my cat, see if Kit might be at home, and then call the university. Instead, I drove to Time After Time.

I pulled into the small lot and emerged from my car. The season had progressed here. The trees bloomed full, and the air smelled sweet. A bee flew by my face, lingered for a moment, then buzzed away.

Outside the shop door sat several large boxes and a six-foot tiki tower. How fierce the wooden man’s grimace, but I marched up to him nonetheless.

“Maeve? Is that you?”

I craned my head to see Noel peering from a second-story window. He wore a red bandanna for a cap and looked every bit a pirate with his long hair poking out from beneath it.

He grinned. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? The shop’s a bloody mess with inventory—so am I.”

“I’ve always loved a good mess.”

“Christ, you look fantastic! It’s really you?”

“Really who? I’m Alvilda the fearless, back from my adventures. Are you of royal blood, mate?”

My smile turned to a frown as I realized he’d ducked back from the window, but then I heard feet pounding on the stairs. I didn’t wait for him to do it for me. I opened the door myself, and stepped inside.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M
ere words cannot express how grateful I am to the many people who’ve helped me—but I’ll give it a shot.

To my agent, Elisabeth Weed, whose unbounded passion for this novel excited the very best editors and delivered this writer’s dream to reality.

To everyone at Shaye Areheart, but especially my Maine-born editor, Sarah Knight, who understood all about
ayuh
and
wicked
and
whales
, not to mention how to slap a manuscript into prime shape, and who brain-stormed her heart out to find a new perfect title for this novel.

To my friends at Writer Unboxed—especially Kathleen Bolton, for critique that always made me think; Barbara Samuel, for sharing wise and encouraging words; Allison Winn Scotch, for e-introducing me to my fabu agent; and Ray Rhamey, for passing along first-chapter wisdom. Also to Amy Atwell, Elena Greene, Aimee Heavey, Heather Heavey, Judy Heavey, Carol Henry, Jeanne Kisacky, Irene McGarrity, Thea McGinnis, and Kathy Walsh, for reading, advising, and reading again. And to my many cheerleaders at Dream Catchers and GIAM—you inspire me.

To my first reader and dear friend, Polly Gasstrom, for asking, “Is that
keris
thing going to be important to the rest of the novel?”

To Peter Cocozzella, for checking the accuracy of my Italian and for bettering it.

To Kenny Eaton of Eaton’s Boatyard in Castine, Maine, for introducing me to the Penobscot and its history. And to the people of Castine for answering my many questions … though I could’ve done without the parking ticket. Ahem.

To Robin Lanier, for sharing her sailing know-how.

To Adam Nixon at
Romebuddy.com
, for sharing helpful details about Rome in December—and explaining why I really shouldn’t visit until the spring.

To artist Noyes Capeheart, the
Joglosemar
Foundation, and the editors at
Pawartos Jawi
, for permission to quote their work.

To editors and agents not directly involved but who helped me just the same. To Jennifer Leight and Diane Umansky, two of the best nonfiction editors around, for sending me enough work that I was able to stay at home and work on fiction, too. And to agents Deidre Knight and Daniel Lazar, for providing invaluable advice as I trekked my winding road to publication.

Finally, to my friends and family, for unwavering belief and enthusiasm. Especially to my husband, Sean, for supporting my efforts in every conceivable way; and to my children, Liam and Riley, who honestly can’t recall a time I
wasn’t
writing this story. Persistence pays off, my dearlings. Remember that.

Grazie, grazie, grazie!

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dyce Head Lighthouse in Castine, Maine, probably wouldn’t have been an ideal spot for Moira and Ian to meet for all its surrounding buildings, though I’ve tried to take advantage of some historical facts. Though the lighthouse itself had been defunct for years, a keeper’s house abutting it had been occupied for all but a brief period during which time a fire destroyed some of the house and a reconstruction took place. This timeframe coincides with Moira and Ian’s trysts.

Dyce Head Lighthouse was relit in 2008 and is once again a functional lighthouse in Castine.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THERESE WALSH
has a master’s degree in psychology. She lives in upstate New York with her husband and two children. This is her first novel. Visit her at
ThereseWalsh.com
or
WriterUnboxed.com
.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Shaye Areheart Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.crownpublishing.com

Shaye Areheart Books with colophon is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

eISBN: 978-0-307-46159-9

v3.0