Michael and Kate exchanged a glance, and Kate looked back at the secretary before grabbing Megan around the shoulders and directing her outside into the late afternoon sun.
Once they were near the SUV, Kate studied Megan harder. “Why doesn’t Judith Carmichael want us doing business here? I already am.”
Megan just shrugged.
“Why?” Kate repeated, now directing her question to Michael.
“Why do you think?” Megan replied. “Clearly there’s something there. She must have known about Nora.”
“What could she possibly know?” Kate’s eyes widened and she flashed a glance up at Michael, who stood lamely, hands in his pockets.
Megan shrugged again.
“Okay, then how?” Kate asked, acid churning along her insides and a pit opening at the bottom of her stomach. They’d only just agreed to keep everything quiet, and as far as she could tell, her sisters and Michael, Matt, and Brian had done just that.
“Gene,” Kate murmured to herself.
Michael cleared his throat. “Pardon?”
“Gene. Of course he told his wife about his past.”
“And you think she held a grudge? Over an accidental pregnancy?” Megan pushed her fingers to her temples and twisted toward the SUV. “Let’s go. I need to get back to the apartment and lie down. I’m not feeling well.”
They bid goodbye to Michael whose disappointment was palpable. Before he left, he promised to print and start on a new application for Megan, who thanked him.
Once they were in the vehicle, moving down the green-lined road back toward the harbor, Kate mused to Megan, working out what Judith’s problem was. “She isn’t even a townie. She’s a summer person. And anyway, it’s not like Gene and Nora’s secret baby returned to Birch Harbor and nudged her way back into their lives. Liesel wants nothing to do with us. She gave us the lighthouse, for goodness’ sake!”
Megan kept her eyes ahead on the road. “I know. It’s obviously some jealousy thing. Some hang-up with us, but I don’t get it. She was so awful in there, too. Just… just evil acting. Like a caricature. A stereotype of the little shrew who wiggles her way onto a town council and then elbows out the competition like her life depends on it.”
Kate crossed her arms. “Something probably does depend on it.”
“On what?” Megan asked.
“Judith is holding your permit hostage for a reason, I’m sure. I doubt she’s totally crazy. If you get the permit and start the business, then that must threaten something that belongs to her. We just have to find out what.” Even as she said it, the answer formed in her mind, flitting between two distinct possibilities. Two things that Judith Carmichael veritably owned and that any woman, not just Judith, would be reluctant to give up without a fight. It was all so obvious. Something Kate ought to have thought of had she known Judith boasted some kitschy sort of summer representative seat on the council.
At first, she considered the possibility that Judith was quite like Nora, a queen reigning over the lake from on high, her powers of party-hosting and charity-organizing at stake with this family of sisters moving back in and starting to take over. But Judith was not enough of a local for that to warrant her takedown on Megan.
It wasn’t about losing Birch Harbor.
It was far more personal. Something against the Hannigans, specifically.
In the driver’s seat, Megan gasped. “What if she has a matchmaking business she wants to open! Maybe she’s my competition.” A smile crept over Megan’s face as she looked at Kate. “I’m joking. I think she’s just a jealous sort of person.”
“No,” Kate replied. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t laughing. Kate knew exactly what belonged to Judith. She knew exactly why Megan was a threat. And Amelia, and even Kate, herself, who was safe before the first two returned to the fold.
“It’s not quite jealousy. And it’s not a business she’s worried about losing,” Kate said darkly. “It’s her husband.”
25
Clara
Kate called an emergency family meeting at the Inn.
They sat at a new wooden table on the backyard grass. It was the first time Clara had ever sat at a table on the grass in the backyard there at the house on the harbor. Nora had always preferred the porch for eating or drinking or spending any sort of time outside, but Kate was well into preparations for the Inn-Warming Beach Party Bonanza, or whatever she planned to officially call it. They had even gotten some online interest and phone calls. Enough that Kate invested in two big, round, rustic tables for either side of the sidewalk that cut through the lawn. Half a dozen matching wooden chairs sat around each table, all delivered with the tables that very morning.
The emergency meeting took place at the southern side of the yard, two boxes of pizza consuming much of the tabletop real estate.
Beneath her, Clara’s chair sank an inch into the earth, rendering her even shorter and less able to properly reach across into the nearest box for a second slice once she’d finished the first.
Adding more pressure to the big drama at hand was the fact that Megan’s singles’ soiree had also picked up favorable notice from potential clients. The newspaper ad released an onslaught of interest, and Clara had announced, just as soon as she arrived, that she’d gotten a slew of text messages throughout the day from locals, people Clara didn’t even think knew she existed. She’d unwittingly become some sort of middleman between Birch Harbor people and her new business-owner sister.
“They’re asking when and where and what and all the things you outlined in that ad. They seem excited.”
Megan simply wilted at the news. Clara felt bad for her sister. Almost as bad as she felt for herself now that she was in the throes of packing up her entire classroom—thankfully, Amelia spent the morning helping—and moving to a new building. That would be the easy part, too. Next came curriculum adoption and development. Training. More changes. More new, right when she thought she’d mastered the old. Compounding it all was that she still hadn’t had the motivation or time to really spend on the cottage.
The porch screen door slapped behind them, and Clara twisted around to see Brian, hands in his pockets, pained look on his face, as he skipped down the three steps and over to the table, grabbing the empty chair beside Megan and greeting her first before the others.
They were now complete. Kate, Matt, Amelia, Michael, Megan, Brian, and Clara. Well, complete except for Sarah, who had grabbed her slice and taken off to a beach party down south, at the bottom edge of Heirloom Cove. She’d already gotten the spiel. Keep family business private. Have fun. Be home by eleven. Yada. Yada.
Clara was growing both more fascinated and less fascinated with her niece-cousin. More fascinated in her social life and how everything would materialize come September, when the two would see each other in a new context, beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights in the halls of Birch Harbor High. Less fascinated in their ambiguous relationship. Clara couldn’t pin down if she was Sarah’s peer or her mentor or what, and even though she was trying to overcome the whole Miss Havisham dis, it had set them apart. On separate journeys, somehow.
“That’s great, Megs,” Amelia replied to Clara as she passed a two-liter bottle of pop around the table.
“What’s great?” Brian asked. “Is there good news? Is that the emergency?”
Megan had told the others that she’d only been vague with Brian, indicating simply that he needed to come straight to Heirloom Inn once he got back to town. She couldn’t tell him about Judith. Couldn’t bear to.
Clara felt like a bystander among all the others, everyone a solid twelve years her senior, she was like the runt, the sixth grader who stumbled his way to the edge of a fight between eighth graders, scared but entranced by the ring of chanting pubescents and their bizarre, violent ritual.
Matt chimed in, trying, it appeared, to be helpful. Helpful Matt. Easygoing Matt. Fiorillo family golden boy. Tanned islander. Handsome single dad who would give the shirt off his back to
a stranger. The man who abandoned Clara.
She looked out to the lake as he spoke. “Clara here says that the ad for the singles’ party is bringing in lots of attention.” She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze on the glimmering water, looking through the searing sunlight as it blasted her irises.
Why did she always have to sit facing the sun? Why didn’t she bring her sunglasses?
“Let’s adjust the umbrella,” Matt added, apparently aware of her discomfort. Helpful as ever. He stood and cranked the canopy so it dipped down and offered shade on Clara’s forehead. If she sat a little higher in her seat, it would cover her eyes. She’d be able to see again without squinting, whether she was looking at the lake or making eye contact with her family.
She tried to smile at Matt in appreciation, but surely it came out more like a grimace, so instead she murmured, “Thanks.”
The conversation moved on. Clara let out a sigh and then, reasonably, with a can-do attitude, and by sheer will of forcing away the grimace, she sat taller in her seat.
“That’s not even half the story, and it’s not why I asked you to come,” Megan continued before diving into a full-on review of the meeting with the council members. She spared no details, but even so, Kate jumped in, verifying certain facts and adding her own commentary.
Finally, when the group had it all, the full story on how Megan would never get to start her dream business, Clara realized that she had something to contribute. A small little secret that probably wouldn’t matter, but it would at least be a way to slip inside their world.
“I know Judith.”
Silence fell across the table. Sounds from the beach carried up and bolstered Clara’s courage. “Carmichael. I know Judith Carmichael.”
“How?” Megan asked.
“Well, even before you introduced us at the marina,” Clara nodded toward Amelia, reminding them all of that day when they inadvertently reunited with Gene and Judith, who then were putting on the tourist act, “I knew about them from around town. People talked about Mr. Carmichael, the old principal. I was too young to have him as my principal, remember? He retired before I started high school. But Judith, well, I’ve seen her at education conferences inland. She ran a few, even, and led the professional development sessions. I never talked to her, though. Or even met her, actually.”
“She was a principal, too?” Kate asked.
“She was definitely a teacher. And then maybe she got a promotion at one point and became someone in charge.” Clara shook her head. “At least, she used to teach and lead professional development. I don’t know if she still does. That was all on Heirloom Island, actually. The only reason I remember it is because someone else pointed her out when I considered leaving Birch Harbor. It was a few years ago. Right after I started. I thought I might leave and go to Drummond Island or something, and the person I was with said that St. Mary’s could be hiring. They told me that Judith woman used to work there and it was a great school. I even put my application in. I didn’t get a call, though.” Her voice trailed off as the memory flooded her brain.
“Wait a minute,” Matt jumped in. “I would know her if she taught at St. Mary’s.”
“Not if she met Gene and got married before you moved there,” Kate pointed out. “Or even if she quit teaching before you had Vivi.”
“True,” he admitted, slumping back, useless for the first time in his life, probably, Clara thought to herself, suppressing a small grin.
“They wouldn’t have been married until recently,” Amelia speculated. “He wasn’t with her when he was our principal.”
“Right, but he was already gone when I started high school,” Clara reminded them. “So maybe she lived on the island even as recently as ten years ago, in which case Matt should be familiar with her.”
Matt shrugged. “What was her maiden name?”
Amelia’s eyes flashed. “That article!” She swatted at Michael’s arm, but he looked more lost than ever. “Michael, that article we found! It was the ten-year anniversary of Dad’s disappearance. Her name was definitely Carmichael, so they were married by oh-two. Two-thousand-two!”
Scratching his head, Matt just shrugged. “I’m more of a Birch Harbor guy than an islander.”
“What article?” Kate asked.
“In our research about Dad, we found three newspaper articles. The ones I framed.” She gave a pleading look at Michael whose expression turned to playful exasperation.
“The ones you insisted on hanging up?” he asked her, smiling.
“Yes,” Amelia went on excitedly. “The first two were from the early nineties, right after he left. The third was exactly ten years later, remember? When they officially closed the case?”
No one seemed to remember, or at least if they did, they kept mum to allow Amelia to continue on her rambling path towards some overstated revelation.
“When they closed the case, Judith Carmichael was featured in the newspaper. She wrote a snotty little piece on good wives or something. How to keep your man happy—that sort of inane thing.”
“So?” Clara asked, enthralled (for the first time ever) about Wendell Acton. She stole a glance at Matt, and for a brief moment, they locked eyes.
Something welled deep inside of Clara. Some pain or hope. A sharp tug that moved her, throbbed along the inside of her skin and made her look at him differently. Not with more comfort, but with less.
Clara never knew Wendell. So, in that way, it shouldn’t have been a shock to meet her real father so many years later, after never having one to begin with.
What made the reunion worse, in fact, wasn’t that Matt had let her go so easily… it was that he was right there under her nose that whole time. And she was under his, too. He knew about her, and he never came to her.
And even more than that, he had a daughter the same age as Mercy, Jake’s Mercy. And this could very well mean that Clara’s own dad was the same age as—if not younger than—the man she had a crush on.
She swallowed and glanced away, unable to hold his gaze. Unable to stand the lure of getting to know him. Letting him in. Letting herself in, too. What if the only reason he was around was for Kate? What if Clara was a pest to him? What if he never wanted to know her? Then she’d have not one, but two dads who disappeared. Maybe, at least, they’d find Wendell.
She forced her gaze back to the others and mentally returned to the present issue. Judith. Oddball interloper who might have been a carbon copy of Nora. Really, she might.
Amelia’s hands flew up at Clara’s implication that the newspaper article was irrelevant. “So? So! So, it was weird!” Amelia cried back. “It was weird as all hell.”
“Why would she write for the Birch Bee if she didn’t even live here back then? She doesn’t even live here now. Why? Why does this woman care so much?” Megan was pleading now, her fists balled up on the table, pounding lightly. “This jealous old—"
“Birch Bee.” A thought arrested Clara, and she shot it back at Megan, cutting her off at the pass. “Maybe she wrote for the Birch Bee regularly. It covers Island news, too. Anyway, Heirloom Island is an extension of Birch Harbor. And if Judith was a teacher there, then she probably felt like even more part of our community.” Clara glanced around, but she was met with a variety of expressions, none affirming.
She went on. “Okay, so I don’t know her well, but I know she was a teacher or at least in education and affiliated with St. Mary’s. Maybe that’s how she met Gene. Through education.”
Megan closed her eyes and pressed her fingers, painted black again, over her eyelids. Once she opened them again, she offered Clara a sad smile. “Thanks, Clar. But I don’t know how that’s going to help me change her mind. I don’t think she cares because she lives a stone’s throw from the Inn. I think she cares about something else entirely. And anyway, even if we did know what she was so desperate to protect, we can’t change the town’s mind, for that matter, either. I just need to take Michael’s advice. Update the application. Give i
t another go and, in the meantime, look for something else.”
“You’re joking, right?” Though the sun had sunk degrees lower, it no longer hit Clara’s eyes. She was perched high on the edge of her seat with one leg tucked beneath her, leaning in, her second piece of pizza untouched.
Megan frowned back. “Joking? How could I be joking? If I can’t get a permit, what’s the point? I’m not going to host one mixer and call it a success. The point of the permit is to establish myself as a business here. These events have to be regular. Until I can get the town to back me—”
“Yes, we do know.” Kate’s voice cut in loudly. “We do know why she cares. I know what Judith is protecting, and we know what she’s afraid to lose. It’s not Birch Harbor. It never was. Megan and I already discussed this.”
All heads turned to Kate, and Clara sank back half an inch. The sun blasted across her vision, blinding her momentarily until she leaned forward, adjusted her seat at an angle, and then again perched high, anxious to learn the truth. Anxious to be involved in all the drama, and anxious to find her place in it.
For the first time in forever, Clara was part of the family. A silly, runty, peripheral part, but a part.
And she found herself desperate to know: why was Judith Carmichael, her grandmother’s ex-boyfriend’s current wife, keeping Clara’s aunt from opening shop?
Or, put another way, what did this summer visitor have against the Hannigan sisters?
Kate held her palms up. “Gene.”
Clara frowned immediately and all but scoffed. “Well, she doesn’t need to worry. We aren’t interested.”
Megan chortled and added, “That’s what I said.”
But Kate shook her head slowly, as if what she was about to say next was the sole reason she drew everyone together. “It’s not us Judith Carmichael is worried about. It’s Nora.”
26
Amelia
“Well we have good news for ol’ Judith, then,” Megan replied to Kate, her tone thick with sarcasm. “Nora’s dead.”
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