House on the Harbor
Page 8
They moved into the kitchen. It was there that it occurred to Amelia how valuable the house just may be.
Rustic wooden countertops cut utilitarian angles around an ample island. Beneath the window, the porcelain farmhouse sink, complete with an apron, presented itself like a solitaire popping up from a thick, corroding gold band.
The fridge, a narrow, white piece from the mid-nineties, was the exact same one Amelia had used when she lived there. From it, she’d fetch milk for cereal in the mornings and a glass tray of butter for dinner rolls each night.
The kitchen table waited beneath yet another heavy tent. Consenting to an urge that tugged at her from the moment she saw all the drop cloths, Amelia gripped the edges of the one on the table and tugged hard, flourishing the fabric back like a matador.
The dust turned to an aerosol, blasting all three of their faces and tickling their throats into coughing fits.
“Gee, thanks, Amelia,” Megan choked out at the end of a final wheeze.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Amelia replied, grinning, and wiped her hands along her jeans. “I had to do it. The temptation was too strong.”
Beneath the sheet was the same farmhouse-style table they’d used as children. It was an heirloom, from the Hannigan ancestors. One of many, to be sure.
The sisters stared at the wooden piece before moving on through the pantry and into a small dining room, one they’d never used with any regularity.
From there, they looped back to the staircase and split off. Kate and Amelia turned up the stairs, and Megan walked past, to the basement door which opened just between the kitchen and the foyer at the backside of the staircase.
As they explored, Amelia and Kate murmured remembrances about years gone past. Sliding down the banister and nearly cracking their heads open. Helping their mom strip, buff, stain, and wax the hardwood by hand, one room at a time. For as much work as they had all put into the house, it now felt like a waste.
Amelia broke away from Kate at the second landing and opted to take the narrow staircase at the far end of the hall, up to the attic.
It had been her space, as a child. A space where she put on her puppet shows and rehearsed for dance recitals—the dance recitals she presented for her mother and whatever friends were visiting for the evening.
When she made it up the stairs and through the narrow door, she came to a stop, unable to move beyond the few feet just inside the door. Towers of boxes blocked her access. Stacked in dense rows across the attic floor, they were entirely unfamiliar.
Pushing out a sigh, she turned and descended, rejoining Kate in the hallway.
Kate offered a weak smile. “Sheets everywhere. Otherwise, it’s the same. Frozen in time, I guess.”
Amelia nodded. “Let’s find Megan.”
***
They sat at the kitchen table; their three handbags propped by their feet. Megan picked at her chipping nail polish. Amelia flicked a glance to Kate, who held an envelope on top of the table, squarely in front of her.
Amelia shifted in her seat. “Wow,” she began, attempting to break the ice. “A private document for the executor, or a private letter for you.” She lifted an eyebrow and pretended to scrutinize her older sister. The effect seemed to agitate Kate, and Amelia laughed lightly. “I’m kidding. But what’s inside?”
“And why is it a secret?” Megan added, dropping her hands to her lap. “And why isn’t Clara here?”
Kate looked up at them, and Amelia thought she saw a tear form in her eye. But it was gone in a flash as the woman launched into what could only be called an appeal.
“First of all, I’m not inviting Clara to join us until we come to an agreement. I haven’t opened this letter yet, and I’m not going to just yet. Regardless of what’s inside, we have to make a decision about what we’re going to do. And it has to be the right decision.”
Amelia leaned back, taking in Megan’s initial reaction. She tugged either side of her black hair behind her ears and looked back at Amelia, who shrugged.
“Go on,” Amelia answered, propping her elbows on the table.
Kate licked her lips. “Clara belongs in the will.”
Amelia sucked in a breath. “Well, obviously.”
Megan cut in. “So then why isn’t she?”
“We know why she isn’t,” Kate hissed.
“Because Mom was a mean old woman?” Megan replied.
Amelia shook her head and held her hands up in sharp angles. “No name-calling. No bitchiness.” She felt the others narrow their eyes on her, so she went on. “Fact: Clara was left nothing. Fact: Clara should have gotten something.”
“Fact,” Megan inserted herself, her tone one of mockery, “it doesn’t matter who was in the will if Kate is right about all these bills.” The last word rolled off her tongue like poison.
“Okay, calm down,” Kate answered. “I am right about the bills. But that doesn’t change that we each get a piece of the pie. And it shouldn’t change the fact that Mom made a mistake. We can fight this. We have to fight this for Clara. She doesn’t deserve to be left out.”
Amelia’s face softened. She agreed with Kate. Clara deserved one-fourth. Each of them deserved exactly one-fourth. No matter their history.
“So can we agree to fight it?” Kate pressed. “Can we agree to contest the will on the grounds that Mom made an error?”
Amelia nodded right away.
Megan shrugged. “Sure. Yeah. Obviously it’s not fair. Go ahead. Contest it. She’s our sister, right?”
Kate frowned deeply. “Thank you. And anyway, maybe this letter explains things. If the house was not designated for one of us, then we’ll have to share it anyway. I still don’t think that’s fair enough, though. Regardless I’ll go back to Michael’s office first thing in the morning and file an appeal.”
“For the love of all that is good in this world, open the letter,” Amelia demanded, softly pounding her fist on the top of the table.
Kate opened her mouth to reply, but she was thwarted by a deep, intrusive chime.
The doorbell.
Chapter 15—Megan
Megan strode to the front of the house in a huff, convinced it was a local busybody snooping for some sort of belated gossip.
She was wrong.
“Oh,” she murmured, after tugging the door hard enough to nearly pull a muscle in her shoulder. “Hi.”
Matt Fiorillo stood haplessly on the porch. He was dressed like he was about to go golfing—at a par 3 out in the sticks. A frumpy polo, untucked, above the most casual of khaki shorts. Ankle socks and clean white sneakers gave way to tanned, muscular legs.
He raised a hand and scratched his dark hair as he met Megan’s gaze. “Megan?” he asked.
Megan had always liked Matt. Even after he and her sister broke up. She’d liked him in the way a girl admires a handsome distant relative. Perhaps, an uncle by marriage or a second cousin, twice removed—with fascination and a dose of envy.
If she was honest, Megan used Matt as a template, of sorts. He was the type of guy she wanted to marry. She’d always said that to herself.
And, in many ways, she was successful. Brian, too, was something of a puppy-dog type. Friendly and frumpy. Kind eyes. Gentle words. Brian, however, was more of an intellectual, preferring computers over cars and phone apps over fixer-uppers.
Of all the people in Birch Harbor who Megan had ever heard gossip about, Matt was not among them. Nor were any of the Fiorillos, really. It was a nice family. A lovable one.
“Matt? What are you doing here?” Megan glanced behind her, waiting for Kate and Amelia to appear at any moment.
He dropped his hand from his hair and tucked it into his front pocket. A deep sadness took hold of his face. “Megan, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom. I was at the funeral, but—”
“We were busy,” Megan replied on his behalf. “It’s okay. Thank you for coming, though.”
Just then, Megan felt the air change behind her. Matt’s eyes lifted.<
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She turned. Kate and Amelia stood there, both sets of their eyes frozen on him.
“Matt. Hi.” The voice belonged to Kate, but Megan didn’t recognize it. Her words came out pinched and high.
Megan cleared her throat and stepped aside. “Amelia, let’s go to the parlor and leave these two alone.”
Kate shook her head and pinned Megan with a look before glancing back to Matt. “No, no. It’s fine. Matt, come in.”
He thanked them and followed as Kate escorted everyone to the back porch, which was hitherto uncharted territory.
Megan was glad for the change of scenery, but even more, she was glad to be in on this little reunion, of sorts.
Things had not ended well with Kate and Matt. Megan was only in grade school when it happened, but she could remember the whole fiasco like the back of her hand. Kate’s sobs. Matt’s angry helplessness.
They’d both put up a good fight. One they thought no one had borne witness to.
But Megan had.
Twelve-year-olds were good at that sort of thing. Sneaking around and eavesdropping on their older sisters. Especially when a boy was involved.
But then, that memory extended far past the emotional night that pushed Matt away indefinitely.
That was the summer they went on vacation. All of them. Like a happy family. Their aunt’s house in Arizona. Far away from Michigan. Far away from everyone.
The walk to the backyard felt long. Megan had flashbacks to when they lived there, Amelia and Kate always striding ahead of her and Megan doing her best to catch up. She didn’t like to miss anything. And, usually, she didn’t have to.
However, now was not a good time to meddle. Standing and facing the lake added to the discomfort Megan sensed. Amelia must have felt it, too, because she tugged Megan’s arm lightly. “Come on. You were right. Why don’t we let these two catch up? You and I can walk the grounds. I haven’t been down to the lake in forever.”
Megan, again, felt Kate’s eyes bore a hole, but Matt smiled easily.
“Ten minutes,” Kate called after Megan and Amelia. “Just give us ten minutes.”
Amelia chuckled once they were on the far side of the lawn, stepping through the white wooden gate of the seawall and down to the little beach.
“What’s funny?” Megan asked.
As if guided by muscle memory, they both kicked their shoes off and stepped into the warm sand. It curled up between Megan’s toes, and she realized how much she missed it. The last time she’d sat out on the lake was years prior. Even then, when she had found herself on the shore, she hadn’t taken her shoes off. She hadn’t felt the sand on the bottom of her feet or sliding overtop. If she closed her eyes now, she could transport herself to Rehoboth or La Jolla.
Or, even better, she could transport herself to her childhood.
“This whole thing,” Amelia spread her arms out wide and twirled in a circle. “Being home. Like, home, home. Mom. The weird-as-hell will. Matt,” she lifted her chin up toward the porch. They were far enough away to be out of earshot, but Megan only stole a quick look.
“It’s not that funny,” Megan pointed out.
“Oh, it’s funny. Life is funny, Megan.”
They walked to the shoreline. Directly back from the property, a wide thatch of grass halted at the seawall. From there, lay a pristine sandy beach. But just yards off, in the direction of the harbor, spread a rocky outcropping. Though the waves of Lake Huron weren’t the crashing kind, every so often a boat would zoom past and push water up against the rocks. The resulting splash turned the cove and the marina beyond into more than a community by the lake; Birch Harbor became a small town on the water.
Megan stared out and up the shore, beyond the marina. Miles north, past the tourist fanfare, stood one of Lake Huron’s many lighthouses. Thoughts of her father and his parents washed over her—the grandparents that the Hannigan girls cuddled with, the ones who took them to the Detroit Zoo and the county fair. The ones who maintained the rickety old tower and the house beneath. She wondered who was running it currently. It still worked, after all.
“Why are you with Jimmy, Amelia?” It fell out of Megan’s mouth before she could swallow it back. Megan felt now was the time to nail it down. She knew her sister deserved better than Jimmy, but she needed Amelia to see it, too. For her own good.
By the seawall at the far corner of the property there sat a small wooden shed, its boards dead and gray.
Amelia pointed to it. “Let’s grab chairs and sit. They might be longer than ten minutes.”
Soon enough, the two middle sisters were sitting with their feet in the water, idly lifting the shore on their toes and splashing it gently back out to the lake.
“Jimmy is... ” Amelia began with a sigh.
Megan felt compelled to finish her sentence, but she refrained, trying to accept that it was far better for Amelia to find the truth on her own than for anyone else to thrust it at her.
After a beat, Amelia lifted her hands and slapped them back down on the arms of the chair. Megan winced. “Don’t get a splinter.” The wood of the chairs was sun-bleached and brittle.
A rumble of laughter caught in Amelia’s throat and spread across to Megan. They giggled together. It felt good.
“Jimmy is your boyfriend,” Megan said, her tone impartial as could be.
“Jimmy is my boyfriend, yes.” Amelia stopped for a minute and furrowed her eyebrows. “Wow. Boyfriend. Am I fifteen?”
Again, they laughed, but this time it wasn’t as light.
Megan kept quiet and picked at her nail polish. Little black flakes lifted up and carried off on the breeze. She glanced back toward the house. Kate and Matt weren’t standing there anymore. Maybe they’d gone in.
“What do you think they're talking about?” Amelia asked.
Megan shrugged. “I doubt much. Kate isn’t going to rehash the past. She’s too focused on what’s happening with the will.”
“Clara deserves more,” Amelia answered, her voice flattening. “You know that, right, Megan?”
Megan frowned. “Yes, I know that. But something doesn’t add up.”
Amelia didn’t answer. Instead, she changed the conversation. “Have you talked to Brian since you’ve been here?”
Another breeze, a stronger breeze, whipped across their faces. Though it was getting later, and the air was turning cooler, the sun still hung in the sky behind them, casting their shadows onto the water. Megan stood abruptly and kicked water at hers, but it reappeared quickly, like a long, lifeless blob. Not quite a reflection. Still, it was her own image, stretching out into the lake from her feet, indelibly attached. “No,” she answered.
“Does he know you’re on that app?”
Megan turned sharply to her sister and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not on the app. I mean I’m on it, but—it’s not what you think,” she replied. Her breath turned sour and her mouth grew dry. It was an internal struggle that she should be able to share with Amelia. With anyone, really. But she was too scared things might not pan out. She was scared it was a dead end. And then she’d look the fool.
“It’s not what I think? Then tell me, what should I think?” Amelia replied. Her voice was soft, but her words pushed Megan to the brink of revealing her little secret.
No. Another week or two. Then things might materialize. She might be able to share. It might be different. And anyway, they weren’t together in Birch Harbor for Amelia or anyone else to pick apart Megan’s life decisions. “I’m getting a divorce. And, actually, the dating app has nothing to do with it,” she spat back.
But as she walked away from Amelia and back toward the house, Megan felt a knot form in her throat. She couldn’t swallow past it. It stayed there, thickening, until she began to wonder if her plan was a joke. Who was Megan Stevenson to pursue her dreams?
As she crossed through the gate and up the sidewalk, Megan’s phone vibrated in her back pocket.
For the first time in forever, she hoped it was him.
She hoped it was him. Hers.
Brian.
But it wasn’t.
Chapter 16—Kate
Kate hadn’t spoken to Matt Fiorillo in years. Even at the funeral, they successfully avoided each other. At the time, his presence had even felt... voyeuristic.
“Why’d you come, Matt?” she asked as he followed her through to the kitchen, where she landed behind a chair. She felt a little naked in front of him. She hadn’t brought her most fashionable outfits or all of her makeup and hair products. He was seeing her plainly, as she was.
“Mainly to see if you are okay.”
“Really?” She frowned. Kate had no reason to be angry with Matt. And, she wasn’t. But still, she couldn’t quite trust him, interrupting her and her sisters like that.
He dropped his voice. “Really. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes fell to his hands, work worn and bigger than she remembered. “I guess.”
In a moment, he was next to her. “Is there anything I can do?”
Shaking her head, Kate blinked away a tear. She wanted to ask him about himself, but it wasn’t the time. Maybe it never would be.
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need. I can run errands. I can give you money—whatever you need.”
She looked up at him. “We don’t need your help, Matt. Thanks, but we will be okay.”
“And,” he replied, pausing momentarily. “Your sisters? How are they?”
Kate looked up sharply. “Fine. They’re fine. There are some complications, but we’ll make it work.”
He inhaled deeply and took a step back before waving his hand around. “What are you doing with this place?”
A shrug was all Kate could offer in reply. “We don’t know. My mom wasn’t very clear, unfortunately. Or, if she was, then we haven’t found out yet.”
“It is staying in the family, right? You four will get it, though?”
She frowned. “I hope so.”
Matt stepped back toward her, tucked the edge of his fingers under her chin and said, “Please let me know if I can help. Do you promise, Kate?”