House on the Harbor

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Woman gone mad,” Amelia muttered into the wind as she stared out across the water below them.

  Just on the other side of the marina sat the house. Heirloom Cove, with its rocky shoreline and long shadows, stood darkly against the glimmering water. The small figure of the old house, its red paint glowing from between white birch trees, taunted them.

  Kate looked at Clara, who was also staring at the house.

  She spoke, at last. “I don’t know how I’ll ever go back there,” Clara whispered.

  Megan snorted. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Let’s just leave it be. Mom made a mistake. That much is clear.”

  “No,” Clara replied. “I have a feeling she didn’t make a mistake. I think she made a point.”

  Chapter 10—Amelia

  Like the leftovers of a strong perfume, Clara’s fear hung in the air long after she had excused herself to return to work.

  The others remained on the patio as the sun drifted up as high in the sky as it would go.

  Amelia traced doodles into the condensation on her iced tea. Megan scrolled through her phone. Kate stared off—at the lake or the house, Amelia wasn’t sure.

  “It was a mistake,” the oldest one said at last.

  Amelia and Megan looked at each other, and Amelia saw something flicker behind Megan’s eyes. Sympathy? Or, the opposite?

  As Amelia opened her mouth to reply that, no, it clearly was not a mistake, something else caught her attention. A figure, tall and lean, striding comfortably beneath the easy layer of a graphic tee-shirt and khaki shorts—the exact opposite of what one would expect a construction worker to wear—toward the patio. His thick blonde hair bounced with style on his head.

  Jimmy.

  Amelia closed her eyes and pressed her hand into her forehead, but it was too late.

  “Amelia!” he called loudly and waved.

  Megan pulled her sunglasses down her nose and narrowed her gaze on him. Kate turned and covered her eyes with her hand, squinting into the wash of sunlight that spread beyond their bistro umbrella. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  Amelia plastered a fake smile on her face, stood, smoothed her shirt, and opened her hands. “Jimmy?” she feigned pleasant surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Babe,” he cooed, smiling at the other deli patrons as he strolled past slowly. When he arrived at their table, Amelia felt herself sway back slightly. But he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him in a deep hug. The type of hug that had, months earlier, persuaded her to start seeing him.

  The type that got her into trouble.

  He pressed a wet kiss on her cheek and spun her around to face her sisters. “Lunch, right?” Jimmy said, dipping his chin in a pout. “But I see you started without me.”

  “Is this the construction boyfriend?” Megan asked.

  Amelia flushed and her eyes grew wide. “Megan,” she hissed. “Do you have an ounce of tact?”

  But Jimmy didn’t care. He loved it. “I am the construction boyfriend,” he answered with a broad smile. “Jimmy Baker, at your service. I dabble in a little bit of everything. Framing, electric, plumbing. If I had a card, I’d give you one.” He stuck out a strong, smooth hand—the sort of hand that did not belong to a successful laborer. Amelia knew this deep inside, and she winced.

  Kate hesitated a second too long before offering her hand to Jimmy in return. But, still, she offered it, and he ignored the delay. “Kate?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” she answered.

  It occurred to Amelia just then that Jimmy thought of himself as a charmer, a suave playboy type able to win over any woman, anywhere. It had worked on her, after all.

  But he hadn’t met Amelia’s sisters.

  “And that’s Megan,” Amelia pointed across the table, willing him to disappear inside, where he could order a decaf coffee and chat up the sandwich maker for half an hour.

  After nodding and even bowing slightly toward the farthest seated sister, he lingered. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Amelia felt her heart tug a little, and she smiled. “Well,” she began, looking at Kate for guidance.

  “No,” Kate answered, surprising them all. “No, Jimmy. Please, sit. You’ll be a good distraction, actually.” She offered a warm, motherly smile, and Amelia wondered if she was wrong about Jimmy. He meant well, after all.

  And he was fun.

  And sweet.

  And hot.

  Too hot, probably.

  Jimmy pulled Amelia’s chair out and gestured for her to take a seat before easing himself into Clara’s empty spot.

  “This town is great,” he began, before launching into a full-blown review of all he’d seen. “It doesn’t smell like fish guts or bird poop, unlike the lake in the town where I grew up.”

  The women relaxed, Kate even letting a short laugh escape her mouth. “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah,” he replied. “And here,” he waved a hand around Birch Village, “not too many people but enough to make it interesting. And there’s a beach. Who knew you could find ocean-front property in Michigan?”

  He went on and on, complimenting the variety of eateries and shops for their quaint effect, the motel for how clean the bathroom was, and asking, at last, what the plan was for the day.

  “Well,” Amelia started, genuinely sorry to break the bad news to him. “We aren’t sure yet. There’s been a hang-up.”

  “With the will?” Jimmy asked, his tone thickening.

  Kate straightened her back and took a long sip of tea. Megan set her phone down for the first time in ten minutes.

  “Yeah,” Amelia replied, unsure how much to reveal or what information to protect. “It’s regarding the house.”

  “What house?” Jimmy asked.

  Kate gave Amelia a sharp look, but it was too late. Megan had thrown her finger across the marina toward the cove. “Our house,” she answered. “The one on the harbor.”

  ***

  Lunch was long over. Kate had excused herself to return to Michael, leaving Amelia and Megan to flounder about. Clara had given Amelia her house key so they could go back to her place—which they would do, at least for a while to let Dobi out and freshen up—but after that?

  Wait for Kate to finish her super-secret-exclusive-executor-attorney meeting?

  Apparently.

  Jimmy trailed behind the two remaining women as they strolled slowly around the village, playing tourist and gossiping, a ritual of any tightly bonded sisters. Or even loosely bonded sisters.

  Megan didn’t bother to lower her voice when she began to ask about Amelia’s relationship. “Construction worker? He looks more like a model. Acts like one, too,” she remarked when they emerged from White Birch Soaps and Sundries.

  Jimmy stepped out just after, and, having missed Megan’s question, swooped in beside Amelia and slid an arm around her waist. “Ice cream anyone? I saw a place between the clothing boutique and the hair salon.”

  Megan twisted her lips into a knowing smirk, but Amelia wasn’t sure if her judgment was for his use of the word “boutique” or his utter inability to read a situation.

  Or, his ability to read a situation perfectly well and play it off like he was a dopey interloper.

  “Sure, yeah,” Amelia answered brightly. “Ice cream. Then we need to check on Dobi.”

  Jimmy flashed a grin. “You two go grab a couple of seats. I’ll get us the good stuff. What’s your poison, Megs?” he asked, shooting a finger gun at her.

  To Amelia’s surprise, her younger, ruthless sister recovered quickly from the unwelcome nickname, shaking her head and finally replying, “Vanilla bean on a waffle cone.”

  He nodded then aimed his finger to Amelia. “Babe?”

  Amelia gave him a look. “You know my favorite.”

  He drew his hand to his mouth in a philosophical pose. “For my beautiful actress? Has to be... mint chocolate chip, which is also my favorite. Great minds think alike, right?”

&
nbsp; “Oh my Lord,” Megan murmured beside Amelia, and the latter swatted her sister’s shoulder.

  “Rocky road, please,” Amelia said at last, tugging Megan in the opposite direction, toward a common area deck. Jimmy danced away with another goofy smile.

  “You just can’t help yourself but to be rude?” she snarled to Megan as they found a set of Adirondack chairs on the wooden platform that stretched out from the village.

  “Amelia, be real. You two don’t go together. What do you see in him?”

  A long pause gave it away. “I think Kate likes him?” was all Amelia could respond with, at first. But she quickly added, “Clara says he’s nice.”

  “They haven’t had the chance to knock you upside the head, yet. I do. Dump that guy. Sooner rather than later. What is he even doing here, Amelia?”

  She shrugged. “He’s like a puppy dog. He’s out of work but he’s trying really hard to find something.”

  “None of that makes sense. He looks like he’d grab a screwdriver if you asked for a hammer. Don’t you see any of this?”

  Amelia nodded sadly. “Yes, I totally do. But, he’s good to me. And he’s so... sexy.”

  Megan recoiled. “Please never use that word again, first of all. Second of all, your standards are too low. I need to set you up with a quality person. That’s your problem, Amelia. You don’t know how to pick.”

  “I pick just fine, thank you.”

  “No. If you were a good picker, you’d be married with five kids, happily holed up in a three-bedroom in the suburbs of Detroit with someone like... like... I don’t know. Like Michael Matuszewski. Instead, you have a chubby Weiner dog in a studio warehouse of an apartment in New York, where you wait tables and line up for auditions, accepting crappy roles when you could be making it big somewhere else. With someone else.”

  Amelia swallowed and turned her head to her sister. Tears welled in her eyes. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

  “Seriously doing what? Telling you what you need to hear? Yeah, I am.”

  Closing her eyes tightly, Amelia willed away the urge to cry before finding a smooth, calm answer. “You just told me to raise my standards. Now, you’re saying I should drop everything and leave New York and take up a post as an unhappy housewife who’s next in line for a divorce?” She had no idea where it came from. Amelia had never been good at snappy retorts. She’d make a terrible lawyer or sketch comedienne. Improv was not her area of expertise.

  But there she was, shooting Megan’s own admonitions right back at her.

  Megan shifted in her chair, her voice softening. She didn’t quite react to the brutal comeback, but there was a change in her tone. “Amelia, listen. Jimmy seems fun. And, he is handsome. Really handsome. Maybe he’s good with his hands, too,” she paused and lowered her chin, and Amelia couldn’t suppress the childish grin that formed across her mouth. Megan went on, “Who knows? If the house needs a few repairs, he might just be our guy.”

  Amelia raised her eyes to Megan, listening carefully.

  “I know you see my life and think that what I have is misery. Sometimes it is. I want a job. A passion. I want to lose Brian and get out from a boring marriage, sure. But,” Megan blinked, and Amelia could have sworn she saw the reflection of a tear along her sister’s lash line. “Just trust me on this, Amelia. I think you could do better.”

  “What about you?” Amelia replied. “Is that why you’re divorcing Brian? Because you could do better? Because you could find some guy on your little dating app who ticks off one of the boxes that Brian doesn’t?”

  The tear found its way over the edge of Megan’s kohl-lined lower eyelid and trailed down her cheek until she raised her hand and wiped it away. “I’m not looking for anyone,” Megan spat back. Glancing over her shoulder. “I’m—”

  “I think you need to reconsider the divorce.”

  There. Amelia had said it. The thing that had been on her mind since Megan revealed she was filing. The thing that had been on all their minds. It was a fool’s move. Brian wasn’t perfect, and neither was their marriage, no doubt.

  But Megan seemed to be... searching. However, Amelia didn’t entirely believe her younger sister was searching for a new man. Just a new chapter, maybe.

  Megan frowned deeper and shook her head, anger pooling in her eyes.

  But Amelia was on a roll. “You don’t need a divorce, Megs,” she said, her lips curling into a smile as she looked out over the marina at the house. Their house. “You need a project.”

  Chapter 11—Megan

  Amelia didn’t know squat about love or life. That much was clear.

  But, Megan did like the idea of a project. A distraction. Something to pull her out of the rut she’d fallen into.

  The house on the harbor could be that project. But it wouldn’t. They were selling. Splitting it three ways (four if they contested effectively) and selling.

  If she was honest with herself, Megan knew Nora’s final wish was unfair. Clara deserved as much or more than the rest of them.

  So then why was the poor thing excluded with such finality?

  Megan knew the truth. They all knew the truth—except for Clara.

  Maybe they could simply agree to give Clara The Bungalows? Maybe there was a better way to find a fair solution than rewriting Nora’s last will and testament?

  If the sisters had the chance to split the house three ways and keep even just two of the properties functioning as income, that’d leave enough money for Megan to move out on Brian, buy a whole new house, pay for Sarah’s college tuition, and follow the secret dream she had. Opening her business. A small-town matchmaking enterprise. Maybe, she’d even do it in Birch Harbor.

  But probably not.

  Too close to her sisters.

  Too close to their drama.

  Jimmy returned with the ice cream, and Megan took her time working away at the chunky sweet edges while Amelia bit down through the top, her lips smacking around the cream loudly.

  Megan laughed at the sight and sound.

  “Sorry,” Amelia said as she swallowed the massive bite. She held a hand over her lips to cover the mess. “Like Clara, I’ve been dieting off and on. I’m starving. Didn’t you see? I had a spinach wrap. For God’s sake, who substitutes spinach for bread? Me, I guess. I’m trying to lose ten for Lady Macbeth. But I can’t resist sweets.”

  “Ten pounds in a week?”

  Jimmy guffawed. “I know, right? She’s perfect just the way she is.”

  As he said it, a group of college-aged girls in string bikinis trickled past toward the dock.

  Megan watched in morbid fascination as Jimmy nearly dropped his cone onto the grass. He legitimately could not tear his eyes away from the grotesque scene of tanned butt cheeks peeking beneath bright bottoms and pointy shoulder blades wedged high and tight along slender backs.

  She couldn’t help it. Megan raised her hand and snapped her fingers in front of his face, more for her own benefit than Amelia’s.

  Jimmy raised his eyebrows and fumbled his hands, catching his ice cream cone flat on one palm, green sludge dripping faster than he could lick it away.

  Megan shook her head, pointed her finger sternly at Amelia, and said, “I guess you already have a project.”

  Together, they burst out giggling as Jimmy apologized awkwardly and left, muttering some lame excuse about finding napkins.

  ***

  After ice cream, Amelia had suggested that Jimmy head back to New York. Instead, he doubled down on his dumbery and said he’d wait it out at the motel.

  “You might need my help this week,” he offered weakly, his tail halfway between his legs by then.

  “Even if we need you, we won’t want you,” Megan answered. Amelia stared daggers at her, but she didn’t care. It had to be said. Jimmy, in all his sweet-talking, hot-stuff-walking glory, was a sleaze. And Megan would take a computer nerd over a sleaze any day of the week.

  The whole scene had made her seriously, and painfully, recon
sider everything she had ever known about her marriage. Especially about Brian’s role in it. She began to question if Sarah was an ally or a victim, after all. If, maybe, awfully, Megan had poisoned her teenage daughter’s brain, setting the stage for the girl to consider her own father a dope.

  Megan’s stomach started cramping as she reflected on it all.

  Brian wasn’t a dope. In fact, in his younger years, he’d rivaled Jimmy for good looks and toned abs. Sure, he’d hit middle age. But hadn’t Megan, for that matter? Hadn’t everyone?

  But no matter that, she reminded herself, she hadn’t entered into filing for a divorce lightly. It had come after years of neglect. Between them both. They were both to blame for a failed marriage. And who could fix a failed marriage?

  ***

  Soon enough, the two sisters found themselves trudging back along Harbor Avenue toward The Bungalows. Jimmy had convinced Amelia to let him stay in town. They even had dinner plans. It was nauseating, but Megan had more important things to worry about.

  The conversation about Clara and the house was on the tip of her tongue, but Amelia seemed distracted by her own problems.

  Still, they were in Birch Harbor to handle Nora’s aftermath. Or, rather, the aftermath of Nora.

  “What do you think about the house?” Megan asked Amelia at last.

  The older one turned to her just as they walked through the waist-high picket fence that ran along the front of the little complex.

  “Do you mean the harbor one? Or the cottage, because I’ve been thinking about the cottage, too. I mean, is that where everything is? Or did Mom leave a lot at the house on the harbor?”

  Megan shrugged. “I’m not sure. When we went to the cottage before the funeral, it seemed like everything was sort of... I don’t know in order. Like she had made plans for an easy turn-over. Like she was checking out of a hotel rather than dying.”

  Amelia paused when they reached Clara’s unit. “I haven’t been back to the harbor house in months. Clara’s been the one keeping it up. She’d know better.”

  “Speaking of which,” Megan answered, capitalizing. “Are we really going to split that place three ways? What about Clara? What do you think about the will?”