The Spyglass Portal: A Lighthouse Novel

by Coverstone, Stacey

  “Yes.”

  Claire’s gray eyes pierced her; staring intently.

  “What do you know?” Sam asked, once she’d recovered from her shock.

  “Only what the sea captain’s logbook says. Like Daniel, I was also a member of the historical board and was privileged to be able to read the diary.”

  Samantha’s rigid shoulders relaxed. Probably most people in Pavee Cove knew McBride’s story, guessing a fair amount had read the journal. But only a select few were aware that his spyglass had been recovered: Sam, Aidan, Daniel, and now Claire and Jason. One look at Jason and Sam deemed he didn’t fully comprehend the conversation. But another glance into Claire’s face had Sam believing she was aware of more than she admitted.

  Samantha forked some salad into her mouth while she mulled over the possibilities.

  “Remember when Aidan cut his hand, Mom?” Jason said suddenly. He’d stopped eating and was looking out the window, seemingly hypnotized by a tree branch swaying in the wind and rain. It scraped the window and made a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “We were supposed to camp in a tent that night, but it was raining just like this and we had to set the tent up inside the house. He sliced his hand while opening a can of beans with a pocketknife.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Claire replied calmly. “Aidan was very brave when Doc stitched him up.”

  “I understand Aidan was like another son to you when he was a boy,” Samantha said to Claire.

  “That’s right.”

  “Mom, why couldn’t Doc fix his head?” Jason asked.

  His head? Samantha stopped chewing and fired him a look that could have sliced through metal. “What did you just say?”

  His eyes widened in fear. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, you did. Why did you mention Aidan’s head? There’s nothing wrong with his head. Is there?” She felt the blood rush to her own brain, as she thought about poor Chad lying in a coma with a brain injury.

  “I…I… didn’t mean that.” Jason gazed at Claire for help.

  “He’s confused,” Claire stated simply.

  Samantha’s puzzled gaze shifted from mother to son several times. “You know about the man in the coma, don’t you, Jason?”

  His chest began to heave under his plaid shirt. “I don’t know anything. Stop bothering me.” He shoved back from the table with his lower lip quivering and stood up and stomped out of the room.

  Sam and Claire’s gazes fixed. The vein in Sam’s neck pulsed to match the tempo of her pounding heart. It felt like the vein was about to pop. “What’s going on, Claire? I’ve seen the scar on Aidan’s hand. I have a friend in Portland with the same scar in the exact location. His name is Chad Payton, and he’s been in a coma for three months. What do you know about him? How are he and Aidan connected? What are you hiding?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Claire appeared unfazed. “There’s nothing to hide, dear. Jason made a mistake. That’s all. He gets confused sometimes. He knew a boy who was in a swimming accident when they were younger. That boy ended up with a severe concussion. It happened around the same time as when Aidan cut his hand. I’m sure one thought led to another and…well, that’s how it is sometimes with Jay.”

  The rapid beating of Samantha’s heart began to decrease with Claire’s logical explanation. But could she believe her? She wasn’t going to dismiss this subject so quickly.

  “If Jason simply got mixed up, how do you explain two men resembling each other to the point of looking like twins and having the same exact scar?”

  “Your friend and Aidan look alike?”

  “Yes, but something tells me you knew that.”

  Claire would have been great at poker with her blank expression. “Coincidence, perhaps?”

  Samantha eyed her warily, knowing she was not going to get any further with her on this subject. With Jason out of the room, she decided to find out exactly how he and Claire were tied to Aidan. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did Jason…? What I mean is…? Did he also suffer an accident when he was younger?”

  “You want to know how my son became mentally disabled.”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

  Claire didn’t seem angry or annoyed by the question. She folded her hands together and placed them on top of the table. “All right. I’ll tell you the truth. There wasn’t a boy who had a swimming accident. One day Jason and his friends were playing. They were jumping off the roof of a fishing shack, pretending to fly. Jay’s head hit the ground and he also broke his right leg.”

  Samantha’s thoughts flew back to the first day she’d met Jason and saw him limping.

  “My boy was in a coma for two days. It was the longest two days of my life. When he woke up, I was so grateful. The leg healed in time, but his brain had been injured. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but he’s been a little slow ever since.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said, finding it almost unbelievable that she knew two people who’d suffered head injuries.

  Claire shrugged her shoulders. “He doesn’t let anything stop him. Jason leads a happy and productive life even if he’s a tad oversensitive at times—as you just witnessed.” She chuckled softly.

  “Was Aidan one the kids Jason was playing with when the accident happened?”

  Claire nodded. “Apparently he’s blamed himself all these years because it was his idea to go onto the roof.”

  Poor Aidan. And Jason, and Claire. Sam’s heart broke for all of them.

  “I should go check on him,” Claire said, scooting away from the table. “Be right back.” When she returned to the kitchen a few moments later, she said, “He’s fine. He’ll rejoin us soon. I made a peach pie for dessert and that’s one of his favorites.”

  “Can I ask you something else?” Samantha asked. “It’s about the little white cottage on the south end of the beach, a little over a mile from the lighthouse. Do you know of the place?” It may have been her imagination but she thought she saw Claire stiffen.

  “I think I know the cottage,” she said quietly. “I haven’t been out that way in a long time.”

  “Do you know who owned it?”

  “Can’t say that I do. I believe it’s been abandoned for years.”

  Sam followed Claire’s lead and began clearing the dinner dishes. She scraped the leftovers from her plate into the trash and dropped the plate into the sink. “Have you lived here all your life?”

  “Since I was seventeen.”

  “Do you remember if someone lived in the cottage at that time? Perhaps a woman with auburn hair that went to her shoulders?” Standing next to Claire by the sink, Sam heard a distinct hitch in her breath.

  Claire pulled a white cloth off of a peach pie that had been sitting on the stove and placed the pie on the kitchen table. “There’s vanilla ice cream on the top shelf in the freezer if you don’t mind fetching it,” she said, while taking dessert plates from the cupboard and fresh forks from the silverware drawer.

  “Sure.” Samantha retrieved the ice cream. Claire definitely was stalling for time. “Do you remember someone living there?” she repeated.

  “It’s possible,” Claire finally answered. “A lot of people came and went in those days. Many were Irish, moving around trying to earn a living.”

  Samantha remembered Daniel telling her about the Irish travelers who had come off of Eamon McBride’s ship and settled in Pavee Cove, thus giving it its name. She was about to ask Claire what more she knew about the clan when Jason swooped into the kitchen and interrupted the conversation.

  “I love peach pie. Do you like peach pie, Sam?” He happily took his place at the table like nothing had happened. Claire sliced three pieces of pie and Samantha dipped the ice cream onto plates.

  “Yes, peach is a favorite of mine.”

  “Mine, too!” he said with bright eyes.

  Feeling like she was finally getting somewhere, but not wanting to stir the pot further and risk upsetting Jason again, Sam halted h
er interrogation. For the rest of the evening, she tried to relax and enjoy Claire’s humorous stories about the things she’s seen and heard while running a small town market.

  “Thank you for dinner and the lively conversation,” she said, hugging Claire good night when the evening came to a close. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable with my questions earlier.”

  “Of course not. Let’s do this again soon.”

  “I’d like that.” She had many more questions to ask and planned on running into Claire sooner than she might expect.

  As Claire walked her to the mudroom, they could hear rain pounding the metal roof. “It’s still coming down like cats and dogs. Jay, make sure you drive—”

  “I know, Mom. I’ll drive defensively and get Sam home in one piece.” He grabbed his cap off the hook.

  “Get yourself home in one piece as well,” she said, patting his shoulder.

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  Samantha and Claire shared a grin. She waved goodbye and followed Jason through the breezeway and into the garage. Knowing better than to speak while he was driving in the rain, she remained mute all the way until he parked in the lot outside the lighthouse.

  “Thanks for the lift. And I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier this evening.”

  “No problem.”

  With the still-damp umbrella between her legs ready to be opened, her hand wavered over the door handle. Twisting in the seat, she said, “What does Remy Gallagher look like?”

  The question seemed to take Jason off guard. “She’s very pretty. Like you.”

  “That’s nice of you to say. Go on.”

  “Her eyes are blue and twinkly like stars, and she’s almost as tall as Aidan. About the same height as you, I guess.”

  She sickeningly needed to know about the woman she considered her competition. “What else can you tell me?”

  He thought a minute. “She has long hair. Like yours.”

  “What color?” She hoped Remy wasn’t a blonde, too. That would be too much to handle. She already sounded like a clone. Aidan apparently went for one certain type of woman.

  “Light brown,” he answered. “Her hair is the same color as Dylan’s.”

  “Who’s Dylan?” The moment the words slipped from her mouth, Samantha knew. Dylan was Aidan’s child—the little boy she’d seen at the cottage.

  “He’s their little boy. I’m his godfather. Dylan is the best kid ever.”

  “Oh.” Sam’s chest tightened like a vice. It felt like her lungs were going to burst. “I’d better let you go or you mom will worry. Thanks again for the ride.” The truck door squeaked open and she unleashed the umbrella and made a beeline up the walk. When she reached the door, she was too distracted to turn and wave goodbye.

  Standing in the doorway, she watched the dissipating rain melt into a drizzle. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, moving down the coast and sending the storm on its way. Within a matter of moments, the rain had completely stopped.

  She got her key out to unlock the door and then changed her mind. Too anxious to simply go inside and sleep, she slipped off her shoes and trudged around the corner through the wet sand. A walk in the cool night air might help clear her mind. There were so many questions swirling through it.

  The sand squished between her toes as she strolled down the beach with her purse swinging at her side. Why had she’d visualized herself at the white cottage as a child? Who really was the woman she’d seen in the window? Why, on the first day of arriving at the lighthouse, had she felt she’d been there before? Why couldn’t she remember her mother giving her the cross necklace? How come Aidan had painted all those portraits of her? Where was the little blonde girl? Who did she belong to? Had Aidan wanted to look through the spyglass in order to change what had happened to Jason when they were kids?

  Her head began to pound. She sniffled and wondered if she’d ever have answers for all the questions. Maybe her finding the spyglass had been a fluke—another coincidence. But she didn’t think so.

  The most important question of all was the most difficult to reconcile. Why had she met Aidan and fallen in love, only to lose him to another woman and child?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  She hadn’t noticed the direction she’d been heading until she reached the stand of trees near Aidan’s cottage. The breath caught in her throat as she found her feet advancing toward the house.

  Unable to stop herself, she crept closer and saw that Aidan’s pickup truck was not parked in the driveway. That probably meant he and his family were out. The lights were off in the cottage, except for porch lights at both the front and back doors. Seemed a good indication that no one was home.

  As if she’d ascended into a dream, she practically floated to the back door and placed her hand on the doorknob. The door was unlocked. When she pushed gently, it opened to silently welcome her. With her heart thundering inside her chest, she took a step inside.

  A prickly feeling caused the hairs on her neck to stand on end. Knowing she shouldn’t trespass, she’d already done it once before and was powerless to stop this time either. A voice inside her head prodded her forward. A sharp pain stabbed at her stomach as she took another step, while something deep inside hinted that it was now or never. This was the only way to get to the bottom of many of her questions. Aidan, or something in this house, held the key to her past, present and future.

  With blood pounding in her ears, she dug into her purse for the pen-head flashlight she carried with her and flicked it on. There were no sounds in the house aside from her shallow breathing and the ticking of a clock somewhere inside. No one was there, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t arrive at any moment.

  Though she was curious as to whether the dozens of portraits of her were still hanging in the studio, an invisible driving force guided her straight to Aidan’s bedroom. With the flashlight pointing the way, she entered and sent the narrow beam of light around the room. It had not changed since she’d been here last. A woman’s touch still lingered, as did her sweet perfume.

  Like the whisper of the wind, she heard the words jewelry box tickle her ear. Her flashlight swung to the tall chest of drawers along one wall. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows dancing around the dim room, she glimpsed a gold-plated box sitting on the dresser top, front and center.

  “I have to look,” she whispered aloud. “I’ve come this far. I can’t leave without knowing what’s inside.” The wooden floorboards squeaked under her bare feet as she moved over them. With the pen light in her left hand and trained on the box, and the fingers of her right hand trembling, she opened the lid.

  A mirror attached to the inside of the lid reflected Sam’s ghostly pallor in the ray of light, causing her to jump.

  Hurry, the voice inside her beckoned.

  Her ragged breathing shattered the quiet as she plunged her hand into the box and hurriedly rummaged through the jewelry. Many pairs of earrings for pierced ears littered the bottom like seashells on the sand. Her eyes skimmed over a diamond tennis bracelet, an ankle bracelet and some costume pieces, including an old fashioned broach. There were some inexpensive rings and necklaces, but nothing of much value.

  This only told her that a woman still lived here. She closed the lid. Unsure of what she was looking for in the cottage, a sensation propelled her to keep searching.

  Hurry, the voice in her ear repeated.

  As she exited the room, the beam of the pen-head flashlight glinted onto the wall next to the door. Hanging there was one of Aidan’s works of art. It was an oil painting on canvas. How could she not have noticed it yesterday when she was in this room? Bright blue eyes set in a cherubic face gazed back at her. She stepped closer, pointed the light on the face, and gulped down her shock.

  Staring back at her was the little blonde girl from the beach. The girl she’d watched wade into the ocean and had sworn she’d seen in Aidan’s seascape painting on the day they met. She was the same child who had swiped candy from the jar at Murph
y’s Market, and whom Samantha had seen running into a field toward the two boys.

  She felt the color fade from her face as she stared more intently. Why hadn’t she seen the resemblance before? How could she have not seen it? Her legs felt like they were going to collapse under her as she considered the implications of this newest twist.

  Gnawing at her lip, she drew even closer and touched the portrait with the tips of her fingers. Six year-old Samantha Landers, with the cornflower blue eyes and yellow hair in a ponytail, smiled back at her.

  Feeling faint, Sam stumbled down the hall and slipped out the back door, barely remembering to close it behind her. Grasping her purse tight in her hand, she ran across Aidan’s yard and leaned against a tree trunk when she heard tires crunching over the gravel next to the house. The lights from the vehicle pointed toward the stand of trees.

  Holding her breath, she dove to her knees and fell flat on her stomach, not moving a muscle.

  The truck door opened and Aidan called, “Someone out there?”

  Closing her eyes, she kept as still as a mouse. After a long drawn-out moment, the truck door slammed and the lights went off. It wasn’t until she heard the distinct sound of the cottage door opening and closing that she struggled to her feet and made her way back to the lighthouse.

  Once inside, she sunk into a chair and her hand went to the necklace around her throat. The moment her finger touched the gold metal, a feeling of transformation washed over her. Peace like she’d never known seeped into her bones and flowed out to all the cells of her body. She closed her eyes.

  Although she’d loved her mother, something had been missing in their relationship. All her life, Samantha had tried to figure out why they hadn’t been closer. Theirs had been a battle of strong wills ever since she was a child. But it had been more than typical mother-daughter conflict that had kept them apart, even up to her mom’s last day on earth.

  Ever secretive about Sam’s father, Bev had gone to her grave withholding his name. Through the years, Sam had begged her to share something—anything—about him, but to no avail. She’d tried one final time when her mom was sick and dying. Still, Bev had refused. A lifetime of questions about her parentage had already caused such a gulf between them, but this blatant disregard for her right to know was something Sam found difficult to forgive.