Clara suppressed a grin.
“I mean the private school kids from the island.”
Nodding knowingly, Clara answered with a wise, “Ahh. Yes.” On Heirloom Island, just southeast of the house Clara had grown up in, stretched a small water-locked chunk of earth, complete with its own private school. An island with a private school made for special circumstances. Of those children who lived on the island, there were two types who opted out of St. Mary's: too poor to stay and pay for the Catholic school or too heathen to have any interest in applying for a scholarship. And as for those children who lived on the mainland, there were also two types of children: normal and just heathen enough to beg off the ferry ride to school or Catholic and rich enough to afford and even enjoy the exclusive day trip to get an education on an island.
But that trouble only lasted through eighth grade. So far, the Catholic school on the island didn’t offer grades nine through twelve. This meant that all those little private school teens would flood Birch Harbor High.
“I get it,” Clara went on. And she did. “Tell you what, Mercy. If you get to ninth grade and start having friend trouble, you come tell me. I’ll help, okay?”
Mercy nodded gratefully and collected her backpack. Problem solved.
“Okay, Miss Hannigan. Thank you.”
The girl hesitated at the door, just as Clara was about to hit CALL on Kate’s contact details. “Yes, Mercy?”
Mercy ran her tongue over her lower lip, freeing it from another catch on her braces. “My dad said you’re really pretty.”
***
Amelia answered Kate’s phone. “Hey,” she said, her voice betraying some sense that things were not going according to plan.
“Hey,” Clara echoed. “How’s it going?”
“Well, we aren’t at Michael’s office.”
“Oh?” Clara asked, a pit growing in the bottom of her stomach and washing away a smile from the compliment she'd just received.
Amelia cleared her throat and waited a beat before answering. “Everything is totally fine, though. Something came up, but it’s actually okay. Seriously.”
Clara felt flushed, and she stood to pace the rows of student desks as she pressed Amelia for details. “What did the lawyer say? Do we have grounds to contest still? We do, right?”
“Like I said, Clara. Something came up. The appeal... ah... well, we are shifting direction.”
“Can I talk to Kate?” Clara asked, her voice pinched as she held her breath, waiting for her oldest sister, her most grown-up one.
“Hi, Clara,” Kate’s voice came on the phone, smooth and reassuring. “Listen, we can’t contest the will anymore. But we’re all here talking and we realize that we do need to get some clarification on what we can do with mom’s property. Everything is going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry, but let’s plan to meet at the house on the harbor after you’re done with school. I’ll have Matt order a pizza, okay?”
Clara frowned. “Matt? Matt who?”
“Oh, right,” Kate answered, murmuring something away from the line before coming back on. “Matt Fiorillo. Um, he’s here, too.”
Before Clara could ask why, Kate had passed the phone off to Megan like they were playing a long-distance game of hot potato.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Clara asked Megan, her tone revealing her anxiety and impatience. She felt so left out and in the dark. It was like their childhood all over again. Clara so much younger, so much different, so much apart from her older sisters. Part of her wished Mercy had stayed behind to have lunch in the classroom. Then, at least, Clara wouldn’t feel so lonely.
“All I can say,” Megan answered, “is that Kate is fighting for you.”
Clara figured Megan meant it as a kindness, that Kate was “fighting” for her. But then, did it also imply that Amelia and Megan... were not?
Chapter 28—Amelia
“We have a couple of hours. What do we need to do to get everything in order?” Amelia asked earnestly after Matt cleared away their glasses of iced tea. Tensions had cooled, but there was a lot left to do and discuss. And, even minor issues awaited them back on the mainland. For Amelia, those included Dobi’s potty break and Jimmy’s looming existence. He’d texted her throughout the morning, commenting on where he was and what he was up to. Somehow, he’d made his way to the house on the harbor, though he promised her he'd stick to Birch Village until she was back at the house.
Megan, too, was fighting against urgency. Sarah needed her to return home that night. Although, Amelia wondered if that was true or if Megan wanted to return home. Or, at least, return to her daughter and husband.
Kate seemed distracted more than ever. Amelia felt for her. Here Kate was, in control of their mom’s affairs on the heels of her own personal tragedy—losing Paul not too long before. Plus, Amelia knew Kate’s financial situation was not much better than her own. Or Megan’s for that matter. The only one who enjoyed any degree of stability at the present was Clara, of all people.
The financial pressure along with an extended run-in with Kate’s high school sweetheart only added to their drama. Being sequestered in Birch Harbor until they hammered out the details felt like bunking up in a crucible. Something—or someone—was about to burst.
A thought occurred to Amelia, an off-topic detail, altogether, but one that perhaps mattered. “Do you live here alone?” she asked Matt, staring around the walls. “Or do you have a roommate?” She fixed her gaze on Megan, who caught on to her line of reasoning.
“I live here with my daughter,” he answered.
Kate cocked her head at Amelia as if to say see? No scandal.
Amelia smiled. “How old is your daughter? What’s her name?”
“She’s fourteen. Viviana.” He plucked a photo from his fridge and showed it to them. Each sister cooed in turn.
“She’s beautiful. Does she live with you full-time?” Kate asked.
Matt nodded. “Yep. Her mom moved to Detroit chasing some big-city gig. She’s very successful. She visits often.”
“If you died today,” Amelia went on, narrowing down to her main point and question—they had figured he had a daughter, that was no big mystery, “who would get this place?”
“Viviana,” he answered easily. “Why?”
“Well,” Amelia replied, her emerging claim surfacing on her lips like she was morphing into some sort of intellectual detective, “what about your ex? And your parents? Would they get in the way at all?”
He laughed derisively. “No, of course not. Everything would go to Viviana... or—” his voice fell away, and he looked at Kate.
Chapter 29—Kate
Her face softened at Matt. Kate didn’t know Viviana. She’d only ever seen the girl at the funeral, and, while she knew Matt had moved on from their adolescent romance, his new life was a hard pill to swallow. Then again, hadn’t Kate moved on, too?
Yes.
Kate had moved on. She’d married and had two sons and lived a whole new life, worlds away.
So then, why did her pulse quicken when Matt covered her hand with his? Why did she go to him first, before her sisters?
There was no rule demanding that Kate seek out Matthew Fiorillo. Her mother hadn’t left such a stipulation in her diary entry, after all.
But there they were, in his kitchen on Heirloom Island, like old friends. Perhaps that’s exactly why she’d gone to him. Amelia and Megan were too removed from Birch Harbor. Matt, having stayed on there and experienced the waves of time in the small lakeside town, was a rock. More so than Kate’s own sisters, apparently.
“Matt,” she said, changing the conversation. “What have we missed?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Megan and Amelia had left the table and were currently wandering around in front of the house, giving Kate and Matt space to talk.
“I mean what has gone on in Birch Harbor all these years? What have you seen and heard?”
“What have I seen and
heard about your mom and Clara?” he asked earnestly.
Kate blinked. “Well,” she began, swallowing a growing lump in her throat. “Yeah.”
He breathed in through his nose and pushed the air out of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, a reflective glaze coating his stare. “Same old, same old, I suppose. I’ve seen your mom do her country club thing. I’ve seen her at the village. I’ve heard she’s made her rounds at parties and big town events, sponsoring this or showing up for that.” He lowered his voice for what he said next. “I’ve seen her with men.”
Kate paled at his implication. Her heart hurt. Her body even hurt. She was supposed to be back home by now, packing her house and preparing to put it on the market. She was supposed to be sad and depressed that her mother was gone, not angry that her mother left something of a mess behind.
Inhaling sharply, she nodded in response. “And Clara? Do you ever see Clara?”
He shook his head sadly. “No. I think she keeps to herself.”
Kate nodded again, this time more thoughtfully. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Matt. I’m sure you weren’t expecting your high school girlfriend to rush in asking you to save her.”
They locked eyes, and Matt leaned forward in his seat. He was the same boy she’d fallen in love with all those years ago, but now a man. His kind eyes sat inside of crow’s feet and his chin and cheeks were shadowed by handsome stubble. And, Matt’s mouth. A full mouth that had lived a lifetime away from hers. Back then, she’d have hated to think that Matt would belong to anyone but her.
But, he had. And not just romantically. His lips had no doubt kissed his own frail mother. His... daughter. Kate had missed all those moments with him. Were there more women, too? Was there someone... now?
“Matt,” Kate whispered again. Just as she was about to apologize a second time, his jaw set and his eyes lowered to her lips.
“No,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you.” A tear welled along her lower lash line. He lifted his thumb and reached across the table to brush it away. “Is it too late?”
***
She swallowed. It wasn’t too late. But the timing was bad. She shook her head at Matt and blinked away the tears and thirty-some years’ worth of regret. “We need to get ready to go. Clara will be done with school soon. I want to have a plan in place for this meeting.” Kate stood abruptly from the table, and the air sucked out from between them, leaving in its wake a chill. “What do you have going on this afternoon? Do you have to pick up, um, Viviana from school, or...?”
“Or am I bringing pizza to the meeting of the minds?” he finished her sentence in a half-joke, and it successfully lightened the mood.
Kate grinned. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “I can bring the pizza. Viviana walks home. She goes to St. Mary’s just up the road. I’ll leave a note for her. But, Kate—”
Folding her lips in between her teeth, she dipped her chin toward him. “Yes?”
“Are you sure I should come? This is a... this is awkward. It’s a big conversation. Maybe a private one, even.”
Kate glanced out the front window, her gaze falling on her younger sisters. She contemplated his point, mulling it over like she was smoothing a jagged rock in a tumbler.
Matt was right. The conversation was serious. It would be upsetting. It would be uncomfortable and confusing.
Two things needed to happen. And they needed to happen soon, so that the women could get back on with their lives. They needed to tell Clara the truth. And they needed to decide who was getting what.
And those conversations were inseparable, tied together in history and in the present, by all four of them. Matt belonged there, too. And if Clara were Amelia, who reveled in high drama and theatrics, then Kate would maybe bring him.
But Clara wasn’t Amelia. She wasn’t dramatic. She wasn’t Megan either—tough and steel-willed. No. She was most like Kate, quiet, reserved, and generally serious. Mostly, Clara was still just a girl.
“Will you bring the pizza but wait outside? Perhaps in the back porch?” she asked Matt.
“Of course,” he answered. “I’m good at that.”
She cocked an eyebrow for clarification. “Good at what?”
He replied through a mischievous smile. “Waiting.”
Chapter 30—Nora
October 4, 1992
With Wendell gone, I don’t have the courage to be the woman I once was. My strength has left me. My neck seems to hurt every morning when I wake up. I’m sleeping on my stomach again, because I have no one to hold me at night.
There’s only one way to honor Wendell, and it’s done. Well, there was nothing technically “to do.” And that’s what Wendell wanted. For me to leave it alone.
So now here we are, with angry in-laws living up north, an unfinished cottage, an empty lot, the four-plex, a new baby, and this big old house that Wendell couldn’t stomach to stay in alone.
I don’t blame him.
There are secrets here, and they kissed our lives. He knew that, and I do. The girls probably sense it. But secrets can make things better.
Oh. Oh my. I just had an idea! I suppose writing in this old thing pays off after all.
Chapter 31—Megan
Amelia left the back yard and walked down to the shore to take a phone call—from Jimmy, no doubt.
Megan felt empty, lonely, too. She hadn’t spoken to Sarah or Brian since she’d been in Birch Harbor, and she missed at least one of them.
Sarah didn’t answer. She was still in class. Megan left a message asking her daughter to return her call. She needed to hear someone else’s voice.
Before clicking off her phone, she rubbed her thumb up the screen, revealing Brian’s name.
Without a second thought, Megan tapped it.
It rang. Anxiety crept up her arms, settling into her neck. Reluctantly, and yet, with a degree of giddiness, she pressed the device to her ear and waited.
Three rings later, his voice came on.
“Yeah,” he said. Not a question. Not a greeting. Just a yeah.
“Um, hi. It’s me.” Megan waited a beat before adding, “Megan.”
“I know,” he replied. His tone matched the prickliness of his voice, and she immediately regretted calling.
Fumbling around for what to say next, she defaulted to what had become the most common topic of conversation. “I’m calling to check in on the settlement.”
He sighed. “We’re selling the house.”
“What?” she asked, alarms filling her head. “What are you talking about? I thought either you or I would get it?”
“Lawyers think it’s a dumb idea. We sell and split the profit, if there is any. Fresh slate. We can go our separate ways. You can follow your dream, for once.”
“That’s it?” She kicked herself for the way she’d asked it. She sounded weak and desperate. Like she wanted the fight to go on.
Maybe she did.
“Listen, Megan. It’s a win-win for you. You get to buy a new house, and I’ll pay child support and alimony. The whole shebang. It’s everything you wanted, right?”
Silently, she shook her head. “So, what happens next?” she asked, eyeing Amelia who was returning up to the lawn.
“Next, we sign off on this. No mediation is a good thing. It can go straight through. I guess then the divorce can be finalized.” His voice dropped off on the last sentence as though it was hard for him to say. Almost, as though he hated to say it at all.
Megan wondered if she hated to hear it, too.
The next thing, he whispered. Like an afterthought. An allowance. “Megan,” Brian said. “I’m tired of this, okay? If you don’t want to sell, then you can have the house. You can take it all. I just... ” His voice broke, and Megan’s eyes began to brim with tears. “I just want you to be happy.”
Chapter 32—Clara
Clara had never been one to rush out of school after the final bell, much less
before it, but here she was, on day two of finding her attention indelibly ripped from the only constant in her life.
Instead of asking permission from the principal to leave early yet again, she slipped away twenty seconds before dismissal, scurrying to her car and easing out of the parking lot and toward the house on the harbor. Her sisters weren’t expecting her for another fifteen minutes at least, but Clara could not wait. She had to know. She had to be part of the mess, as much as she hated it. Her future—her ability to sculpt out a future for herself—depended on it.
As Clara turned right onto the easement just past Harbor Avenue, she spotted just Megan’s vehicle. A sliver of jealousy wedged its way into her chest. The thought of her sisters carpooling around town, sipping mimosas at Fiorillo’s, and bouncing in and out of shops in the village with little paper bags of souvenirs made her feel unreasonably angry.
She tried hard to push it aside, focusing instead on what she would say. “I’ll take the cottage, if you don’t mind.” Or maybe: “I’d like to have the cottage, regardless of what I’ve been left. I won’t bother you for anything else. All I want is the cottage.” No matter what words she practiced in her head, she sounded like a baby.
Now, Clara turned her attention to the narrow street in front of the house. Just as her eyes focused, a flash of black dashed in front of her car. A squirrel or a bird—no. It was a bigger animal. Not big, but bigger than a bird, for sure. And four-legged.
Slamming her foot on the brake, Clara's heart pounded in her chest. She threw the car into park and tore out of it and around to the front, where she was positive she would find small animal carnage.
A voice cried out from across the street. “He’s okay; he’s okay!”
Clara glanced up to see an attractive stranger jog toward her. Ignoring him momentarily, she searched the pavement until her eyes landed on a little dog, splayed on its back in submission, his needle-shaped tail wagging like a windshield wiper across the ground.
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