Cottage by the Creek

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Who’s she going to tattle to?”

  “Jake Hennings, maybe,” Sarah answered.

  Kate’s eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know Jake Hennings?” she asked.

  “He’s Mercy’s dad, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “And Mercy is Vivi’s best friend.”

  “Well, I’ll talk to Vivi. She’ll listen to me.”

  Sarah seemed to consider this. “Aunt Kate, you don’t really know Vivi, do you?”

  Kate frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who just said that you don’t really know Vivi. If that’s true, then how can you know that I don’t?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Never mind. Forget about it.”

  “Okay,” Kate replied, keeping her inner thoughts to herself. Namely, that Sarah was talking in circles. Making excuses. Refusing to broaden her horizons and take a chance here or there.

  If there was anything that Kate didn’t want for Sarah, it was the life that Clara had been boxed into—a safe, dutiful life with few, if any friends and piles of extra credit towering on the corner of her nightstand after spending the afternoon scrubbing rental toilets at The Bungalows.

  And while Kate ended up losing control over how Clara was raised, she still had an opportunity to take part in Sarah’s upbringing. Even if just for a year.

  “I’ll handle Vivi. You drive,” she directed, pointing to the throttle. “Now here is what you do.”

  Soon enough, they’d sputtered their way to Birch Bay, the Birch Harbor-facing side of Heirloom Island.

  Kate tapped out a text to Matt’s daughter that her ride had arrived, and soon enough, they spotted Vivi—striding down her private dock, toward where Kate and Sarah sat in Matt’s Bayliner.

  “Did my dad say you could drive his boat?” Vivi asked with false sweetness as she climbed aboard, staring daggers at Sarah.

  Kate blanched. It didn’t occur to her that the vessel might be an element of jealousy. She glanced at Sarah, who was frozen by the younger girl’s accusation.

  “Yes,” Kate answered quickly, punting. Committing to her bad decision and regretting it every step of the way but still struggling not to further alienate the two girls from one another. “And now it’s your turn, Viv.”

  “E.”

  “What’s that?” Kate asked.

  “It’s Viv-i. And I’m not allowed to drive. Not until I have my driver’s license,” she added.

  Kate and Sarah exchanged a look. Either Vivi didn’t know the law or Brian hadn’t told Sarah the truth. Something in Kate’s gut told her to trust Vivi on this one, and she suddenly felt more at ease about it all.

  Knowing she had to act fast or else she’d ruin Sarah’s night, Kate took a chance. One that she wasn’t typically inclined to take. Not with a fifteen-year-old. Not with her boyfriend’s daughter.

  “Vivi, I’ll let you drive the boat a little, if you’d like. I’ll cover you, even. With your dad.”

  Vivi narrowed her gaze on Kate. “What if we get pulled over by the Marine Patrol?”

  “Who, Jake?” Kate answered, half-joking.

  “Jake Hennings? He’s not Marine Patrol,” Vivi replied evenly. “But he will be on the water tonight, that much is true.” Something flickered in the girl’s crystalline eyes. Something that caused Kate to hesitate. Instead of taking the bait, however, she ignored the comment.

  “Tell you what, if Jake Hennings or anyone else pulls us over, I’ll teach you girls how to flirt your way out of a ticket. Deal?”

  That time, Vivi and Sarah exchanged a look.

  Kate shook her head, good sense returning to her. “You know what, Vivi? You’re right. You’re too young. Neither one of you drives back. My mistake. I’ll just take over. Here, Sarah. Get up.”

  She wasn’t using reverse psychology on Vivi; really, she wasn’t. Kate was sincere. Before everything else, Kate was a rule follower. Getting caught up in settling the differences among teenagers wasn’t her forte, and though she may have been well-meaning, it was a dumb thing to do. It could compromise not only their safety, but also her own reputation.

  But it was too late. Her strategy, inadvertently, had worked.

  “No,” Vivi answered. “If Sarah got to drive, then I get to drive. After all, if he let Sarah, then he’d let me, too.”

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Sarah scooted to the far inside of the seat, and Vivi squeezed in next to her.

  Kate’s breathing returned to normal, and she settled on the back bench, satisfied in somehow accomplishing the very goal she’d made for the short rendezvous to the Island.

  The girls chatted easily. Kate tried to tune them out and give them a little space to find their way to friendship again. The age difference seemed irrelevant to Kate.

  By the time they eased into the Hannigan dock, and Kate jumped out to tie the boat off, the girls were talking easily, their footing regained. Kate wondered if Sarah saw that it wasn’t so bad to be friends with younger girls. It was better than nothing, especially if she was so dead set against spending time with Chloe or Paige.

  “What time are you two meeting your friends?” Kate asked once they made it inside. She thought they might have broken off at the sea wall, meandering toward the Village to meet the others; instead, they’d followed her.

  “Not for another ten minutes,” Vivi answered. “Mercy is walking up from the South Cove now, though, so maybe she’ll be early.”

  “You mean her dad isn’t driving her here?” Sarah asked.

  To Kate, it was an innocent question.

  But to Vivi, clearly, it was an opening of some kind. She lifted her eyebrow at Sarah then glanced at Kate. “You Hannigans and your boy toys,” she answered.

  Taken aback, Kate dropped the boat keys on the counter and propped her hands on her hips, cocking her head. “Excuse me?”

  Sarah folded her arms over her chest and stopped at the edge of the kitchen island, her eyes flying to Kate for help.

  “What did you just say, Viviana?” She hated herself, a little bit, for using the girl’s full name, as if she were her mother or something.

  And she paid for it. Vivi’s gaze settled like a fog on Kate, and she answered, “I said, ‘you Hannigans and your boy toys.’” She pronounced each syllable like she was cracking an ice cube tray and plucking each block out, carefully so as not to burn herself from the freeze.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Kate answered, her neck growing hot and her spine prickling.

  As if snapped out of her trance, Vivi blinked then shook her head before smiling sweetly. “Oh, I just mean it seems like each of you sort of… I don’t know… sets her sights on a cute guy.”

  Kate nodded slowly, her gaze narrowed and hard. “And what does that have to do with Sarah’s question?”

  Chapter 12—Amelia

  As soon as Clara left for her date, Amelia called Michael, “I’m at my sister’s cottage, and we found a locked drawer.”

  “Where? What do you mean you found a locked drawer?”

  Even as she explained it, images of Nancy Drew flew through Amelia’s mind. Soon enough, they’d solve the mystery and enjoy a burger and a milkshake on the beach together, ready to take on the next challenge. Then again, did Nancy have a handsome sidekick? Maybe. “Well, Clara dragged this little old vanity up from the basement. The front center drawer was locked.”

  She could hear his breath hitch, and it excited her. That Michael was as entrenched and interested in her family history as Amelia made her investigation of Wendell’s fate not only manageable… but even enjoyable. She and Michael really were like a romantic pair of crimefighters, except there was no crime.

  Not that they knew of, at least.

  Her sisters had made fun of him, surmising that he must be pretty bored to spend his extra time sorting through decades-old drama.

  Megan, however, had come to Amelia and Michael’s defense. “He’s not bored,” she’d said once over lunch when they were gossiping toge
ther. “He’s in love.”

  And, he was, in fact. He’d admitted as much to Amelia. She loved him back, which at first was an odd thing for her. To settle in like that.

  Sure, Amelia had told any number of men that she’d loved them: In the heat of a passionate kiss or during a walk in the park when another happy couple strolled past. The sentiment back then always felt like some desperate endgame, though.

  Now, it felt like part of the process.

  With Michael, love came in a natural, grown-up course of events. They had history together, for starters. Their shared status as Birch Harbor originals. Their high school days—awkward and delicate. Treacherous, perhaps. Sometimes living in Amelia’s brain was like a threat to the present. Not that they had anything back then. Nothing romantic, for sure. Just the imbalanced relationship of a younger pretty girl and an older studious boy who saw each other in class and at parties. One party, at least.

  Then came the past summer. First, their date at the lighthouse, the kiss, then a sequence of other dates—all around town and even out of town on daytrips. The dates turned quickly into his willingness to help her at the lighthouse. He had an affinity for local history, he’d revealed. No surprise there. His in-home library proved as much. But Amelia already knew about all that.

  One day, when they were lounging around half-watching Gone with the Wind and half-cuddling, Amelia asked him, “Why?”

  He’d replied, “Why what?”

  “Why are you with me? Why are you helping me? Why do you love me?” The questions came out in a string just like that, and he laughed. Not a derisive laugh, but an affectionate one. One that told her she already knew why.

  They were meant to be together. They were meant to bounce their insecurities off each other and find adventures and do all the things that soulmates did.

  Later, when they were at his house and she stumbled separately into his library as he cooked dinner, she ran her hands along the books. Legal titles. Classics. Shakespeare, of course. And then, a section dedicated to all things Michigan and the Great Lakes. Nestled among them was a vertically shelved stack of pages, like printer paper stuffed between books to smooth the wrinkles. She’d been about to tug it out when he appeared in the doorway, summoning her for dinner.

  He didn’t see her, or if he did, he didn’t reprimand her or ask her what she was looking at, but that slotted stack of white paper hung with her through all the dates and the I-Love-Yous and her sisters’ niggling and Megan’s defensiveness. She didn’t ask about it, of course. She had no right. Not after what happened in that library so many years ago. If she asked about those white pages, then maybe that ill-fated night would come up, too. And what good would that do anyone?

  Now, he replied to her answer. “Is Clara there with you? Did she try to open the drawer? Do you want my help?”

  “No, no. Clara just left for her date, but we got it open before she did. Now here I am, and I just need to pull the darn thing open,” she responded. “But I figured I’d let you know in case I find something, and it—” a thought occurred to her. “Oh, you know what, Michael? Just forget I even called. You have the Island school’s case to worry about right now. You don’t need more Hannigan drama.”

  “It’s not drama, Amelia. It’s interesting. But I do need to get to work. Say, if you do need something, call me back, all right?”

  “All right, Michael,” she answered. “Oh, and don’t forget,” she added. “Tomorrow at ten, we have our writing session.” Amelia was referring to their plans to throw together a script for the re-enactment. Michael had agreed to consult and advise, as a sort of dramaturge, and her stage manager Lucy, had texted and confirmed she’d swing by to help, too.

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” he assured her, and they ended their call.

  Amelia set the phone down and eased into Clara’s vanity chair, a wobbling, iron-framed thing with a tuffet and three uneven legs. Swallowing, she tucked her fingertips beneath the bottom lip of the drawer and slowly pulled it out.

  Sitting inside was a Smith and Wesson snub-nose revolver.

  The one Nora left to Amelia.

  The one that was her father’s.

  The one that never belonged to him in the first place.

  Chapter 13—Clara

  Night was beginning to fall on the marina as Jake explained why, exactly, he needed to blindfold Clara.

  “It was Mercy’s idea,” he went on.

  Clara’s frown deepened, and her eyes dropped again to the piece of fabric—a red bandana, she now could see. “Mercy said you should blindfold me?” she managed meekly, bewildered. Maybe dating apps and coffee meetups were the way to go after all. Then again, there was something sweet about a man who took dating tips from his teenage daughter.

  “Well, yes,” he answered, grinning sheepishly. “That was part of her idea. Now you need to step out of the car,” he instructed, holding the door wide for her.

  Something in his tone suggested her instincts were wrong. That her gut reaction was all wrong. That she had no reason to be nervous and every reason to be excited.

  She got out of the car, rising and smoothing her dress, her eyes darting past him to the Inn, half-praying that Kate would tear out of there and sprint over… and half-praying that Kate wasn’t even home to see what was taking shape at the parking lot near the marina.

  On the path that trickled from the Inn to Birch Village, Clara spotted a throng of teenagers. Sarah and her friends, no doubt. Maybe Mercy was there, too. And Vivi. Maybe there would be a witness to this little thrill.

  “What else did Mercy suggest?” Clara asked.

  Jake replied, “It’s a surprise, like I said.”

  Clara laughed, but his grin slipped, and he looked like sweat might pour off his forehead. Shaking his head, he dropped the bandana and rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “This is incredibly awkward. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no,” Clara assured. “This is great. I’m not used to surprises, that’s all.” Her voice wobbled as she said it. It was true. The last big surprise in her life had come down from the annals of her deceased mother. It would be a good thing to have a more pleasant surprise now. A sweet one.

  He nodded helplessly, and Clara’s heart throbbed with affection.

  She turned around and faced the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing?” Jake asked.

  “I’m ready to be surprised,” she replied.

  She could sense Jake’s arms rise and fall around her, encircling her as he pulled the fabric over her eyes loosely. Silently grateful she’d opted for waterproof makeup, she smiled as she felt him tie the bandana at the back of her head.

  “Is that okay?” he asked. His voice came close to her ear, and she inadvertently leaned into it, nodding.

  “Okay, I’ll just lead the way now.”

  One hand traced down her arm, collecting her fingers in his palm and pressing his other hand into her lower back.

  She let him guide her, and though she knew the area well, discombobulation set in immediately. He turned her left and right. Down a path, up a short set of stairs and down another. Up and down again, like a game. Wood transitioned to stone beneath her feet. Then grass. Then wood.

  It felt as if they were near the water. She could smell the lake, feel the cool wet air. In all likelihood, he was leading her north along the Village toward The Bottle, which sat at the very far end, closer to the lighthouse than to the Inn, almost—farther from one sister and closer to the next. She wasn’t used to having her sisters surround her like that.

  Now that they were back, would Clara ever escape the hovering threat of her family?

  Did she even want to?

  “Okay, Clara,” Jake murmured. “The only way for me to do this and keep some semblance of surprise is to lift you up. Is that all right?”

  “Lift me up?” Panic gripped her briefly. “Like, how? What do you mean?”

  “Like this,” he whispered again, scooping beneath her as her legs swung up
and her head fell back, and in spite of herself, she laughed. A heartfelt, giddy laugh.

  “Wow,” she managed. “Count me surprised, because I can’t think of a place in all of Birch Harbor where you’d need to sweep me up into the air.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut so she couldn’t catch a glimpse through the loose bottom edge of the bandana, Clara took a deep breath.

  “Then you haven’t been on the right dates,” he answered, his voice low.

  Gone was the smell of the lake. In its place, leather, perhaps. And cologne. Clean soap and a warm musk, but it wasn’t her surroundings Clara was breathing in.

  It was him.

  Jake sat her in a plastic chair at what felt like a folding table. Not the hardy wooden bar-height stools of The Bottle. Or a high-backed booth in some dive off Harbor Ave.

  The floor seemed to rock beneath her feet. If Clara didn’t know better, she’d have thought they were adrift in the middle of the lake. Either that, or her blindfold and the presence of this handsome man had disabled her balance entirely, leaving Clara floating blindly.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, her eyes still closed and covered.

  He worked slowly to unknot the back, then braced a hand on her shoulder as the fabric slid away, and Clara opened her eyes.

  At first, she didn’t know where she was or what she was seeing. Then she squinted, and the landscape and setting came into focus. “We are in the water?” she whispered more to herself than to him as her gaze swept across Lake Huron and settled on a set table in front of her.

  “Welcome aboard the Birch Bell,” he answered, lifting his hand about them.

  She gripped the table, rocking involuntarily forward, then braced herself and stood. “We’re on the ferry?” Clara gasped.

  He grinned and nodded. “We have it for exactly two hours.”

  Clara clutched at her chest. “I never would have guessed,” she said through a breathy voice. And it occurred to her that she was in a big heap of trouble. “Jake, do you realize what you’ve done?”