House on the Harbor

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Dobi?” Clara asked, bending down and tickling the chubby pup’s belly.

  “Sorry about that,” the man said as he neared. Clara looked up, squinting through the eastern-facing sun behind him.

  “Jimmy?” she asked, shielding the rays to make sense of his features.

  “At your service.” He grinned cockily and joined her on the steaming asphalt.

  “I thought I hit him,” Clara murmured as she gave Dobi’s slick potbelly one final pat before rising and smoothing her dress.

  Jimmy hooked the leash clip on the dog’s collar and faced the house, gawking in admiration. “Wow. I can’t believe you grew up here,” he commented, raising his eyebrows to Clara.

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Everything okay?” he asked, dipping his chin. “I mean now that we’ve established Mr. Dobi here is alive to tell the tale of his near-death experience.”

  Clara began to reply that she was tired, but Jimmy held up a hand, his eyes growing wide.

  “Wait, wait. You probably heard, huh?”

  “Heard what?” Clara answered quickly, desperate for any crumb of information she could wrap her brain around.

  Aloof, Jimmy answered easily. “Well, I mean I just got off the phone with Amelia. She didn’t want me to come down here, but things sounded pretty serious, so I figured I’d better check in on all of you girls. This Matt guy seems like he’s up to no good.”

  “Matt?” Clara played dumb as she noticed movement behind one of the windows of the house. “You mean Matt... Fiorillo?” she lowered her voice.

  “I think so. Yeah, well Kate took the... whatdoyoucallit? The barge? Or ferry or whatever—she took it to his place and then some drama went down, you know. I guess there’s a question about him and your mom, maybe? Amelia didn’t tell me everything, but I put two and two together. This Matt guy, I guess, has lived here forever. He even showed up to your mom’s funeral? And then he came to the house earlier today to ‘check on things.’” Jimmy threw up air quotes. Clara hated air quotes.

  She scrunched her face. “What do you mean Matt and my mom?”

  “And you,” Jimmy replied, pointing an accusatory finger at Clara. “I mean, Matt being your real dad, right? That’s the big scandal, right?” Clara felt her face grow hot and her heart thud against her chest wall at Jimmy’s words. But he kept talking, stupidly. “Small towns, I tell you. I’m glad I’m from the city. We don’t keep anything quiet there. If you have a crazy family, you know about it from day one.”

  ***

  Clara burst through the front door fuming. “Kate!” She screamed across the foyer and towards the kitchen.

  Kate’s face appeared in the doorframe. Behind her, Matt Fiorillo.

  “Is it true?” Clara wailed, glaring venomously at both of them.

  Megan stepped in from the parlor, grabbing Clara’s arm before she had a chance to peel off down the hall. “Clara, what is going on?”

  “Is he... my... my father?” Clara pointed her finger at the man.

  The reaction that smacked across both Kate’s and Matt’s faces told her all she needed to know.

  Stupid Jimmy, the interloping tourist-boyfriend, was right. She spun around to see him amble in behind her, little Dobi cuddled into his arms. Clara threw a hand back towards him. “He told me everything.”

  Amelia appeared behind Megan, bewilderment on her face.

  Clara had no idea what they had to be confused about. They knew the truth all along. They were the secret keepers.

  Amelia joined Clara at the door then reached for and grabbed Dobi out of Jimmy’s hands. “Whatever you said, get out. Leave,” she spat.

  Jimmy started to protest, but Megan opened the door and reiterated Amelia’s command. “Leave, Jimmy.”

  He did.

  Clara’s breathing had slowed only marginally. The leftover breaths now available to her were turning into tears and pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Is it true?” she asked everyone and no one, her eyes searching her sisters and avoiding Matt’s hardened stare.

  She didn’t even know Matt. All she knew about Matt Fiorillo was that he was Kate’s boyfriend before Clara was even born. She’d rarely seen him around town. Even when she saw his supposed daughter at the funeral, they seemed wholly unfamiliar.

  Except for one shadowy memory. Something she hadn’t recognized until that very moment. Except in that memory, they were in opposite positions.

  She was there, in the kitchen doorway. Matt was where she now stood, in the foyer, looking floppy but cute. Cute for an older guy, Clara distinctly recalled.

  He’d shown up one day randomly, when Clara was perhaps ten or so. Her mother greeted him coldly and made him wait in the foyer until she’d retrieved a sweater. After that, they’d left together. Curious, Clara had flown to the windows in the parlor, peeking out and listening hard through the lavender plant that stretched in its pot just beyond the cracked window.

  But she hadn’t caught any of their conversation. And the only other part of the memory that she now recalled was her mother returning into the house and warning Clara that she had better never talk to that Fiorillo boy ever.

  Easy enough for Clara.

  She didn’t talk to anyone.

  Chapter 33—Amelia

  Amelia pressed her hand to her heart, willing it to slow down. Jimmy was such an idiot. A freaking idiot.

  He’d gotten it wrong. Almost all wrong. Implying that Clara was the product of some affair between their mom and Matt?

  Gross.

  And, wrong.

  Jimmy and all his false bravado about helping repair the house and enjoying some romantic interlude while they were in town was a hilarious fantasy. Not even a fantasy. A joke. He was a joke! Their relationship was a joke. Especially in contrast to the very real family situation that lay before them now.

  She bounced Jimmy from her mind and wrapped a protective arm around Clara. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” she whispered, regretting ever mentioning anything to that halfwit.

  “Please,” Kate interrupted. “Will everyone give us some privacy?” Amelia’s older sister pierced Megan, Amelia, and then Matt each with a glare.

  “Okay,” Amelia answered, giving Clara one last hug and nodding Megan and Matt through to the back porch.

  ***

  Once they were outside, Amelia couldn’t bear the burden of being separated from the secret that Kate was about to reveal inside the house. It was almost painful, the keep-awayness of it all. But the truth was not Amelia’s to handle.

  Matt blew out a sigh, shoved his hands in his pockets, and—without a word—walked down to the beach, not bothering to glance behind.

  Amelia started after him, but Megan interceded. “Let him go, Amelia.”

  She turned and faced Megan. “Shouldn’t he be in there?”

  Megan shrugged. “It’s not our call. Let’s just mind our own business for now. I’m sure Kate will call us in when she’s ready.”

  Amelia set Dobi down in the grass and unhooked his leash. He dashed away, leery enough of the sea wall to stay near.

  “I can’t stand this,” Amelia whispered, stretching her arms in a wide circle above her head. “I can’t stand it!”

  Megan answered, “Let’s get our minds off of it. Talk about something else.”

  “Like what? What could we possibly have to talk about while they are in there dealing with this?” Amelia drew a dramatic circle around the property, as though it was the pit of the big drama.

  “Jimmy, for starters,” Megan replied, a tired smile curling her mouth.

  “Nothing to talk about there. He made a fool out of himself. Case closed.”

  “Are you going to break up with him finally?” Megan pressed.

  “Are you going to divorce Brian?” Amelia shot back, an attitude edging into her voice, though from where it came was beyond her.

  Megan glanced at her phone then clicked it off. Amelia had an opportunity and an instinc
t, and she went for it, snatching the phone from Megan’s hand and turning her back sharply as she turned the screen on and shuffled through Megan’s apps as she wailed behind Amelia, clawing her back.

  Amelia deftly avoided giving up the device long enough to open the dating app. As she began scrolling through the unfamiliar interface, it occurred to her that Megan had stopped protesting all together. Instead, the younger, darker Hannigan sister now stood a couple of feet away, her arms crossed and her lower lip trembling.

  “Megan,” Amelia said, her voice low. She dropped the phone and held it out. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. I shouldn’t have—”

  Megan wiped an errant tear from her cheek and took the phone before tapping quickly and flashing the phone up to Amelia’s face. “See?”

  Amelia leaned forward and squinted. A digital inbox glowed back at her. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to see, so she shook her head helplessly back.

  “Look,” Megan pressed the phone back at Amelia, forcing her to take it and study it closer. “I don’t know why I’m being weird about it. Just look, if you’re so curious.”

  Four messages fell beneath what appeared to be Megan’s “profile,” which offered the shadow of a head instead of Megan’s photo and a semi-anonymous handle, meg_2020.

  Amelia glanced up at Megan, whose eyes were now dry and, curiously, even smiled back. A... nervous smile?

  “Mark47 says, ‘can i get a pic?’” Amelia read aloud.

  Megan lifted an eyebrow and nodded her on.

  Amelia went to the next. “TheBigMichigander says, ‘Hi. How are you?’”

  This time, Megan shrugged.

  “You didn’t answer them,” Amelia pointed out, reading on to find that the next two messages were also vague and unreturned. “So, you’re testing the water?” Amelia prompted, completely absorbed by the unfolding circumstances despite everything else going on just yards away in the house.

  “In a way,” Megan replied. She shook her head and rubbed her thumbs beneath her eyes as if to clear the threat of more tears.

  “What’s going on?” Amelia asked, confused by Megan’s veiled hints and moodiness.

  A deep sigh lifted Megan’s chest. She glanced up at the house then fixed her gaze back on Amelia. “I’m not on that thing to meet men.”

  Amelia stole another look at the phone, trying to discern something—anything. She came up empty. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s embarrassing, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t want to say anything until I worked it out.”

  “So you are seeing someone?”

  “No,” Megan answered, her eyes drifting off until they landed on Matt in the distance. Amelia followed her stare. Sadness tugged at her heart. There were so many answers for them to uncover, and time was of the essence. At least, if Amelia wanted to return to the city in time to resume her waitress gig and prep for Lady Macbeth.

  “Then what, Megan? Spell it out, for the love of God. Spell. It. Out.”

  “I applied to work for them,” Megan answered, covering her mouth as she said it.

  Amelia frowned. “What?”

  “I applied to work for the app. The matchmaking app. Just before Mom’s funeral. I haven’t heard back yet, but I wanted to get an idea of what it was like. You know?”

  “So that’s it? That’s what you’ve been keeping from us?” Amelia laughed.

  A sheepish smile took hold of Megan’s mouth. “It’s... look, I haven’t even heard back yet. I don’t have the tech skills, probably. And what matchmaking company would hire someone who’s in the middle of a divorce?”

  Grinning broadly now, Amelia rushed Megan in a hug, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

  Megan laughed in reply. “Your standards must be low. You’re proud of me for applying for a job and keeping it a secret?”

  “No,” Amelia replied. “I’m proud of you for following your dream.”

  Chapter 34—Kate

  They sat at the table together in silence, the two blonde-haired Hannigans. The house felt bigger, and in it, Kate felt more vulnerable.

  She swallowed hard and stared out through the window, watching on as Amelia and Megan pounced on each other in the grass like obnoxious children. Kate envied them. Amelia and Megan had always been safe, removed. Separated and shielded. Free.

  Not Kate. She was smack dab in the middle of it. Kate was the cause of it.

  Matt’s shape reappeared in the distance. Her heart ached. For him. For them. For all the years that had filled up like an ocean. Mostly, Kate’s heart ached for Clara, who should have been none the wiser.

  Kate thought about the will and wondered what her mother was thinking when she left the house out? And even more than that, why didn’t Michael Matuszewski ask?

  “I’m not sure how to start,” Kate whispered, returning her attention to Clara. It was maybe the first time in years Kate had looked upon her like she did now—differently.

  Clara’s eyes, bright and blue, took on a milky effect. Darkened hollows framed them, adding to her tired face. Her hair, tied back at the top with a barrette, tugged free at her temples in brittle flyaways. Clara’s skin, devoid of much makeup, drew down in red splotches along her chin—hormonal acne she was too young to kick.

  Kate wondered what it would have been like to have a daughter.

  “I just want to know why,” Clara replied, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly through parted lips.

  “Mom didn’t mean to leave you out of the will,” Kate answered. “She just didn’t update it.”

  “Why didn’t she?” Clara shot back, her brows furrowing toward the bridge of her nose.

  “You came so much later, and—” Kate stopped short, unwilling to reveal the next thing. The big thing.

  “Mom was in Michael Matuszewski’s office,” Clara responded, her tone pleading, even desperate. “Why wouldn’t she think to?”

  “Well, in a way she did make an adjustment,” Kate replied at last, reaching into her purse which sat slumped on the floor.

  Clara’s face lifted. Hope.

  Kate pressed the envelope onto the table beneath her palms, securing it there for the time. “She had a diary, I guess you could say. And she left an entry for us, or me, specifically,” Kate said at last, her eyes welling up.

  Her eyes widening, Clara shook her head. “A diary entry?”

  “Yes. She tore it out. Maybe there are other entries, but I’m not sure. It seems like she left this one as part of... her will or something. I think... ” A sob escaped Kate’s lips. “I think she was confused. But, Clara, she meant well.”

  Tears streamed down Clara’s ruddy cheeks. Her neck blossomed in red patches—evidence of grief and relief and shock.

  “But that’s not all,” Kate whispered.

  Clara’s crying paused momentarily as she locked eyes with Kate. “Then, what?”

  “You,” Kate began, her voice trembling uncontrollably against the weight of the truth. “Clara, you... ” They looked at each other, and Kate could feel Clara’s heart pounding in her own chest wall. Nausea churned in her gut.

  “What?” Clara whimpered back.

  “Clara, you are not our sister.”

  Chapter 35—Clara

  A panic attack.

  Clara was officially experiencing a panic attack. Her entire life flashed before her eyes. Little moments here. Big memories there. Her feeling left out for all her childhood. Her hard work. The cleaning. The life of lonesomeness. Her chest began heaving. Her neck grew tight. No tears. Just panic.

  “Calm down. Clara, calm down.”

  Clara could hear the words, but Kate’s face became blurry. Foggy. Like a pencil eraser had been rubbed across her features. “What are you—what are you—” She repeated the same three words over and over again, trying to steady herself against the failing vision and cramping muscles.

  Kate rose from her chair and knelt next to Clara, her hands pressed aga
inst Clara’s cheeks, leveling her jaw. “Clara, shh. Listen to me. Calm down, okay?”

  One deep breath later, and Clara could see again. The tears came now. Frightful tears. “What are you talking about, Kate,” she hissed between sobs.

  “Clara, when I was in high school, I got pregnant.”

  The sobs halted abruptly. Clara knew she misheard. Or misunderstood. She sniffled and rubbed her fist beneath her nose, smearing away a mishmash of fluids from her face. “You never told me you had a baby,” Clara answered, lamely. How could she not know that her older sister was a teen mom? “What happened?” Clara asked, feeling her heartbeat return to normal.

  Kate blinked and frowned but went on, answering in slow, looping words like Clara was a toddler. “Matt and I... ” Kate glanced out the window behind her, as if she hoped he’d appear at the door. Clara was glad he didn’t. “We were in love. But that’s no excuse, I guess. I’d tell you it was a mistake, but I’d be lying. I got pregnant. That’s why we went to Arizona. Mom was mortified. She didn’t know how to handle it, I guess.” Kate stopped, shaking her head. Fresh tears budding along her lower lash line.

  “So what did you do with it?”

  Kate offered a half smile, wiping away the wetness from her cheeks. “The baby?”

  Clara nodded back.

  “Well, we didn’t know what to do. Mom was so worried about people in town finding out. It was... uncomfortable.”

  “What about Dad?” Clara asked.

  Kate let out a small laugh. “That’s the funny thing. He wasn’t mad. He was okay with it, I guess. I mean, not okay with it. But he just figured we’d deal with it. That’s why he started building the cottage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mom figured she could hide me away there. With the baby, I mean. We could keep it a secret.”

  “Is that what happened? Did you move into the cottage? What happened to the baby?” Clara’s panic returned, as she began conducting some simple calculations in her head.

  But before she had a chance to finish doing the math, Kate answered, quelling her questions for the moment. “Mom decided to adopt the baby.”