“What?” she replied, meeting his gaze and tucking her lips between her teeth, ready for whatever he said next. Whatever he did next.
“Let’s get you certified, and I’ll take you there.”
“You’ll take me on a dive down to the bottom of Lake Huron?” As she said it aloud, she realized it sounded like something she would never do in her whole life. Something she had zero interest in. But now, she had every ounce of interest in doing just that. Risking her life on a fool’s errand.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, in fact.”
Clara’s eyes lit up, but then her smile faded away. “It’s getting late in the year. Is anyone around here still doing SCUBA lessons?” In Birch Harbor each summer, the marina hired at least one diving instructor who ran weekly clinics and private lessons. Clara didn’t know much more than that since she’d spent so little time on the marina. Mainly, she’d just seen glimpses of the diving students or instructor sinking into the lake at an empty spot on the shore north of the Village or sometimes south down the cove.
“I am,” Jake answered.
“You teach SCUBA?” Clara’s eyes grew wide. “I’ve never seen you out there, though.”
“I don’t do it for the town. But I have my certifications. My license.” His face lit up, and Clara pressed her lips together, rethinking everything she knew about the world—that it was bigger than she realized. About dating—that it could be fun. About herself—that she actually wanted to have fun for once in her life.
“Have you taught others?”
“I’ve tried to get Mercy to go out there. But she’s nervous. And she thinks the water’s too cold.”
“Won’t it be too cold, now?”
“We could do it sooner than later. If we go this month and stick to midday, it won’t be too bad.”
“Tomorrow?” Clara asked, finding in herself a degree of courage that she didn’t know she had. The kind of courage that came from a genuine, unadulterated crush.
Then again, weren’t crushes usually one way?
Jake squeezed her hands and answered, “I guess we’ve planned our second date, then.”
Chapter 18—Amelia
Amelia sat at Clara’s vanity, staring at the gun, unable to touch it.
She’d always wondered what had happened after that day in Mr. Carmichael’s office; she never did see or hear of the gun again. Not from her parents. Not from school. Not even her drama friends wanted to talk about it.
In his office, the principal had droned on about how hard it must have been to try to fit in in that day and age. He talked about how he’d been privy to the rumors swirling around Amelia’s sister. He knew things could be tough. So, before dismissing her back to class, he drew his finger to his lips and told her that it could be their little secret. He’d do her that favor.
When she frowned at him and asked why, he simply said, “I owe it to your family, let’s just say.”
At that point, Amelia assumed that he was referring, perhaps, to some old Birch Harbor grudge. That was a “thing” in town. Old family grudges—who had claim to what property and when that claim had begun. That was a popular one.
But she didn’t dare ask him to explain further. She didn’t dare ask her parents about any of it. She simply accepted the favor and, over time, lost the event to the annals of her memory.
After all, her life changed in other ways in the months after that little drama. There was a baby in the house. Kate soon left for college. Amelia was looked over for roles in the subsequent school musicals, and life, well, just went on.
But as she now sat staring at that heavy chunk of metal, she recalled the reading of Nora’s will. Of course, when Michael had declared that Amelia would get the gun, she couldn’t speak up. He was a lawyer for goodness’ sake. He could have her arrested. It was HIS gun. What was the statute of limitations on stealing a gun? Probably didn’t even exist. You could probably never get away with that sort of crime, no matter how innocent you really were.
Then after the reading, when she had moments with her sisters to share the truth, she realized there was nothing much to share. Her friend took Michael’s gun. She tried to cover it up. Things got lost in the chaos, and she stupidly kept mum for years.
And then even later, when she learned about Gene Carmichael, everything fit together.
But still, Amelia couldn’t say a thing.
Confessing to the story still carried a threat. That her boyfriend would find out. And how could Michael see past a teenage error of that magnitude? What if he couldn’t? Then her only hope at true love would slip like grains of sand through her fingers.
But now she had new information. The gun wasn’t stowed in a bottom drawer somewhere with a collection of whoopie cushions, contraband cigarettes, maybe a half-drunk bottle of scotch, or whatever high school principals snuck between meetings with parents.
Or at least, not anymore—if it ever was.
If Carmichael didn’t keep her secret and perhaps told Amelia’s parents after all, then how come Nora and Wendell never said anything?
And if he did keep her secret, how had the gun made its way back to Nora?
Amelia blinked. Maybe it wasn’t the same gun.
She considered calling Kate but thought better of it. Kate would judge her. Criticize her. Kate would dredge up the past.
Clara was on a date, but she was too young to understand anyway.
Only Megan would get it. Megan, who also had a flair for the rebellious and a repulsion for holding the past against the present.
“Let me get this straight,” Megan said. The three of them—Amelia, Megan, and Brian—now sat in Clara’s living room, the gun pointing in the opposite direction as it lay on its side on the coffee table. “You were at a party at Michael’s house back in the nineties. Your friend found this thing,” Megan gestured to the piece, “and Michael walked in, so you shoved it down your pants instead of saying, ‘Hi, we found this. Sorry?’”
“You’re not thinking like a teenager,” Amelia protested, aggravated. She never should have called Megan. “I was a teenager,” she pressed.
“You weren’t an idiot,” Megan shot back, shaking her head. “But it’s been forever, Amelia. Just call Michael. Get it over with. He won’t care by now. His father is dead. And anyway, it’s just a gun.”
“Wait a minute,” Brian cut in. “Does this mean Wendell never had a gun?” He was still playing catch up. Megan had mentioned the will to him, and Amelia recalled it aloud there in the living room, before she revealed her discovery, as a way to offer some context.
Megan’s voice fell to a murmur, “I’ve been wondering about that, too, you know.”
“I don’t know if he had a gun. I was suspicious when Michael read the will, but you can see how my hands were tied.”
“They weren’t tied, Amelia,” Megan replied. “And they aren’t tied now. You and Michael are both grown adults. I think you can handle a misunderstanding. Or whatever this is.”
Amelia let out a sigh. She prayed they could handle a misunderstanding. She and Michael hadn’t had their first hardship yet. “This will be our first argument.”
“How do you know it will be an argument?” Brian asked.
Shrugging, Amelia focused on the gun. “I don’t know, I guess. I’m assuming.” she answered. And maybe it wouldn’t be an argument. But she wasn’t willing to upset what they had. What they had was too delicate. Too perfect.
“So, you’re just going to hide it again? Forever? Keep this little secret from him?” Megan proposed sardonically.
Her little sister made a good point. If Amelia kept mum, she wasn’t only lying by omission, but she would also have to lie outright when he asked her what she’d found in that stupid drawer. If she fibbed and said she’d found her father’s gun, for example, he’d want to see it. It could inform them on the case, after all. Then what would she do? She threw up her hands. “Yeah. I don’t know.”
“Tell him,
Amelia. You’re making this a way bigger deal than it really is. You were just a kid. You made a stupid mistake.”
Brian added, “Maybe the gun was something special, and he’d be happy to have it back. You know, sentimental value?”
Amelia groaned. “I hope it wasn’t special, geez.”
Megan waved her husband off. “It doesn’t matter if it was special or not.” Then she grabbed Amelia’s hand and stared hard at her. “Call him. Take the gun to his house. Get it over with. And,” she added, dropping her voice, “if you two really are meant to be together, then this whole thing will push you closer to that. Not farther away. I promise.”
Something deep down told Amelia that Megan knew what she was talking about. And anyway, the whole situation really was like a play—and a good play needed conflict. She and Michael had no conflict. Maybe this would improve their storyline.
The grandfather clock came into Amelia’s focus. “Oh my gosh—you both have to go. I have to go. It’s going to be two hours soon.”
“Two hours? What do you mean?” Megan asked, her face scrunching in confusion.
Amelia dragged her up by the arm and waved them toward the door. “Clara’s date. She told me to scram within two hours. Just in case.”
“In case what?” Brian asked over his shoulder.
Amelia grabbed the gun from the table and her purse from the kitchen bar and followed them out.
“In case everything goes well,” she replied, locking the door behind her.
Once Megan and Brian were in their SUV, their brake lights glowing as they rolled down toward town, Amelia buckled her seatbelt and took her phone out. With fear in her mind and hope in her heart, she called Michael.
He answered after one ring.
“Michael, hi.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to lighten her tone. “How are you?”
It didn’t work.
“Amelia? Is everything okay? You sound weird.”
“Everything is fine,” she tried for cheeriness, but it came out falsetto and awkward, and she knew she couldn’t. Not now. Not before rehearsing. “I just—” She swallowed, searching for some version of the truth that would buy her time.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy. Maybe he was a soft landing for all her fears.
Amelia let out a breath and stared blankly at the night beyond her windshield. “I’m fine. It’s just… it’s the drawer. I opened it. And, well, do you remember my mother’s will?”
Of course he did. He helped her write it. He referenced every step of their investigation, like it was a road map to finding her dad.
“Did you find Wendell’s gun?”
She closed her eyes and sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold. “Not exactly.”
Chapter 19—Kate
Breakfast at the Inn. Nine a.m. sharp. BYO gossip ;)
Kate loved having her sisters back in town. Even if it meant things were getting a little muddy here and there. But that’s what emergency text messages were for.
The women had to stay on top of each other’s good news and bad, and even Kate needed to vent a little. Of course, ultimately, she decided to preserve Matt and Vivi’s honor by letting her own sensitivities die off with the fact that Vivi’s snide comment was little more than teen girl drama. Still, Kate relished another chance to speak freely.
And a woman could always speak freely with her best friends. In Kate’s case, her sisters.
By ten after nine, each of the four women was present, accounted for, and cradling a coffee on the back deck.
Bacon and eggs sat at the ready in the center of the table—a second batch of breakfast, since Kate’s two parties had taken theirs at seven before heading out to the water.
“Do you ever feel like you’re living in a motel?” Megan asked, blowing the steam off the top of her mug.
Kate laughed. “A motel? No. Do you?” She lifted an eyebrow, but Megan stared off into the middle distance.
“Yes,” she replied, then broke into a smile. “The Bungalows does have that feel to it. But you know what? I sort of don’t mind. I think I’ll look back on our time there with fondness, you know?”
Kate nodded and took a sip. “I do. It’ll be a good memory. The time you started fresh.”
“Speaking of which, Megan, how’s everything going with the fall matchmaking event?” Clara asked.
“Why? Was your date last night that bad?” Megan answered, but the former flushed bright red and ducked behind her drink.
“No way,” she answered.
“Clara, you have to divulge. How did it go last night?” Kate leaned in, excited.
“I’m not going into every last detail,” Clara replied. “But let’s just say he kissed me on my doorstep and disappeared into the evening like a knight.”
Kate propped her chin in hand. “Aww.”
“That’s it?” Amelia cocked an eyebrow.
“That’s perfect,” Megan gushed.
Clara beamed back at them but then shook her head. “Okay, enough of that. Back to the drama.”
Amelia held up a hand. “Fine. I’ll start.”
Kate’s gaze narrowed on Amelia. She exchanged a look with Megan, who was obviously in on something. “What’s the ‘bad stuff?’”
“So, you are going to talk about it?” Megan asked Amelia.
“Talk about what?” Kate pried.
Amelia let out a dramatic sigh. “I found ‘dad’s’ gun last night.” She made air quotes with her fingers and threw a pointed look at Clara.
“Oh, I forgot about the drawer,” Clara half-murmured. “You weren’t there when I got in—”
“You told me to leave within two hours,” Amelia replied.
“Two hours of what? What drawer?” Kate asked, stealing a slice of bacon and crunching into it.
“You tell them,” Amelia threw her head toward the water, and Kate had no idea what was going on. But Megan apparently did because she was the one who replied.
“No, this is your business. You tell them.” Then Megan turned to the others. “It is not a big deal. In fact, it’s such a small thing, that you will all laugh and promptly move on to more important news, like the fact that Brian and I came up with an amazing idea for the field and the business.”
“Ooh,” Clara interjected. “That’s exciting.”
“Fine!” Amelia cried out. “Fine, I’ll tell.”
Kate and Clara shook heads at each other, grinning, and then Amelia launched into an explanation of an event that happened so long ago, and for so petty a reason, that Kate nearly fell asleep mid coffee sip.
“So now,” Amelia finished, “I have to confess all this to Michael, and if he breaks up with me, then my life is over.”
“Wow.” Megan was the first to speak after Amelia. “You’ve turned a whole lot of nothing into a big pot of something, haven’t you? I mean—you’re even worse off than you were last night.”
“Let me get this straight,” Clara chimed in. “What you found in that top drawer was Michael’s dad’s gun. That you ‘accidentally’ stole back in high school. And Mr. Carmichael confiscated it. But it somehow wound back up with Mom? And she never spoke of it?”
During Clara’s review of the facts, Kate grew more interested. “I’ll admit it’s weird that Mom never said anything. Was there a note or anything to go with the gun?”
Amelia shook her head miserably.
“The best I would guess,” Megan answered, “is that Gene figured it belonged to Dad and gave it to Mom at some point.”
“But why wouldn’t she say anything?” Kate reiterated. “It’s an easy conversation.”
“Not for Mom,” Clara pointed out. “She was always worried someone was going to dig up her skeletons and hang them on the laundry line for all to see. It makes perfect sense, actually. She probably figured that if Amelia was keeping the secret, then she’d better, too.”
“And Megan’s right,” Kate added. “Michael won’t be that mad, Amelia. You’re n
ot kids anymore.”
“Well, I have another question,” Clara said. “Could he already know?”
“Already know that I stole his dad’s gun and never said anything about it?” Amelia asked.
“Surely his dad noticed that it was gone back then and made an issue of it. Maybe his dad even accused him.”
Amelia seemed to consider Clara’s point and frowned. “Yeah. I see what you mean. But then it’s really awkward.” Her eyes flashed up. “Wait a minute. What if the only reason he’s dating me is because he knows I’ve had the gun all these years, and he’s waiting for me to break? Waiting to have the gun returned. What if our entire relationship is a lie?”
“Oh my God,” Kate moaned and leaned forward to refresh her coffee. “This is ridiculous.”
“Moving on,” Megan added.
But Clara held up her hand. “You’re afraid.” She narrowed her gaze on Amelia. Kate and Megan kept mum.
Amelia nodded. “I’m scared to death he’s going to break up with me.”
“Then why are you with him?” Clara replied. “What fun is dating someone if your relationship is this fragile?”
Megan joined in now. “I don’t think their relationship is this fragile,” she said. “I think Amelia is too scared of conflict to even know what kind of relationship they have.”
Amelia looked down, and Kate assumed a pout session was about to commence.
But she was wrong.
“You’re right,” Amelia replied. “I’ve never…” She blinked and looked out at the water. “I’ve never cared about a man this much.” Her eyes turned wet, and she swiped a finger beneath each. “I don’t want to threaten what we have.”
“Amelia,” Kate reasoned softly, “if you can’t be honest with him, then you are threatening what you have.”
Amelia sighed and plucked a strip of bacon from the platter. “You know what? You’re right.” She broke the slice into two and played with them for a moment. “We’re getting together after this.” Her eyes moved up to meet Kate’s. “I’m going to come clean.”
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