Fireflies in the Field

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Wait,” Amelia’s eyes widened. “Does Judith think… does she think Gene is our father?”

  At her question, Kate visibly recoiled. “Ew, no. That’s not what I mean at all.” She paused thoughtfully. “Although… maybe she doesn’t know about Clara. Maybe…” Kate gasped. “Maybe she does know about Liesel. Oh my God, that’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Amelia cried in response; she was lost now. Her lame insertion about the article was useless. She didn’t understand Judith Carmichael or Gene. She didn’t understand what Clara’s parentage or Wendell’s disappearance had to do with any of it. She just wanted to eat her pizza, drink her margarita, and go back to the lighthouse and finish painting the bathroom.

  Kate replied, “Judith Carmichael is worried that if all four of us are back here, in Birch Harbor, setting up businesses and living our lives, then maybe Liesel will come back, too. I never considered that. I mean, at town hall today I realized she was definitely jealous. That’s so obvious. But I thought it was either about attention or maybe she was wary of Clara or maybe Judith was the type to use that secret against us. But no. That’s not it. She must know about Liesel.”

  “She doesn’t,” Michael answered, clearing his throat.

  They turned to him. “What?” Kate asked. “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t know. At least, Gene hasn’t told her.”

  “How do you know?” Amelia asked, suspicious of her boyfriend. “That article was a total coincidence? Judith Carmichael doesn’t know that Gene was madly in love with Mom?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe she knew that, but I’m pretty sure that Judith doesn’t know about Liesel. I can’t go into details, but Gene had me plan his estate. Recently. Very recently.” He swallowed audibly and shifted his gaze nervously to the water. “Like, I said, I can’t go into details. But take my word for it. Gene Carmichael never told his wife about Liesel Hart.”

  The rest of dinner was a humid, itchy, awkward affair. The pizza sat unfinished. Amelia gulped down her drink and told Michael to take her back to the lighthouse. Sarah was staying at a girlfriend’s house that night, and Amelia realized what it was like to have a child. She was actually looking forward to having the place to herself and having Michael to herself and blocking out the secrets of the past and the confusion of the present. She just wanted to paint and daydream and rehearse her lines for her upcoming show.

  And yet, as Michael was driving her home, slowly twisting along Birch Harbor Ave and past the newly manicured Hannigan Field, Amelia blurted out, “Do you think it’ll work?”

  He looked over at her from the driver’s seat, his hand on her thigh, casual and light and distracted. “Do I think what will work?”

  Amelia answered, “If Megan just sends in a new application with a clearer mission statement or whatever. Will it work? Will she change their minds?”

  He let out a long breath. “The rest of the council is reasonable. Maybe they can persuade Judith Carmichael to be reasonable, too. Majority rules. They just need to speak up.”

  “What if they don’t? What if they agree with her that there are too many Hannigan businesses? What if someone sues us?” Her mind was rushing ahead to her own looming business opening.

  “Who would sue you? Why?” He asked the question like he was surprised, but Amelia knew he wasn’t. She knew he was thinking similarly. She grabbed his hand in hers and tangled her fingers into his.

  “They could say we’re running a monopoly on the tourist industry here. They could say we have too many pots on the stove or whatever the expression is.”

  Michael chuckled. “You girls don’t have a monopoly. You do own a lot of the town. At least, that might be how it seems to someone like Judith Carmichael, but we’ll figure it out.” He pushed air through his lips, then added softly, as an afterthought. “I should have used her married name.”

  “What?” Amelia asked.

  He glanced her way, a guilty look slashing across his face. “I submitted the application under Megan Hannigan. I wasn’t thinking when I did it, and she signed it without reading it.”

  “Her last name’s Stevenson,” Amelia answered, still bewildered. “But why does it matter? Do you think that error was an easy excuse for them to reject it?”

  “No,” he replied. “I think that error was the actual reason they rejected it. If they didn’t know she was a Hannigan, maybe there wouldn’t have been a meeting. Maybe she’d have gotten that rubber stamp. It’s my damn fault,” he muttered at last.

  “Oh my God,” Amelia hissed. “That’s it!”

  “What?” Michael asked. He’d just turned onto the little road toward the lighthouse. The sun was beginning to set, its bottom half blurring at the edge of the lake.

  “Forget about updating the application. Print a new one. Leave it blank. I have an idea.”

  27

  Megan

  The emergency meeting had long dissipated.

  Too loudly, Kate asked Matt to help her with something in the basement. Amelia and Michael had left half an hour earlier. Clara, as well.

  Now alone together in the backyard, Brian and Megan vacillated between a beach walk and turning in early. Dread loomed over her at the prospect of returning to the muggy apartment where they would go their separate ways only to wake up and tiptoe around each other in the morning, still unsure how to conduct themselves in the face of their recent history.

  “I don’t want to walk the beach,” Megan admitted at last. “Sarah’s down there somewhere. I’ll feel weird if we bump into her, and… oh, who am I kidding? I just feel weird in general. We’re here in the same town as our daughter living separate lives from her, and—” Megan was drowning. Life had been picture-perfect just months before. What happened?

  “We’ll get there, Megs,” Brian answered, as they watched the sun start to dip on the watery horizon.

  “How? We are living on our savings with no job prospects. No real house.”

  “We have acres and acres,” Brian answered, then quickly corrected himself. “Well, you have acres and acres.”

  “For the events I’m not allowed to host?” She smirked and took a long sip of her drink, licking her lips and clearing the last crystal of salt, instantly craving more of it.

  “For whatever you want,” Brian answered. “You could build a house there if you wanted to. We could.”

  Megan had considered that many times over, but how would she? With what money? With whose help? “I don’t know,” she answered. “Sounds like another pipe dream to me.” She hated her attitude. She hated how things were going great with Brian, but things were going so horribly in the greater context of their lives. She dipped her chin and shook her head.

  “You sound so deflated.” His voice changed. Megan glanced up at him, and his face was darker. His features hard.

  “What?” She frowned, a deep frown. An angry one.

  “You’re so damn deflated, Megan. You’re doing the woe-is-me thing again, and I can’t stand it.”

  Taken fully aback, Megan shook her head and began to reply that No she wasn’t. She began to argue, but something stopped her. The familiarity of it. The horror of the same old, same old. The painful pattern.

  “You’re right.”

  Brian’s face opened, and though he’d obviously been ready and waiting to argue, he stopped, too, mid-headshake. “I am?”

  A small, sad smile pricked her lips, and Megan nodded. She had the power to stop. She had the power to reroute them. Why had she always been so averse to using it? “Yes. I don’t know why I’m like that. It’s like I immediately jump to feeling sorry for myself. Despite this—” she waved her hand out at their sunset beach view, “I’m sitting here feeling like some sort of victim. I’m ridiculous. How have you put up with me all these years? The lack of gratitude?” There was more there, more to be said. She could accuse him of not supporting her. She could accuse him of putting his career first.

  But what good would it do? None, of course. They’d
been down that road. Nagging and accusing and badgering had never done an ounce of good.

  So, on a whim, she tried a new track. She tried, for once, taking responsibility for the one thing she was responsible for. Her attitude.

  And, to her delight and surprise, he spit her words right back at her. “No, no, no. How have you put up with me all these years?” They exchanged a grin, and he reached out his hands and took hers, then held her gaze. “Megan, you’ve always wanted my sympathy, and I’ve never given it. You’ve wanted a job, and I never helped you get one. And all these years, you raised our daughter while I focused on my career. Woe is you, but shame on me.”

  She blinked, tears cresting over her lower lash line and confusion clouding her emotions. To feel pathetic or to feel grateful… it was a choice, it occurred to her. So, she chose the latter. The better. The productive and positive. “Shame on us both,” she answered. “But we can start over, right?”

  “Right,” Brian agreed. “What’s so wrong with having a few pipe dreams, anyway? Maybe that’s what we’ve been missing all these years, Meg. I mean look at us, we were on the verge of divorce and then boom, you started chasing your dream. I started chasing mine, and look, Meg. Things got a little better.”

  “Until today,” Megan couldn’t help but point out as she lifted an eyebrow and chuckled good-naturedly. It was hard to commit to the whole positive attitude thing. She was trying, though.

  Brian shook his head. “That’s the thing. We can’t just give up because of one crotchety woman. You’re going to let this Judith Carmichael crush your dreams?”

  Megan shrugged, wiping off the wetness from her cheekbones.

  “Well, I’m not,” Brian said. “I won’t let Judith Carmichael—or anyone—crush your dreams. I say we push forward with this. I’ll start brainstorming app ideas and you go brainstorm ideas for getting that permit. Deal?”

  Smiling, Megan swallowed down the last tear and nodded. “Deal.”

  “Let’s go to the bungalow. We can put a movie on,” Brian offered. “I’ll leave the sofa intact. Unless you’d rather I open up the bed…” he winked at her, and Megan wanted with all of her soul to giggle and slip away with him like they were in college again, snuggling in a too-small pullout sofa after one too many drinks, the TV glowing against their skin in the heat of the night.

  But she couldn’t. There was another place they needed to be.

  “Let’s go to the field.”

  In the time it took to drive out to the farmland, the sun had melted halfway down the earth, by now drenching the southern part of the country in darkness.

  They hopped out of Brian’s truck and passed the little wooden sign, refinished the past week by Amelia, who was good at that sort of thing: sanding and staining and adding a little art to her projects.

  Now, instead of just the words Hannigan Field, little insect shapes danced in buzzy circles at the upper right corner, glowing golden under splashes of varnish.

  “Are those…?” Brian pointed at the sign and started to ask.

  Megan nodded. “Yes. Cute, huh?”

  He chuckled, then grabbed Megan’s hand and led her to the dead center of the field. Around them were markers for where to put tents and tables, and Megan could easily picture what her soiree might look like. She could imagine something akin to one of her favorite reality shows, playing out in real life for her to partake in. She could picture clusters of nervous people, making small talk and introducing themselves and pointing to their nametags as they realized they had this, that, or the other in common.

  She could picture it all, even in light of the day’s letdowns.

  “What if you change tactics?” Brian asked, as they reclined together in the damp grass, his hands behind his head, hers clamped across her abdomen.

  Even seventeen years after giving birth, any time Megan touched her stomach, she recalled her pregnancy with Sarah. It was the highlight of her life, growing a sweet baby and sharing the experience with a doting husband. Had they drifted so far from that?

  “What do you mean?” she asked, breathing in fresh evening air and studying the milky clouds as they hung in the red dome above. West of Harbor Ave was, in some ways, a different world from Birch Harbor. It had a country feel. When they were kids, Megan and her sisters would sneak away on the weekends to hunt down errant raspberry bushes or go on a mission to find a local cherry orchard. Inevitably, they’d return home half covered in poison ivy rashes and miserable as Nora scrubbed them with rubbing alcohol and oatmeal with the hose behind the barn.

  “I mean, what if, on your new application, you adjust the business description a little? Change it up?” He pushed up from the grass, bracing himself on his elbow as his eyes caught fire. “Megs, that’s it!”

  She twisted her head to him and frowned. “What?”

  Brian grabbed Megan’s hands and pulled her to a sitting position, crisscross applesauce. Giddiness rushed up her arms, tingling into goosebumps. She’d changed from her earlier outfit into a black jersey dress, the hem of which she now pushed into her lap with their entwined hands. “What?” she asked again.

  “My app.” Brian was beaming, his grip tightened around her fingers.

  Megan’s brain flickered to life. “Yes, your app…” she repeated, trying her best to read his mind.

  “And your dating service,” he added.

  She bit her lower lip. “Okay, your app and my dating service. My dating events,” she corrected, frowning now again, struggling to grasp his idea.

  “Love on location. You used that idea, right? Remember? Well, add the tech component. You’ve got marketing, you’ve got an audience, you’ve got longevity… Megan, we can turn your business into a multi-media affair. A full-service dating platform. Meet online and then safely in person at one of our events.” His voice dropped down like a radio announcer.

  Megan nodded slowly, her gears turning as she jumped into his brainstorm. “Love on location. Meet me at the marina. Find love in the field.” She looked at him. “An app.” They were rolling now, throwing out taglines and hooks and soundbites. “So, they use the app to learn about me—us—and our matchmaking business. They RSVP to our events. We host them here! Brian!” Megan cried, “This solves everything!”

  “You’re even using Judith’s own idea! She cited dating apps, right? You said that, right?”

  “Right,” Megan agreed, more impressed that he was listening to her and had remembered what she said. Even as small a detail as that. “I love it all, Brian. We can add the app component. You have a project. We can do it together, monetize the app even. Whatever, we have it! We have it!” She was talking a mile a minute, and he was nodding along until they grabbed each other in a hug, their clothes wet from the grass, their limbs jittery and hearts pounding as the sun sank even deeper behind them.

  Megan pulled back from the embrace and looked into Brian’s eyes. She had no idea if it really would work. She had no idea how it would work or how it could improve or if it might worsen her business idea, but none of that mattered. She loved Brian so much, that none of it mattered. His gaze slipped down her face, and she mirrored him, each now staring at the other’s mouth.

  Brian leaned in first, and Megan followed, and just as their lips brushed, something vibrated from his thigh. Megan’s eyes grew wide and she leaned back an inch and searched his lap.

  He moaned and released her chin from his hand then reached into his front shorts pocket awkwardly, sliding two fingers in and wiggling out his phone. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  She began to grab the phone and chuck it off into the field, but he beat her to the punch, turning it off without so much as a quick peek.

  “Where were we?” he returned his attention to Megan and slipped his hand beneath her hair. She knew she smelled like wet grass and margaritas, and he did, too. But mostly, she realized, as their lips met and he kissed her, slowly, languidly… mostly, she realized he smelled familiar. Like her husband. Like her home.

  May
be they would build a house on the field. Maybe they could have it all right here, and soon. In a year, maybe. Maybe it was okay if Sarah lived with Amelia or maybe she’d move into the bungalow with them, or maybe whatever quirky situation came to pass… maybe it was okay.

  When they broke from the kiss, Megan felt new energy return to her. Passion for her project, especially now that she had a true business partner. A life partner. “So, what will we call it?”

  “Marriage,” he replied, a sly little smile wriggling on his mouth.

  Megan laughed and fell backward onto the grass again, like a teenager on a summer night, newly in love.

  “That’s not what I was talking about,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear, heat pooling in her chest as she brought her hands to it to slow her heartbeat.

  Brian eased himself back down beside her, sliding his arm beneath her head as she snuggled into him.

  “Hey, look!” he pointed above them into the almost entirely dark night sky just above their bodies.

  She squinted, almost looking too far—into the stars—almost missing what was right in front of her eyes.

  A pair of fireflies, buzzing in circles, glowing golden.

  “Fireflies in the field,” she whispered, and turned to him, her face centimeters from her husband’s. “That’s what we’ll call it. Our business.”

  “I love it,” he answered. “Fireflies in the field.”

  28

  Amelia

  “We have an idea,” Amelia said as soon as Megan’s voice came on the line. “I’ve been calling you and Brian for half an hour. I left a million messages.”

  “I know,” Megan answered. “We saw. Is everything okay? Is Sarah okay?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Sarah’s here. She came home early. She’s fine. It’s about the business. It’s about Judith, I mean.”