Henry felt like a complete arse. He’d spent the last few days rolling his grief around an empty estate as if he was alone in that experience. As if no one could or would understand. Lily was right, it was under very different circumstances but it didn’t lessen, or take away from the loss of her own father. He remembered the fishing accident that had taken An­thony Atwell’s life and devastated the small community of Hawke’s Cove. The vigil that had been held that morning, the sun not even broken over the horizon, as the entire town came down to the harbour, bundled against the frigid cold of the winter’s morning, with candles and a grief-stricken silence. He remembered watching the way that the people had parted, allowing Marion Atwell and her young daughter through the crowd to stand at the foot of the harbour, waiting and hoping to see who came back. The jagged sobs that had wracked Lily’s mother’s body as she’d taken one look at the captain’s face and crumpled onto the floor, while the people nearby had tried to help hold her up. Grief, aching and hot, surfaced in his chest and horrify­ingly he felt the…