But it wasn’t.
Matt had sort of glowed as Kate shouted at her sister to bug off. And then, like a fairy tale, he kissed her. Right there in the living room, while teenagers meandered across the back deck and down toward the beach. Her with a plastic trash bag. Him with a secret crush.
It was probably the best night of Kate’s life. Other than her wedding day and the birth of her children. It was the sort of night that only happened in movies or great books. The perfect moment. Too perfect, she remembered thinking later. Fate-filled and star-crossed. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Minus the double suicide, sure. Different tragedies eventualized. A deeply guarded secret. The adoption of their untimely child. And heartbreak that only young love could know.
Kate felt the heat of the sun on her neck. She was no teenager in the dim light of the living room lamp, her face clear and body thin and supple. Now she was a widow. A mother of two. Or three—depending on which stat you went by. An orphan, too, by all accounts.
Yet, for all that had changed, Kate’s heart was the same it always had been. It longed for him just the same. It throbbed now, just the same as it did that night. Their first kiss.
She rubbed the back of her arm against her forehead, smearing dirt and sweat, no doubt. But Kate felt pretty. Not for how she looked but for how she was being looked upon.
By the man who always was the love of her life. There, at the place she now called home.
“Kate,” Matt murmured. “Am I here to help you with the house or am I here for another reason?” His tone began playfully enough but slipped into a lower octave, betraying the same sincere question she’d been asking herself ever since she called him for help.
“Well,” she began, twisting around to admire the place. She had a lot of work ahead of her, and only some of it would belong to him or another repairman. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On your availability, for starters,” she replied.
He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg, grinning. “All right,” Matt answered. “I have three projects in the works. One inland, one on the island, and I’m working on St. Rita’s in town, building all new pews.”
“That sounds like a no,” Kate answered, confused. Earlier, he seemed excited to help. Insistent, too.
“But those are all business. Well, except for St. Rita’s. That’s a passion project, so to speak.”
“This would be business, too,” Kate argued.
He shook his head. “This is family. And I’m always available for family.”
Chapter 19—Clara
“I would have liked to sleep in,” Clara mumbled as she joined Kate and Amelia in the kitchen of the house on the harbor—or rather... the Inn. “It’s my first day of summer.”
“Sleep in? It’s after nine,” Kate replied, pushing a fresh mug of coffee across the island.
“You have no idea the exhaustion of a teacher after the last day of school. And with fourteen-year-olds at the lake. It’s more stressful than conducting brain surgery, I’m fairly positive.”
Through a bite of bacon, Amelia nodded her head sympathetically. “I could see that. You have to play lifeguard and parent to what... twenty kids?”
“Try a hundred! The whole eighth grade goes. There were fewer than eight adults. It’s totally insane. I can’t believe parents sign off on it.”
“I’m sure the kids had a blast,” Kate said twirling away from the stove with a heaping plate of fluffy scrambled eggs. Clara’s mouth watered immediately.
She smiled to herself. The kids did have a blast. Even meek little Mercy Hennings ventured out with a thick layer of sunscreen and a wide brim hat. She was such an enigma. Classically beautiful, smart, confident—she apparently took after her father in those respects—but painfully asocial. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t that Mercy was asocial. Maybe she was just disinterested in her peers. She didn’t quite see value in friendships, oddly. Mercy’s studies were tantamount and therefore her most important relationships were with her teachers and one select other student, a shy, studious seventh grader who took eighth grade advanced math.
However, Mercy had let loose the day before—in so much as Mercy would let loose. She joined in a game of beach volleyball, surprising everyone with her athletic prowess, and even splashed in the water with a small group—the brainy eighth graders who were a little in awe of Mercy not only for her smarts but also for her beauty, no doubt. By and large, the child was sort of... untouchable. But not to Clara.
Clara often wondered if she was a bit like Mercy as a child. It was hard to know. Even just a decade and a half set them in distant worlds. Mercy’s was one entrenched in social media and 24-7 academic, social, familial, and personal pressure. Clara’s was one in which the academic and social pressure existed only inside the four walls of the school building. At home, she was a little Cinderella figure, helping her past-her-prime single mother with cleaning and turning over the apartments. Nora never took much of a genuine interest in Clara’s academics, but that had also been true of Kate, Amelia, and Megan. Nora preferred ice cream socials to parent-teacher conferences and Parents Night Out over the Regional Spelling Bee. Even so, Nora was not abusive or even aloof. She loved and cared for all her children. They were close.
“The kids had a ball. It was worth falling into bed at six last night.” She laughed lightly. “And anyway, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. When does Megan get in?”
Amelia glanced toward the door. “She should be here any time. She had to change plans, but it sounds like, from what Kate said, she’s coming to town alone, then Brian and Sarah are driving in to meet her. Then Brian is leaving Sarah here,” Amelia pointed her finger down, “to help with the reno—”
“Wait a minute, back up.” Clara held up her palm. “Brian is coming to Birch Harbor? Why?”
The older two exchanged an unreadable expression.
“What?” Clara asked. “What is it?”
Kate slipped a serving spoon beneath the pile of eggs and doled out plates. “Well, Amelia and I are wondering the same thing as you.”
Amelia served herself a couple scoops of eggs then added a slice of bacon. “According to Megan, Brian regretted not coming to Mom’s funeral. I guess it’s eating him alive or whatever. So, he told her he was going to visit her burial site.”
Clara’s jaw hit the ground, but Amelia kept going.
“Well, Megan thought that would be ‘weird,’” she inserted air quotes, which Clara inwardly rolled her eyes at, “so she said she was coming with him. So, they are meeting there later today.”
“Oh no,” Kate covered her mouth with one hand.
“What? What is it?” Amelia dropped her fork. A look of panic shadowed her features.
“It’s just that... we were going to have lunch together. With Matt and Brian.”
“Matt and Brian?”
Confusion swirled in the kitchen as they twittered back and forth for a moment until a voice broke their attention.
“Yes. Dinner would be better.”
Kate, Amelia, and Clara jerked their heads to the front hall. “Megan,” Amelia uttered.
Clara watched in fascination as Megan, clad in sleek black yoga pants, a fitted black tank, and purple tennis shoes strode in. The raven-haired forty-something tightened her ponytail and tossed an overnight bag onto the floor by the pantry. “I’m starving,” she declared, eyeing the kitchen island without so much as a greeting.
“Let’s eat, then we can get started on the matter at hand.” Clara led by example, moving her mug to the table then filling her plate with eggs, fresh fruit, and a couple of thin, greasy slices of bacon.
Once they were all sitting, Megan cleared her throat. “So, what exactly is the matter at hand?”
“What do you mean?” Clara narrowed her eyes on the notebook which sat conspicuously in front of Kate’s place setting.
Megan took a long swig of coffee, seemed to swish it in her mouth, which made C
lara want to gag, then explained herself. “We’ve got the lighthouse issue, which by the way doesn’t add up. If that place were left to us, your lawyer boyfriend would know about it,” she indicated Amelia by tapping her finger through the air. Clara looked at Amelia whose eyes grew wide. She was about to protest, but Megan went on. “And this project.” She twirled her finger around the kitchen. “Our hometown B and B.”
Clara smiled at Kate knowingly. She was proud of her oldest sister for following her dream, and they were all excited to see what became of it. At that moment, it dawned on Clara that Megan’s story was hanging in the air like an open quotation mark. Just a beginning. No ending or even hope of one—at least regarding where life was about to take her. Or, rather, where she was going to take life.
“And now Mom’s secret diary? I feel like I’m living in a Lifetime movie.” Megan shrugged and took another long swig. Clara and the other two laughed at her joke, but it was the truth.
“And,” Clara added, sharpening the word with her tone. “Your so-called divorce to the man you’ve just invited for an overnight getaway.”
“And,” Amelia joined in, playing along, “we never did learn if you got that confidential gig with Mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe?” Clara asked, confusion twisting her features.
Megan’s steely facade melted, and she shot Amelia a look. “You want me to go first? Fine, I’ll go first.” To an outsider, Megan would seem edgy and out of sorts. But her sisters knew that this version of Megan was an inspired one. She was on the brink of something. Something exciting, probably. It was the exact same way Brian would get—worked up, amped. Clara noticed this about him from a young age. At Christmas, before Sarah opened her gifts, Brian would shush everyone, and his knee would begin bouncing erratically from his seat on the edge of the sofa. Megan was just that way, too.
Clara, Kate, and Amelia sipped on their coffee and picked at their breakfast as they waited for Megan to swallow a big bite of eggs. “All right,” she began through a mouthful, her cadence slowing down. “All right. So, for those of you here who don’t know, I went out on a limb and applied for a job with this dating app. It’s called Mistletoe. Cheesy, I know. I know. But, like, it’s been my dream to do matchmaking. If I could pick a career, I’d be that sassy reality TV woman. You know, the one who fixes up millionaires? I don’t care about the glamour part; I just like slicing people down to their basic values. What makes us tick, all that. Right?” She paused to take a sip, and Clara eyed Kate and Amelia, both who bore amused expressions.
“So,” Megan continued, “this company, Mistletoe, had an opening for a social media associate, and since I have Sarah, who’s a total pro, I thought it could work. Well, I didn’t get the job.” She pushed out a long breath, but her face didn’t fall. Instead, she kept going. “And then Brian and I started sleeping together again.”
“What!” Kate cried.
Clara gagged on her eggs. “Ew!”
“Yee-haw!” Amelia cheered.
Megan’s face glowed. “No, no, no. Don’t get too excited, geez. I mean he slept in our bed last night, instead of the guest room.”
“So...” Amelia cut in, “is that a baby step toward reconciliation or...?”
Clara leaned forward, alarmed and charmed by the sudden switch in Megan’s dark, dreary life.
“A very baby step. And no one said anything about reconciliation. The divorce is still on,” Megan added, her face drawing into that of a schoolmarm. But the seed was planted. Maybe, despite the misfortune of not getting the job she’d told them about, Megan would come out ahead. That’s what Clara liked to think. She was an optimist.
The sun that had been streaming in from the top of the kitchen window rose enough that Clara could lower her hand as she looked across to Megan. “So, what about a job?”
“I told you. I didn’t get it.”
Washed in naivete, Clara pressed the matter, genuinely curious about what Megan’s plans were. “What do you think you’ll do now?”
Kate and Amelia appeared interested in the answer. They each set their mugs down and kept mum for a moment, allowing Megan to wash down the last of her eggs with a long gulp of orange juice. She was such a visceral person, Megan. From her looks to her body language and mannerisms, she was the sort of woman who lived to the full limits of her existence. In fact, that was the characteristic that Amelia and Megan shared. It’s what offset them from Kate. And, from Clara. It was a Nora feature, and one that Clara both admired and feared.
“I’m going to start my own darn matchmaking app, that’s what I’ll do,” Megan replied, laughing after. “I’m kidding. I’ll just keep my eyes open. Honestly, things just feel different for me. I can’t put a finger on it... maybe it’s the fact that we have a couple projects here, and it’s summer now so I’m more available...” her voice trailed off.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Kate said, rising to clear her plate and silverware and patting Megan’s shoulder en route to the sink.
“I don’t have the slightest idea how to write software code or run a business. It’s out of the question. We’re moving on.” And with that, Megan effectively ended the line of conversation Clara felt most invested in. Truth be told, the youngest of the four was dreading cracking into the journal. The last time they drove down this road, it resulted in the most painful revelation in which she’d ever been involved. She couldn’t imagine that the woman who raised her had many other skeletons, but if she did, Clara was happy to live without knowing about them.
As if reading Clara’s mind, Kate returned to the table, tucked herself onto a chair and pulled the diary to the spot where her breakfast plate had sat just moments before. “Okay,” she started. “Who’s ready for this?”
“Hold on,” Amelia held up a hand. In her other one was her phone. “It’s Michael.”
“So?” Megan replied, settling into her seat and sipping from her black drink.
“He has information,” Amelia answered, dropping the phone and meeting each of their gazes. The news felt ominous, though Clara didn’t know why.
“What? About the lighthouse? Or about Wendell?” Clara asked, the name dancing on her tongue like an unfamiliar taste. She’d never known Wendell. All her life, up until just recently, she knew the man as her father, but that meant little when she hadn’t so much as met him. To call him Dad now felt wrong. To call him Wendell felt odd. It was a lose-lose.
“Both?” Amelia answered in the form of a question.
Kate pressed her hand against the table nearer to Amelia’s plate. “Well? What is he saying?”
“He said he found out the name of the person who pays property taxes for the lighthouse—both the light and the house.” She glanced up again, a stumped expression filling her fair features.
“And is it Nora Hannigan?” Kate asked.
Amelia shook her head slowly, frowning deeply at her phone screen.
“Is it Kate?” Clara asked, her innocence and naivete emerging for a second time. That’s how she always felt around her older sisters—like the baby of the family. Which, well, she was.
Again, Amelia shook her head.
“Is it any of us?” Megan set her coffee down with a thud and propped an elbow on the table, wagging a hand for Amelia to answer them.
Clara could see Amelia’s neck roll up and down in a deep swallow before she answered. “It’s someone else. Someone who lives in Indiana, he says.”
Kate pushed air through her teeth. “What’s their name?”
“Liesel Hart.”
Chapter 20—Megan
The name didn't ring a bell for any of them, but Megan liked it. It reminded her of her favorite character from The Sound of Music. She set down her mug and spoke up. “So this person is a stranger? The Actons sold the property?”
Amelia held up a finger. “Let me call Michael. It’s too hard to get important info from a text. Be right back.” She glided out of the room, her phone pressed to her ear.
It gave the others a
moment to confer.
“Why did Mom write that it belonged to us?” Clara’s voice bordered on sounding whiny.
Megan needed a second cup of coffee if she was going to deal with this. “If we open the journal,” she stabbed toward Kate’s table front, “then maybe we’ll find out.” Her tone was sing-song sarcastic, as Kate used to put it. The two now exchanged a look. Laughter tugged at the edges of the conversation. It would appear each one was reverting to her childhood self. That’s what happened when the Hannigan sisters came together. They fell back in time.
A smile broke out on Kate’s mouth, but she shook her head. “Once Amelia’s back, we will. Maybe Michael has more to tell her, though.”
Refilling her coffee and this time adding a second dash of sugar, Megan slid her own phone from her bag on the floor and carried it to the table. Discreetly, she clicked it awake, finding two unread messages. One from Sarah. One from Brian.
To see both their names in her inbox felt a little like old times. When they first gave Sarah a cell phone, just a couple years back, it was normal and welcome for Megan to bounce messages back between the two individually. They also had a group chat they frequented. Then, that changed. The messages between Sarah and Megan grew more tense and less regular. Megan had blamed it all on teenagehood. But deep down, she knew there was more to it than that.
And the messages with Brian went through a similar phase until they nearly halted. More recently, if his name popped into her inbox, it gave Megan a stomachache or a headache or both at once.
Now, however, she felt fine. Happy, even, despite all the drama swirling around the old house in which she sat with her sisters, sipping on Kate’s light roast coffee. She saved Brian’s text and clicked on Sarah’s first.
Can I stay at Clara’s tonight?
Megan flicked a glance up at the petite blonde who sat next to her. Clara, too, was deep into a text conversation, it appeared.
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