House on the Harbor

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Mom, whoa. Haunted?” Clara asked, confused by the woman’s sudden shift.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. With either one of you. Don’t take me there. Don’t bury me there. Don’t even drag my casket into the front parlor there.”

  Clara and Kate fell quiet. All of their lives, Nora loved the old house on Heirloom Cove. As far as they knew, that’s why Nora kept it instead of selling or renting.

  But, her words stuck. As addled as Nora’s mind may have been, Clara and Kate solemnly and silently vowed to fulfill her wish.

  Nora Hannigan would never go back to the house on the harbor.

  And Clara began to wonder why.

  Chapter 7—Amelia

  Tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, Amelia leaned in toward Michael, ready to devour every word.

  Though there was nothing specific Amelia hoped to have earned from her mother’s estate, she was very interested in how things worked out. Who got what. As a middle child, she had always been acutely aware of discrepancies.

  Inequities.

  Imbalances.

  Now, Amelia knew, those things would be revealed in full.

  Her phone buzzed in her purse on the floor. Jimmy, no doubt. She’d told him they could meet for lunch in the Village, and it was his own fault if he couldn’t entertain himself in the meantime.

  Although, Amelia figured he’d find something to do. Jimmy was that type. He made friends easily. Didn’t mind putting himself out there. He should have been a car salesman, probably, rather than a construction worker. He loved meeting new people and getting into trouble. Two things that had drawn Amelia to him to begin with.

  The friendly bad boy, Megan had once dubbed Amelia’s “type.”

  She pushed her bag with her toe to muffle the buzzing and returned her attention to the lawyer.

  Michael cleared his throat. “We’ll begin with your mother’s personal effects. Then, I’ll share her wishes regarding real estate.” When no one reacted, he read on, quoting their mom. “‘To Katherine, I leave twenty-three flowerpots, my dining room table, the front hall runner, my wedding china, Wendell Acton’s wristwatch, and my Sunday wardrobe.’”

  Amelia leaned back, studying her older sister’s face and then glancing to catch Megan and Clara’s reactions.

  Kate’s throat bobbed in a swallow and her chest rose and fell.

  Clara blinked and tucked her lips inside her teeth.

  Megan shrugged.

  Pausing, Michael lowered the page from which he read, perhaps waiting for the inevitable. An argument. A passive aggressive sigh. Anything.

  “I didn’t know she named her clothes by the day of the week,” Kate answered softly.

  A small giggle erupted among the girls. Amelia knew if their mom was there, she’d snap at them for making fun. But a little laughter was just what the doctor ordered. The whole affair had become too tense. Too awkward.

  Amelia added, “I hope I get Saturday.”

  Again, they laughed together in front of poor Michael, who appeared unsure how to react.

  “Go ahead, keep reading,” Kate said at last, wiping away happy tears. Or maybe sad. Amelia couldn’t tell which anymore.

  He held the paper back up to his face and answered, “That concludes Kate’s inheritance of Nora’s personal effects.”

  Amelia blinked and raised her eyebrows at her older sister. But Kate simply smiled. “Right. I expected as much.”

  Michael continued. “Shall I go on?”

  All four sisters nodded urgently, and so he did.

  “‘To Amelia,’” he began. Amelia leaned forward again and narrowed her eyes on Michael’s full lips behind the thick, white page. “‘I leave the upstairs chaise, my patio furniture, Wendell Acton’s Smith and Wesson snub nose, Aunt Ida’s tiger’s eye necklace, and... ’” Amelia sucked in a breath. “‘My furs.’”

  “Furs?” Clara cried out.

  Amelia sank back, oddly disappointed, though not necessarily in her mother’s fashion choices.

  Michael stopped reading and set the page down.

  Kate murmured that she didn’t know Nora had any furs and that she figured any guns were long gone.

  Clara carried on about how they ought to donate any fur—if, in fact, Nora owned any real fur— to animal shelters to be used as beds. “Fur is beyond passé. It’s unethical,” she added, clicking her tongue in disgust.

  Megan yawned.

  “Donate them,” Amelia spat. “I don’t want fur coats. And why does she refer to Dad by his full name?” She crossed her arms and shook her head before adding, “I’m sorry, Michael. Go ahead with the will. I just—”

  “You had different expectations,” he answered patiently. It’s understandable. Amelia bit her lower lip and glanced up at him to catch a look. An unreadable, un-lawyerly look.

  “Yes. Silly, really. Just go ahead.”

  The women sighed collectively, and he did as he was told.

  “‘To Megan, I leave my silver Tiffany’s collection, my wedding band, Wendell Acton’s wedding band, the desktop computer, and our marital bed.’”

  “I guess we know who the favorite is,” Amelia muttered, lifting a conspiratorial eyebrow to Clara, who ignored her.

  “Her ‘desktop computer’?” Megan turned her head sharply to Amelia. “As in the ‘new’ one she got in 2000 once she was convinced Y2K ‘killed’ her old one?” Megan rolled her eyes.

  Clara made a face. “What does she mean by marital bed?”

  Michael offered a sympathetic smile, but it was Kate who answered. “Obviously the king bed that was in her bedroom.”

  “Why did she have to use the word marital?” Clara asked again, but it was Amelia this time who added a dose of maturity.

  “Mom was trying to be specific, no doubt. Go ahead, Michael.” Amelia bit down on her thumbnail, anxiety creeping in.

  Michael lifted his eyebrows, waiting for permission to read. Amelia rolled her hand in a wide circle to get him going again.

  “‘The balance of my personal possessions is to be divided evenly under the supervision of my eldest daughter, Katherine.’”

  Four jaws dropped.

  It was a bombshell.

  An error.

  An oversight.

  Kate spoke immediately. “What about Clara?” she asked, glancing wildly from her sisters to Michael.

  He shook his head. “No personal items were specifically designated to Clara Hannigan.”

  “Is there more?” Amelia asked, trying to be helpful.

  “Yes, her properties and a personal letter.”

  “Okay, then go ahead,” Amelia prompted. Kate nodded her head, and Megan and Clara did the same, all four of them frowning deeply.

  “All right,” he answered. “‘Real estate and land, including owned and leased properties, businesses, and accounts related thereto,’” Michael continued, holding a new page crisply between himself and the women. His eyes danced down to Nora’s own words, and he read, “‘As for my rental properties, including the Birch Creek Cottage, The Bungalows, and the undeveloped parcel inland, I would ask they be evenly divided between Katherine, Amelia, and Megan.’”

  Amelia felt her stomach twist with stress.

  She glanced over at Clara, expecting a fresh round of tears. Anger. The exact feelings that Amelia had felt many times over during the course of her own upbringing.

  But Clara’s face was expressionless. Calm.

  Clara and Kate exchanged their own glance, and that’s when Amelia realized why Clara wasn’t having a tantrum right then and there.

  The house.

  The house on the harbor.

  Chapter 8—Megan

  Megan wasn’t easily rattled.

  But something didn’t sit right.

  Nora had updated her will recently. So why wasn’t Clara named? And why wasn’t the house included?

  The scowl on Amelia’s face suggested exactly what Megan was thinking, but there wasn’t a chance. It was their fa
mily home. The place they’d grown up in. No way would their own mother leave the whole thing to Clara.

  Then again, knowing Nora, perhaps it did make sense.

  “Is she getting the house?” Megan asked point blank, her finger aimed directly at the youngest of the group, Megan’s black nail polish providing a sort of morbid costume effect in the context of the probate meeting.

  Michael opened his mouth to answer but Clara beat him to the punch. “I certainly hope so. Don’t you think it would be nice if she thought I was worth something?” She brushed her blonde hair back over her shoulder, and Megan saw a flush creeping up her youngest sister’s neck, blossoming into her cheeks.

  Clara was such a child. Still.

  “It wouldn’t be fair for you to get the Heirloom house, Clara. Surely you can see that,” Megan hissed, feeling herself lose control.

  The whole meeting had been a disappointment. An uncomfortable, awkward disappointment, peppered only by brief moments of humor that were quickly washed away by the revelation that Nora Hannigan hand-selected her oldest daughter to play Mom and divvy out scraps to the others. And for Clara to get the house? Unconscionable.

  Kate raised a flat palm. “Enough. We have no idea what becomes of the Heirloom house, because Michael hasn’t gotten that far. And if Clara doesn’t get it, then we still have an issue.”

  “What issue?” Amelia piped up. Megan nodded sagely in agreement over the question.

  “What issue? The issue of one of us being left out of the will, obviously,” Kate answered. “Especially the one who has been caretaker to both Mom and the house, itself, for years now. Years,” she emphasized, “while you, you, and even I have been out living our lives beyond the borders of Birch Harbor, I might remind you.” Kate thrust a bare index finger first at Megan then at Amelia and finally at herself as she rounded out her argument.

  Megan dropped her gaze. Amelia kept mum. Michael cleared his throat for what felt like the millionth time. If Megan had to hear him do it again then she was leaving. Her mother and father’s marital bed was not worth all this. Especially considering their father had left them.

  “Nora included a separate declaration for the Heirloom Cove property,” Michael said at last, his voice as even and earnest as could be. “Her final wish.”

  The women looked with interest at him, each sitting tightly on the edge of her seat.

  “Is this the part she updated recently?”

  “Yes and no,” Michael admitted at last, pressing his lips into a line before adding, “The last time Nora was here was for a separate matter. A... private matter.” His eyes darted up to Kate, who seemed confused. “But she did have the opportunity to confirm the plans for her personal effects and various properties.”

  Amelia pushed air through her lips, and Megan clapped her hands on her thighs. “Classic Nora,” she snorted, rising and tugging her handbag onto her shoulder.

  “Megan, please,” Kate whispered.

  But Megan couldn’t take it. Not after all they’d been through. Not after the reading of the will and the notable favoritism apparent between Nora and Kate, and now probably Clara, too.

  Amelia reached for Megan and rested her hand on her arm, pulling her gently back to her seat. “Megan, it’s fine. We have no idea what’s in there. We’re in this together, remember?” The two locked eyes and Megan felt a sob crawl up her throat.

  Her own divorce. Nora’s death. It was all too much.

  But Amelia was right.

  They were sisters.

  Kate, Amelia, Megan, and Clara.

  They were sisters.

  No matter what happened, they’d make things right.

  Even if eccentric, bitter, game-playing Nora Hannigan had set things wrong.

  Chapter 9—Kate

  “‘Regarding 131 Harbor Avenue, the property and land situated on Heirloom Cove and the private beach included in said parcel,’” Michael read, his voice clear and even, as though whatever might be wrapped up in their mother’s written words needed a stable platform, a firm channel. Kate felt her breaths grow quick and shallow. She glanced at her sisters, each on the edge of her seat. “‘Upon my death, I leave the deed to be transferred to Katherine Nora Hannigan, Amelia Ann Hannigan, and Megan Beth Stevenson.’”

  Kate gasped.

  Their mother’s language was crisp and precise. The content of her final wish relevant and painfully recent. As recent as Megan’s wedding, at the very least. As recent as Nora’s eventual acceptance that Megan chose to take Brian’s last name, in an inflammatory act of daughterly defiance.

  Michael set the page down.

  No one said a word.

  The silence continued on for some moments. Uncomfortable and suffocating.

  Clara was the next to emit a stifled sound. A soft sob.

  Kate glanced at Amelia and Megan, who were dutifully confused. Respectfully quiet.

  “Are you serious?” Amelia whispered to Michael.

  He nodded.

  Kate stood. “Let me see, please.” She stretched a hand out as Amelia and Megan reached over to their littlest sister.

  Michael lowered his voice. “Kate,” he said, “it would be best if you and I meet privately. I have one more item for you to go over as the executor. But we need to look at it alone.” He glanced beyond her to the others.

  Kate nodded and turned.

  “Let’s take a break first,” she suggested, exhaustion pooling at the base of her neck. She pushed a finger to each temple.

  The others rose and paused as if to thank Michael. But it was hard to show gratitude on the heels of bad news.

  Michael stood to walk the ladies out of the office. He stopped in the hall when Kate turned to address him one last time for that morning.

  “When should I come back?” she asked plainly.

  “I have no obligations for the rest of the day. I knew the Hannigan Estate—your mother’s estate—would be... ”

  “A challenge?” she finished his sentence.

  Nodding gravely, he added, “All estates present obstacles. Death is hard. And handling the affairs of the deceased amplifies that. Nora, of course, had a lot to decide. That’s never easy. Not even for a sharp-witted, good woman like your mom.”

  His words should have hit the right notes. They should have reassured her.

  But Kate knew her own mother too well. She thanked Michael and followed her sisters outside into the warmth of the early summer sun.

  Humidity hadn’t yet set in, or perhaps, hadn’t yet made its way to their position inland.

  “What are we going to do?” Amelia asked, her face scrunched in fret.

  Megan replied, “Do you mean about the will or—?”

  “Of course I mean the will. What else?” the former snapped.

  Clara shook her head sadly, blinking against the rays of late morning light that cut across the parking lot. Kate pulled her sunglasses from her handbag and took over. “Lunch. The Harbor Deli. We’ll talk there. In the meantime, just let it settle. Clara, why don’t you ride with me?”

  “I drove them here,” Clara whined, hooking a thumb at Amelia and Megan as though they were aggravating teenagers to be trucked from activity to activity.

  Kate considered the next best route. She’d have to return to Michael’s office and intended to do so sooner rather than later. But she didn’t want Amelia or Megan to get into Clara’s head.

  Or, worse, spill any beans.

  Lord knew there were plenty to spill.

  Kate assumed that Nora had spent extra time at Michael’s because she was taking care to arrange her affairs tightly and without issue. The woman never once asked for help. She never once suggested anything would be... unexpected.

  Yet there they were, four sisters. Four properties. But only three claims.

  It was like a sick and twisted nursery rhyme. A riddle. One Kate couldn’t solve.

  Or, more likely, refused to solve.

  Because the only explanation was the truth.


  And the truth, the Hannigan truth, would change everything.

  ***

  Amelia and Megan ended up riding with Kate. Clara drove alone. They met at the deli and each ordered some version of a turkey sandwich. Iced teas all around.

  The lake lapped up against the boats in the marina, just yards away from their bistro table on the patio. Kate wanted nothing more than to sit there and enjoy the view she’d given up years back, when she decided to become a suburban housewife. A mom with a backyard that was many miles away from the threat of an open body of water.

  “What’s the deal?” Amelia asked, once they had all settled in with their sandwiches and clinking glasses of amber beverage.

  Kate let out a deep sigh and leaned forward on her elbows. “The deal is that Mom obviously went senile earlier than we realized.”

  Megan lifted a dark eyebrow and took a small bite of her lunch, covering her mouth with a napkin as she held Kate’s gaze.

  “Right?” Kate asked. A heavy frown set on her mouth, pulling the skin of her cheeks with it. She propped her face in her hands and could feel her age, pooling there, where her jawline was starting to become jowls. She felt old. Old and stupid. And, alone. Even among her sisters.

  Perhaps, especially among her sisters.

  Megan looked away. Amelia kept quiet.

  Kate felt her stomach clench, and she set her sandwich down. “Clara, what time do you have to get back to work?”

  “I have a substitute until lunch. So, soon. Half an hour. Tops,” she replied, studying her wristwatch for an extra beat.

  “Right, well. Here’s the plan.” Kate rubbed her fingertips into a clean paper napkin and took a sip of tea for courage. “I’ll go back to the office—Michael’s office—and see about filing an appeal, or whatever it is you do.

  “To contest the will?” Megan chimed in.

  “Yes, to contest the will. Do you all agree?”

  Clara buried her face in her hands and nodded her head.

  Amelia and Megan murmured their agreement.

  “Good. It’s settled. This is clearly a case of a woman gone mad. I’m sure our biggest obstacle will be Michael, himself. Clearly he didn’t put two-and-two together sooner and guide Mom.”