Lighthouse on the Lake

by Elizabeth Bromke

  In Birch Harbor, fewer students rode busses, with only a fraction packing themselves onto the hot plastic seats, terrorizing each other and the bus driver for up to sixty minutes of a jagged route that heaved and hoed around town.

  The rest tucked themselves into SUVs and minivans, walked, or drove themselves away from the ancient brick building that sat just inland from Harbor Avenue, off a small side street called Lowell. On the other side of Lowell sprawled the Birch Harbor Cemetery. No one seemed to mind that you could learn the Pythagorean Theorem, then go visit Granny in one fell swoop. It was one of those quirks of a small town, charming and bizarre to outsiders, normal and mundane to insiders.

  The image of an errant student caught Clara’s eyes. A girl from one of her classes—Mercy Hennings—with her head down, hands gripping the polyester straps of her backpack as she strode languidly toward a waiting truck.

  Clara looked more closely at the man standing outside of the truck, his hands shoved into jean pockets.

  She’d met Mercy’s father just once, the week before, in fact. He was kind and grateful, the ideal parent. Easygoing and casual, Mr. Hennings was the polar opposite of his daughter, whose anxiety and seriousness aligned more closely with Clara’s own personality.

  She felt like a voyeur, watching them hug in the parking lot. The father kissed Mercy’s head. She passed him her backpack, then they lifted themselves into either side of the truck. A happy duo.

  Clara felt a pang in her heart.

  She’d never been kissed by her father. Not once in her life.

  ***

  Half an hour later, Clara called her oldest sister.

  Kate answered her phone breathlessly. “Hey.”

  “How’s it going?” Clara asked, munching on a baggie of baby carrots as she slid into the front seat of her car.

  “Good, good. We decided to get Amelia’s room cleaned out and set up. Then we’ll meet with Michael. I think Amelia is waiting on him to call her back.”

  A second voice floated past in the distance of the phone call. Clara knew it was Amelia’s. She and Kate exchanged muffled words, then Kate came back on the line. “Sorry, I mean Amelia is definitely not waiting on him to call her back. They are texting, I guess. I don’t know why, but it’s all very hush-hush.” Kate laughed lightly, but Clara frowned. She was sick of things being hush-hush, even if it was a jokey hush-hush.

  Clara stalled at the mouth of the parking lot. “Should I come over now or... I mean what’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Come over as soon as you’re ready. Our goal is to finish Amelia’s room and the bigger bathroom on the second floor. Then, we’re laying out a game plan.”

  Dedicated to being part of the team, Clara replied that she was on her way. After all, there was something she’d like to add to the supposed game plan.

  ***

  When she arrived at the house on the harbor, a sense of doom settled over her. In the years that her three older sisters had lived away, Clara had been the lone Hannigan responsible for keeping the house on the harbor in acceptable shape.

  It was a job she was not made for. Clara was not a fix-it-upper type. She was a grade-papers type or a jigsaw-puzzle-doer type. Still, for as long as she and her mother had lived away from the big house on Heirloom Cove, Clara watered the plants and even sometimes did a little yard work. She conducted walk-throughs of the property from time to time, ensuring no one had broken in and vandalized. But that was it. Clara did not live her life in the shadow of the family’s past. At least, insomuch as was possible.

  Now, she wondered what it might be like to return to the fold. Would she find a new joy in scrubbing dated toilets and changing old bed sheets?

  Probably not.

  But she would find joy in bonding with her sisters. After all, being over ten years younger, Clara had never really gotten that chance.

  Chapter 4—Megan

  “I won’t leave for Birch Harbor until Saturday, Brian. We still have tomorrow to file. I’m not running away from the divorce.” The word stuck in her throat like gum. Megan swallowed. “I can promise you that.” Exasperated and tired, she rubbed the back of her neck with her hand.

  Megan Stevenson stood at her kitchen island facing her soon-to-be-ex-husband, who compulsively tapped his thumb on the granite.

  “The attorney’s office is closed on Fridays, Megan,” he shot back, his Adam’s apple bobbing below a five o’clock shadow. “I mean it's fine by me if we push it out, but you're the one who was anxious to get the ball rolling.”

  Before, Megan had always loved it when Brian skipped a few days of shaving. He looked good with a dark shadow across his lower face. It added a rugged edge to his otherwise intellectual affect. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and blinked.

  She looked away. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t need the lawyer to file, Brian. We have the paperwork, and we agreed to list the house. All we have to do is turn everything in. And—” Megan licked her lips. Her neck flushed, and her chest tightened.

  “And you’re done.” Their teenage daughter, Sarah, had entered the room, her phone dangling in her hand by her side. Her eyes watered, and her voice trembled. “So, you’re really going through with it?” the girl asked, though it came out more like a plea.

  Megan and Brian exchanged a look. He held her gaze, his eyebrows lifted above the rims of his glasses, his lips parted. It was the same look he would give her when they were in the middle of a heated argument, like he was waiting for the moment that everything would go back to normal and they could hug and make up.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Can we just... can we just revisit this next week?”

  It was a bold suggestion. The matter was drawing out week after week. First, with Brian’s stalling on whether he wanted to accept her offer of the house in exchange for alimony. Then he waffled on even that. Now it was her turn to find a reason for delaying proceedings.

  Brian nodded, and if Megan didn’t know any better, she thought a smile flickered on his lips. “Yes, please. That’s better. I would hate to... rush things.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, but she pushed it out. “Right. Well, I have to go to the lake this weekend. I’ll be back Monday. Do you want to go?” The question was for Sarah, but for some reason, Megan’s eyes lingered on Brian as she said it.

  He waited a beat, then turned on his heel and left the room, his eyes glued to his phone. Megan simply shook her head and pinned Sarah with a stare. “Do you?” she pressed.

  “Um, actually I had a party to go to this weekend.”

  Megan’s shoulder fell in. “No. No parties. Especially while I’m gone.”

  “Mom,” Sarah protested, pouting.

  An idea materialized in Megan’s mind. “No. Actually, I think you will come with me. It’ll be fun. I promise.” With a wry grin, she folded her arms over her chest and nodded at her daughter.

  “Come on,” the teenager huffed, spinning on her heel and stomping away and up the stairs.

  But Megan didn’t care. Summer was beginning, and she figured there was no better way to start than with a girls’ weekend. Besides, maybe Clara would be willing to share her big news with her “niece.”

  ***

  “We’re on our way,” Megan chirped through the Bluetooth to Kate.

  She could hear Kate’s smile through the car speaker. “Is Sarah with you?”

  “Yep.” Megan flashed a knowing look to her daughter, who was too busy shuffling through her social media apps to notice. It was just as well. Megan wasn’t sure she could handle any more attitude from the high school junior. Or rather, almost-senior.

  “Kate,” Megan went on, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. “What’s the latest with the lighthouse? Has Amelia met with Michael Matuszewski yet?”

  “No. They’ve been in touch, but nothing firm is set. I’m really hoping we can just focus on the Inn first.”

  Megan frowned. “What do you mean ‘focus on the Inn’ first?”

  “
The house on the harbor. You know... The Heirloom Inn?”

  “Yeah, I know. I mean, is there some sort of rush, or—”

  “Well,” Kate answered, her voice growing quieter. “It’s just... Let’s talk about everything when you get here. Okay?”

  Megan ended the call and focused on the drive. Knowing her family, there was also something else looming on the horizon. A secret. A scandal. Gossip.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to bring Sarah along after all.

  Chapter 5—Amelia

  Heavy clouds converged overhead as Amelia and Kate helped Megan and Sarah with bringing their bags into the house—or, as Kate continued to insist on calling it, the Inn.

  The air was thick with the threat of rain, and Amelia hoped Clara showed up soon, too. It was time to get the party started. Literally. Amelia had spent the previous evening stocking up on snacks and goodies. She fully intended to pull together a pseudo housewarming party for herself and Kate, who was none the wiser so far.

  Once everyone was inside, Kate immediately took to the windows, cranking them open and inhaling with great drama while Amelia conducted Megan and her daughter upstairs to Megan’s old room.

  As soon as they were up and unpacking, Amelia shooed Kate to the front to wait for Clara. “I have a little surprise,” Amelia whispered conspiratorially.

  Kate threw her a skeptic glance but followed directions, tapping at her phone as she sashayed to the parlor windows, which she dutifully stretched open.

  It was too warm out to have the windows open, but the air conditioner was broken anyway, and they meant to air the place out the night before but had grown too tired to remember to open the downstairs windows. Thankfully, the storm would cool the place off, no doubt.

  Amelia unpacked her hitherto hidden grocery sacks, arranging the goodies in charming baskets she’d discovered in the pantry.

  Then, she lined the treats artfully along the center of the island and pulled a bottle of champagne and a jug of orange juice she’d managed to stash in the far back of the fridge. After rinsing and drying five delicate glass flutes, she angled them in little rows and fanned out a pack of green paper napkins beside the white plates she’d stacked at the far end of the island.

  Glancing suspiciously into the foyer, she saw that Kate had left through the front door and was thoroughly distracted by the arrival of Clara. Amelia tugged her phone loose from her back pocket and scrolled to her music app, finding a station and hitting play before setting the device in a ceramic mixing bowl. The trick worked, and a bright ballad carried nicely from the makeshift acoustic station, echoing around the kitchen in pretty reverberation.

  As one final touch, Amelia dug beneath the countertop into a narrow cabinet, finally withdrawing a vase of buttery yellow daffodils. She’d have chosen dahlias, but they weren’t nearly as bright, and that weekend demanded positive spirits. After all, the Hannigan women were embarking on a new beginning.

  Amelia caught a glimpse of the door opening and closing, and so she dashed out, wiping her hands along the front of her jeans. “Clara!” she beamed, holding her hands out and wiggling her fingers until she’d lured the petite blonde into her arms.

  Clara hugged Amelia back, and then they pulled apart. Amelia felt that she was seeing her youngest sister in a new light. Clara seemed refreshed. Her face was flushed, and a smattering of light freckles spread from her nose to her cheeks. Amelia didn’t remember Clara having freckles. While Kate, Amelia, and Megan were aging, their baby sister was glowing.

  “You look great,” Amelia gushed, then added suspiciously, “Why?”

  Kate and Clara laughed together, but Clara came up with an answer, much to Amelia’s surprise. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.”

  Amelia crooked her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Taking care of Mom was exhausting, you know? And I miss her. I miss her so much. But, well—” she looked at Kate with affection, and Amelia knew exactly what she meant.

  “We’ve talked a lot,” Kate interjected, squeezing Clara’s shoulder. “All good things. Now that I’m going to live here full time, I think Clara and I—and you,” she stabbed a finger at Amelia, “can finally catch up.”

  Kate was right. Fourteen years Clara’s senior meant that Amelia was out of the house before Clara even knew how to read. The age gap felt insurmountable when they were younger. But it was closing. Especially now that the three of them were back in Birch Harbor. Together.

  “Okay, you two go upstairs and get Megan and Sarah. I’ll wait in the kitchen for you,” Amelia said, propping her hands on her waist. Though she was anxious to get into Michael’s office and discuss the lighthouse, it felt good to save the weekend for her sisters—and niece.

  After all, the Hannigans hadn’t enjoyed much girl time in recent years.

  She strode to the kitchen, taking in the sweet and simple scene: baskets of chocolate and a little plate of meats and cheeses, the mimosa fixings, and the fresh flowers converged into something picturesque. For a brief moment, Amelia saw exactly what Kate was envisioning for the place.

  A quaint bed-and-breakfast, complete with midmorning snacks and afternoon tea, maybe. Sherry in thick crystal goblets in the parlor before dinner. Tourists from all over the country—no, the world. There, in their family home, enjoying Lake Huron and Birch Harbor as tourists do—with admiration and delight.

  Amelia wondered if she ought not just pretend the lighthouse didn’t exist. Maybe her place was there, in the Heirloom Inn, among her family and whatever visitors arrived for a cozy weekend getaway.

  Then again, no. That wasn’t Amelia. She wasn’t a hostess ushering people into a dinner theatre show.

  Amelia-Ann Hannigan was the main act.

  And she needed a real venue.

  Chapter 6—Kate

  “Welcome home!”

  Kate opened her eyes and unhooked her arm from Clara’s. She smiled and clasped her hands together. “Oh, Amelia,” Kate squealed. Kate Hannigan never squealed. Here she was, though. In her childhood home with her sisters and her niece, and she was squealing. “How precious is this?” she cried, striding to the kitchen island. “Are we... celebrating?” Kate asked Amelia.

  “Yes, we’re celebrating. We’re home. We’re moving in. We’re opening a business. It’s a housewarming party and a business meeting and whatever we want it to be. I figured I’d pull out all the stops.” Amelia wriggled her eyebrows at Kate, who laughed at her younger sister’s typical exorbitance.

  “Mimosas and chocolate and daffodils? You’ve spoiled us.” Kate rounded the island and slipped an arm around Amelia’s waist, tugging her into a hug.

  Megan and Sarah stepped into the kitchen after Kate. Sarah raised an eyebrow pointedly at the champagne. “Can I—?”

  “No,” Megan answered as quickly as Sarah formed the question and then pretended to pinch her daughter’s cheek as she grabbed the bottle and started to work on removing the foil. “Amelia, I’m impressed, and I’m grateful. I think this is just what we needed.”

  Kate looked at Amelia, who beamed in reply and rocked onto her heels as she tucked her hands into her jeans pockets. Kate felt a sisterly pride creep in. She sneaked a look at Clara, who was lifting a bloom to her nose. “These are so fresh, Amelia. Did you get them at the Lakeside Market?”

  Amelia wagged a finger. “Nope. I mean, I went there for the grub and drinks, but I made a special trip to White Birch Floral for these babies.” Amelia ran a hand gently up the full bouquet, bouncing the blooms along her fingers. Kate winced a little.

  “Sparing no expense, I see,” Megan murmured just before a loud pop scared them all half to death.

  Kate caught Sarah roll her eyes (in true teenage fashion) before the girl plucked a slice of watermelon and perched on a stool. Kate pressed a hand to her chest. “I hate loud corks,” she declared and then selected a flute and tipped it toward Megan who wasted no time in filling four of the five glasses. The fifth glass she filled wi
th pure orange juice and passed to her daughter.

  “I’d like to make a toast,” Kate announced, raising her pale-yellow drink. A breeze curled in from the kitchen window behind them, sending a chill up Kate’s spine. She smiled.

  The others followed Kate’s gesture, even Sarah with her chaste glass of OJ.

  Kate cleared her voice, preparing for the cascade of tinkling. Pressing her champagne flute above the center of the island, she announced, “To the Heirloom Inn.”

  ***

  An hour later, after listening with rapt horror as Sarah recounted various tales of high school terror (with Clara nodding along in somber confirmation), the women had polished off the last of the cheese and watermelon. A few rounds of limp deli meat clung to the sides of their plastic tray. Every last glass was empty, but the champagne bottle still held a dignified amount of liquid.

  Kate’s stomach lurched from overindulging. She let out a long sigh. “All right. I suppose it’s time to get down to business.” Kate clapped her hands on her thighs and rose, reaching for plates and carrying them dutifully toward the white porcelain sink. Its apron splayed over the front like a modern farmhouse, although that was never Nora’s intent. She’d hoped to one day upgrade to stainless steel everywhere in the kitchen. But other things came first. Bigger projects. All this meant that the poor woman died happy. Happy or smug. That’s how Kate felt when fashion or decor rounded the eras, plopping back in style decades later. Smug. Acid wash jeans were in style when I was younger than you, she’d told one of her sons’ girlfriends when she spied a high-rise pair the prior summer. She thought it might mark her as some surprising combination of wise and hip. Instead, she sounded like an old fart.

  Oh well.

  Kate wasn’t concerned about appearing trendy. She was not a trendy sort of person. But she did consider herself stylish. Even acquaintances and strangers had sometimes remarked on Kate’s ability to pull off simple, chic “looks.” This always made her smile. Kate had never been as classically beautiful as Amelia or Megan. And surely she wasn’t cute like Clara.