Megan whipped her head to Amelia, her eyebrows falling in together. “Matuszewski? Like... Michael?”
Amelia shook her head, bewilderment filled her face, and she tapped her phone screen. “Michael, are you there?”
His voice came over the speaker. “I’m here. Is everything okay?”
“We just found another of Mom’s journal entries, and it says that our mother hired someone during the investigation into our dad’s disappearance. A lawyer, I mean.”
He didn’t reply right away, so Megan nodded at Amelia to continue.
“Michael, she wrote that she hired Mr. Matuszewski. That’s not...”
“My grandfather,” Michael replied. The words came out on a gasp. “Oh my—I can’t believe she never told me.”
Megan frowned at Amelia. “What does he mean? Wouldn’t his grandfather have mentioned it?”
“Is that Megan?” Michael asked blindly.
Amelia held the phone closer to her mouth. “Yes. You’re on speaker. Did you not know about this?” The three sisters shared a skeptical look.
“No, I didn’t. But I wasn’t close to my grandfather. Neither was my dad. But I suppose I should have known, anyway. I mean, wasn’t it big news around here?”
He sounded genuinely confused. Megan had to give him that. She leaned closer to Amelia. “Who are you talking about when you said you couldn’t believe she never told you?”
“Nora. Your mom.”
Megan rolled her eyes, though not at Michael. Of course Nora wouldn’t have told him. The whole thing was very hush hush. As far as the Hannigan women knew, their mother paid off the whole town to sink Wendell’s disappearance into oblivion and sufficiently hide it from local memory.
“Don’t be surprised about that,” Amelia assured him. “Mom was never one to air her own dirty laundry. Others’ maybe, but not hers.”
He sighed across the line. “Well, she did a good job keeping it under wraps. For being relatively new to town, I consider myself in the loop.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s old news. And anyway,” Megan added, “as far as anyone believes, it was not a scandal. It was a man who left his family. Those types of stories are a dime a dozen, right?”
As she said it, Megan thought about Brian and why she chose him. Even as a young woman, she knew she didn’t want a walk-away Joe. It was a big reason Megan said yes to Brian from the get-go. Sure, they hit it off. Sure, he was handsome, and she certainly fell in love. Hard. But in the end, Megan might have gone on a million other dates. She might have swooned over a brooding musician or taken up with one of Amelia’s actor friends over the years, someone with charm, someone with rhythm who could dance and send endless goosebumps across her flesh, but no. She chose a man who had more fidelity than smooth moves. She chose a man who believed in commitment.
The irony did not escape her. Of course, it wasn’t Brian who pressed for a separation.
It was Megan.
She bit her lower lip and said a quiet, private prayer. A big one, to be sure. And even though it was not a good moment, even though they were on the precipice of solving a decades-old family mystery, she pulled her own phone out and studied the last text message she’d received, rubbing her thumb across it with hope and fear. Her entire body lit up in goosebumps.
“Is that all she wrote?” Michael asked, startling Megan. She double-checked the time on her phone then slid it back into her pocket.
Amelia answered for the group. “No. There’s more.”
“Go ahead,” Megan urged. “Read it.”
Clearing her throat, Clara went on. “‘He’—she’s referencing your grandpa—” Clara added for Michael’s benefit, “‘kept me out of trouble, which was all I needed him to do. Besides, there just wasn’t much to it. The police had no evidence of foul play, but they surely had evidence that Wendell planned to go.’”
“Oh, wow,” Amelia interrupted, her breath heavy.
“Sh,” Megan snapped. “Keep reading.” Even though she knew what was coming next, she was anxious for Amelia and Clara to know it, too. And even Michael.
“‘His overnight duffle was missing. His boat was missing. And he’d left his truck at the house on the harbor, complete with the key in the visor. It was like a movie. A hellish movie. They all forced me to accept that he couldn’t handle the pressure I’d put him under. I refused, though. I still refuse. On my life, Wendell didn’t leave us. Not because of me or his own druthers, of that I’m certain. And yet, they refuse to continue the search. They—the police, Wendell’s parents, and even my own lawyer—feel adamant that Wendell was (and I quote) fed up. With me. With me! And do you want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Two words: Gene Carmichael.’”
Chapter 30—Amelia
Amelia gasped theatrically, nearly dropping her phone. “No freaking way.”
Clara held the page out to her. There was no more to read. Nora hadn’t even signed it. It was her most revealing and raw entry yet. Of course, the letters written directly to the girls were specific and useful, but this was all rage. All Nora.
She had loved their father. And she did not believe he just disappeared. So, if neither of those were true, then only a few—albeit extreme—explanations existed.
“Gene killed Dad?” Megan asked, her mouth agape and her black-tipped fingers pressed over it like a horrible gate.
“No, he didn’t.” It was Michael. Amelia nearly forgot he was still on the phone.
“What do you mean?” she asked him. “How do you know?”
It was his turn to sigh. “I know Gene. Personally. He still lived in town when I first moved here. I rented his house for a few years once he left. Gene didn’t kill anyone.”
“Is that all you know?” Amelia asked pointedly, staring at the phone for a dramatic response.
“Well, yeah. I know he’s a good guy.”
Clara set the page on the counter and shuffled back and forth, her expression strained. “I’ve heard about Gene. I don’t know him, but I hear about him at school sometimes. He was a very popular principal.”
“If I recall, Mom hated him,” Megan offered. “Wasn’t that right, Amelia?”
Amelia shook her head. “I don’t know if she hated him, but she definitely avoided academic events. I mean, I suppose you could deduce a connection there, but... seems farfetched to me.” Amelia wasn’t the sort to be reasonable and rational, but something told her Michael was good at reading people. If he thought Gene Carmichael was a good guy, then she was compelled to believe him.
“Do you know anything else about him?” she asked the phone.
Michael cleared his throat over the line. “I mean, I know he met someone on a dating app.” He chuckled but cleared it away with a small cough. “Sorry, it struck me as funny at the time because he was older. He, um, well, he wasn’t having any success in that department, so he looked up people from out of town, found someone, and he left the harbor to be with her. He didn’t leave for good, though. He comes to town regularly to meet up with friends. I’m not sure if he ever married that woman, but I think he brings his pals and dates on his houseboat. He’s a little cocky acting, and I don’t really know why, but he stays in touch with the community.”
“We know,” Amelia replied. Despite trusting Michael’s opinion, she suddenly felt gross for having been so kind and accommodating towards him. Overeager, really. It was the curse of the extrovert—being too friendly to people who may or may not deserve such friendliness. Then again, maybe he did deserve it. Maybe he was a good guy.
“So, what was Mom’s beef with Gene Carmichael?” Megan asked.
Amelia shrugged and frowned. “He’s in town right now. Why don’t we ask him?”
***
Despite Michael’s claim that Gene was harmless, he insisted on meeting Amelia and her sisters before they started their search. Logically, they’d go to the house on the harbor or the Village. But there were complications. One, Megan wouldn’t be able to join them. She was meeting Brian and
Sarah soon, then they planned to go to dinner after the cemetery visit. Amelia asked if she could postpone—that their task was critical.
As they stood together outside the cottage, Megan shrugged. “My future is more important than our past. I’m sorry.” Amelia and Clara agreed to drop her at the house on the harbor before they laid out their investigation plans.
“Let’s tell Michael to meet us at the Village,” Clara suggested. “It’s a short walk for us once we drop Megan, and Kate can easily join.”
“I’ll call her,” Amelia replied as they got ready to leave the cottage, thumbing through her phone until it rang. But their conversation veered off. Yes, Kate was astonished and interested in following the lead. No, she didn’t know anything about Gene Carmichael other than he was their principal. Maybe she could meet them, but she did have plans for later that evening.
“How can she be so disinterested?” Clara asked, once Megan had climbed out from the car and bid them a good night.
“I know. It makes me feel like this whole thing is no big deal. Megan seems to care enough, but she’s more consumed by Brian and Sarah.”
“It makes sense,” Clara reasoned. “I mean, things are weird with them right now. And if Sarah is going to stay here for a while, then she’d better iron everything out, right?”
Amelia sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” There she was, back home in Birch Harbor, bumming a room in Kate’s new house and business enterprise while Kate gallivanted around town with her old flame and Clara, fresh into summer, tagged along like a tourist. Megan had been by her side, also in the throes of a major life overhaul initially. But then, in a span of twenty-four hours it seemed, she was all of a sudden more consumed by the man she claimed to despise than her very own sisters and their crumbling family history.
Feeling more lost than ever, Amelia realized there was just one place she could stand to be. The lighthouse.
Perhaps its deed sat in the dusty filing cabinet of some indifferent stranger, but Liesel Hart wasn’t Wendell Acton’s daughter. Amelia was.
“I know where we can meet,” she said to Clara, striding to her little sister’s car and sliding into the passenger seat.
Once they pulled out from the gravel drive of the house which both sisters grew up in, Clara tugged her sunglasses from her forehead onto her nose and looked over. “All right. Where to?”
“Drive north.”
Chapter 31—Megan
She had a fifteen-minute head start on Brian and Sarah. So, technically, she could have stayed with Amelia and Clara for a little while longer. After all, Megan was certainly curious about Gene Carmichael’s connection to their father’s disappearance. More than curious, in fact. To know that Wendell didn’t leave them would not change anything, of course. Then again, it could change everything.
But whether her father meant to leave his daughters behind didn’t matter as much to her as it had when she was a teenager. Megan had a new life now. A full one, truly. She had a daughter of her own to care for and support. She had more jobs to apply for. And, mainly, she had a love interest. A man she’d been texting whom she’d known forever.
A man she had committed to.
And so, with that in mind, she chose to be dropped off back at the house on the harbor and freshen up. Anyway, she needed her own vehicle.
It was after four when Megan walked in. She called out to Kate, who answered from the kitchen.
“Hi.” Megan grabbed her bag from the ground and glanced briefly at her older sister. “You are... glowing?” It came out as a question, and Kate laughed.
“Glowing? Well, thank you. I haven’t heard that in a while.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks as if it were something she could feel on her skin. Megan smiled at her sister. Kate deserved this happiness. After so many years of living with their mother’s decision, she deserved it. Megan knew, deep down inside, that Kate and Matt belonged together. They always had. And now, they had a chance at it. There was no reason to tease. No questions to ask. Standing before her was a woman in love all over again. A second-chance romance sort of love.
Nothing—nothing—like she felt about Brian. Was there something tugging inside of her? Sure. Was it a warm glow?
No.
“I just popped in to grab a couple things before I drive up to the cemetery,” she declared to Kate. “We’ve changed plans a few times. We were going to go tomorrow, but Brian felt it was urgent, I guess.”
Kate nodded, her face falling.
Megan crossed to her and pulled her big sister into her for a hug. “I know,” she whispered. “It sucks.”
Pushing away, she studied Kate’s time-worn face. Crow’s feet hid behind black frames, and shallow lines spread the width of her forehead. For being under fifty, Kate looked both good and older for her age. She was stylish and pretty, but a long life played out. Perhaps that’s what happened when you stripped a child of her childhood. And Megan didn’t consider the teenage pregnancy to be the culprit there. No. Kate’s lost childhood at the hands of parents who were gritty and hard driving. Her forced breakup. Her forced adoption. Her abandonment. Even Megan’s own childhood was colored by Kate’s various heartbreaks and mandates. That’s what became of middle children. They bore the shrapnel of their older siblings’ trials. They were like children of divorced parents. Collateral damage. Of course, children recovered from that sort of thing. Maybe they grew extra wrinkles, but they recovered. They were fine.
Sometimes, they were even better off.
But none of the Hannigans were better off.
Maybe Sarah wouldn’t be, either.
***
The Birch Harbor Cemetery stood opposite the secondary school. Gunmetal gravestones and mossy markers rolled up and down slight, grassy hills. In some sections, the headstones shone above fresh flowers. In other, older sections, the footstones were not only unremarkable but also unreadable, the names having faded with time.
The Hannigans had their own sprawling plot in the far-left corner, along the back iron fence. An aged willow hung heavily above Megan’s grandparents, her Aunt Margaret and Aunt Jody, and her Uncle Garold. Other Hannigans had their plots nearby, but Megan and her sisters were generally raised apart from the extended family. Most of them were much, much older and very long dead, anyway.
Of course, her mother’s grave was there, too. Fresh dirt piled loosely atop of the burial site. The groundskeepers hadn’t yet rolled on a new layer of sod. Is that how they did it? It occurred to Megan that she wasn’t even sure. Did the deceased get grass seed or sod? It felt important right then, as she stood there, staring at the recently placed monument.
Kate asked that they expedite the settling of Nora’s resting spot. She told the mortuary she’d pay extra, but she didn’t have to. Turned out that Nora was good friends with the funeral director, who also owned and oversaw the cemetery.
It was a beautiful memorial. Simple but somehow exquisite.
Mary,
Mother of God
and Mother of mercy,
pray for us and for the faithful departed.
Nora Katherine Hannigan
The date followed, and that was it. No indication she was a daughter or sister or wife or mother. It’s how Nora wanted to be remembered. For herself, not her ties to Earth.
Megan worked hard to accept the wish that Nora preferred to be alone in death. Or at least, on her final earthly hallmark. She swallowed and wiped an errant tear from her cheek. Just as she felt an urge to sob, footsteps on the grass distracted her.
“Mom,” Sarah whispered from Brian’s side. They were holding hands. Brian had always been an affectionate father, but Megan couldn’t remember the last time Sarah wanted to so much as give him a hug. The sight sent a pang to her heart. Sarah was a crier, and Brian knew this. She was crying now, harder by the moment. He released her hand and pulled her into his side.
During the funeral, Sarah had her cousins, Ben and Will, to distract her from much of the grief. Now, stuck with just her parents, sh
e had nothing else to do but think upon the matter.
Sarah hadn’t known Nora as well as Nora would have liked. The guilt trips were unending on this matter, and Megan was only then beginning to realize that they would last long after Nora’s last words about it. Megan did feel bad for being so distant. Their broken relationship with her mother would haunt her for years. Perhaps always. It might be unbearable. Megan knew there was no solution to this. No fixing the fact that she didn’t visit each time Nora asked for a visit. She didn’t invite Nora to visit each time the woman hinted that she had a free Saturday.
Perhaps, that was another thing crippling Megan’s ability to solidify the divorce paperwork. Perhaps, the guilt was also pushing her that much closer to her sisters.
“You okay?” Brian and Sarah now stood with Megan at Nora’s feet. In many ways, it was picture perfect. A scene from a movie. Megan had quickly changed into a light black tunic. Sarah, for once in her life, was dressed appropriately without hounding from her mother. Simple black skinny jeans and a dark navy blouse. Brian wore dark gray khakis and a black polo. It was a miniature, pared-down version of the funeral. More intimate. More real. Megan’s eyes welled up.
Brian’s did, too.
Then, a miracle happened.
No, Nora didn’t rise up from the grave. Though in life, she often wondered aloud if her death might bring about the Second Coming. She was Catholic enough to repent for the blaspheme, but human enough to joke about it on a regular basis, especially with Megan who appreciated the grim humor.
It was a miracle of a different kind. A lesser, simpler, smaller kind.
Brian, standing beside Megan, his shoulders heaving up and down as he hugged Sarah tightly with one arm, reached down and took Megan’s hand in his.
Then, he squeezed it.
Tearfully, Megan squeezed back.
Chapter 32—Amelia
By the time they reached the lighthouse, Amelia felt a bit silly. It was a dramatic locale, and there was no sense in meeting so far from the marina where they hoped to find Gene.
Lighthouse on the Lake Page 16