by Maisey Yates
One night after Jacob had gotten discouraging blood work, she’d been too exhausted to cook, and too tired of herself to stay home. She’d gone to town to get hamburgers for herself and Emma, with Jacob sound asleep and with no appetite to speak of, anyway.
And she’d sat down on one of the red stools, and Adam had come over. Asked her about baseball and what she wanted for dinner, and nothing about Jacob’s health. And the profound relief she’d felt to just...talk about something else had been a gift she hadn’t known she’d needed.
She’d started getting dinner from J’s once a week after that.
And for a few moments she’d sit, let someone make food for her, let someone take care of her. Talk to her. Maybe even make her laugh. And then she was able to go back and be the caretaker she had to be.
She wondered if the real reason she hadn’t come here since Jacob died was that she was afraid to see if she’d lost this sanctuary. That Adam would want to look at her gravely and offer platitudes, and she didn’t think she could stand platitudes from Adam. Not when he’d never given them before.
“Rachel,” he said, a slow smile crossing his face. “It’s been a while.”
Her shoulders sagged. Her forehead relaxed. Eyebrows lowered.
Just looking at him was comforting. Made her want to settle back into that old routine. Sitting down, waiting for food, talking about nothing. It was funny that she found Adam soothing, because she didn’t know that he was innately soothing as a human.
He was sort of hard-edged and crabby, which was at odds with his appearance. Bright blue eyes, dark blond hair and beard, and an athletic build. He looked approachable. But he could be gruff, and it had taken quite a while for her to work up a rapport with him.
“Yeah,” she said. “I need a cheeseburger. Really bad.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And a side salad, I assume?”
Some of the weight she’d carried down the mountain with her lifted away. It was always like this. A mini vacation from her life. From herself.
She got to pretend, for just a while, that things were okay, and she couldn’t do that with her family.
“You know where you can take your side salad and shove it,” she said, feeling the first real smile tug at the corners of her mouth in a good while.
“French fries, then.” He started writing before she confirmed it. But he knew the answer.
“Yes.”
“And for Emma?” he asked.
“Her usual. Don’t let a vegetable touch her cheeseburger.”
“You know potatoes are a vegetable,” he pointed out, writing down Emma’s order, too.
“Just never tell her. She won’t eat them.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He slid her ticket over the back counter and into the kitchen.
“How is your team doing?”
She blinked. “In what sport?”
“The one that’s playing right now.”
“You know full well that I have no idea what sport is happening right now.”
“Basketball.”
She squinted. “Isn’t there one that has a clover on its uniforms? Because I kind of like that.”
“A Celtics fan?”
“Stop it. I refuse to talk to you about sports. I refuse to let you trick me into learning anything about that subject.”
“I would never trick you.”
She rolled her eyes. “My mother always told me to beware of strange men talking about sports.”
He picked up a dishrag from the counter and slung it over his shoulder. “No one forces you to come in here. In fact, you can order ahead.”
“I know.” She paused for a beat. “There’s a reason that I don’t.”
She could feel the drop in her chest when she said those words, and she didn’t know why she’d done it. Because he hadn’t said anything at all. In fact, he had treated her exactly the same way he always did. He had smiled, and he had started talking about something stupid. And she had gone and made it real.
His expression flickered, but only slightly, his large hands pressed down against the countertop. Then he shifted one hand, his knuckles brushing against hers. “You don’t need to order ahead.”
She took a deep breath, her chest feeling tight. “I’m not going to. Not because I have your permission not to, you understand, but because I don’t want to.”
And she knew that that was all she would get out of him, unless she asked for more. And she was grateful.
“I respect that about you,” he said.
“Yeah, well.”
He looked past her, at the tables in the dining room, and she wondered if he was going to abandon her and pay attention to other customers. Which was reasonable, she supposed. But he didn’t. “I saw Emma this morning.”
Rachel frowned. “She told me she had an early class.”
“Maybe she did. But she stopped by here first.”
Her frown deepened. “Oh. She didn’t mention.”
“She had a doughnut and coffee,” he said. “Though, apparently, my diner coffee is subpar.”
“Did she say that to you?”
“No. Her friend said it. Emma’s expression implied it.”
“Well, she shouldn’t come here and be rude to you.”
“Rachel, it’s fine. I can handle it.” He smiled. “I have broad shoulders.”
Now that he mentioned it, yes, he did. She turned her attention away from that and quickly.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “I have a job opening. And it would mostly be after-school hours. Is Emma looking for work at all?”
“I...” Rachel frowned. “No. I mean, she works at the bed-and-breakfast. And as we gear up for high season we are going to need her.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
She felt a momentary stab of guilt. She was lying. But...she felt like the ends justified the lie, or something. Her life was changing; her daughter was going to leave her. Couldn’t she have her close for the next few months?
“Besides, I doubt you want a waitress who’s disdainful of your coffee.”
He shrugged. “To be honest, it wouldn’t be that different from what I already have.”
A plastic bag appeared in the window of the kitchen.
“That’s you.”
Adam passed her the bag. “Now, I’m not trying to compete with you or your baked goods, but there might be a piece of pie in there.”
She winced. And she didn’t mean to, but she’d lost control of her face for a moment. And there was nothing left but honesty. “Your pie is terrible.”
“Wait a minute. You said that your daughter couldn’t come in here and insult me and my diner coffee, but you’re insulting my pie.”
“Your coffee is fine. Your pie is not. I’m serious, Adam, you can’t have a fry cook making your pie. You need a baker.”
He huffed. “You volunteering?”
“No. I don’t do pastry unless I have to. Anna, on the other hand... Now, she could make you a pie.”
“I don’t have a lot of complaints,” he said, grumbling a little bit now.
“You don’t have a lot of complaints because half of your customers don’t have taste buds anymore because they smoke too many cigarettes.”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t worry, the food is good. If it wasn’t I wouldn’t eat here.”
“Are you at least going to eat the pie?”
“That depends on what’s back at my house. I’m going to eat something with sugar. Believe me. And in desperate times... Sure. I’d eat the pie.”
“Not that you deserve it,” he said.
She stood up from the stool and shrugged. “Life owes me.”
“Sure as hell does,” he said, nodding.
She shook her head and pushed her way out of the diner, out in
to the cold.
It had been far too cloudy to have seen the sun for most of the day, but she could tell it had gone down while she was inside because the light around her had deepened from pale gray to blue.
The lightness she’d felt when she’d walked into the diner stayed with her.
She carried it with her, along with the terrible pie, all the way home.
7
1907 May 30: Heavy NW wind with light rain shower first part of 24 hours. Last part of 24 hours moderate NW breeze clearing weather. Sea smooth. 1st ass’t whitewashing fences. Had a visitor today.
—FROM THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER’S LOGS OF THE CAPE HOPE LIGHTHOUSE
WENDY
The occupancy of the inn was still relatively low. It was late February and they had quite a bit of availability. But they’d had four rooms booked for the Captain’s House—three couples, and one man who was by himself, which made for a fairly straightforward breakfast.
They had a young couple who had traveled down from Washington. The woman was a nurse, the man an auto-body technician. And there was a couple, around Wendy’s age, who were bird-watchers, and had traveled extensively through the state of Oregon, favoring B and Bs as their place to stay.
The breakfast at the inn was famous. Seven courses, local and seasonal fare. Not only was the inn itself historic, and on the list of haunted buildings, but they were also renowned for their food.
Then there was another couple in their sixties, both men former sailors who took every chance they could to be near the sea.
And there was the man who was traveling by himself. John. He was from California, all the way up from Encinitas. He was tall and lean, with thick silver hair, cut short. He was fairly quiet at breakfast, nodding as she introduced each course, but not joining in with the chatter all that freely. She noticed that he was always looking around the room, seeming to study the details, the pictures on the wall, with deep interest.
There were some new photos from WWII that had remained classified until recently, because the locations of lookout points were considered a military secret.
Wendy introduced the first course—a fruit salad with a coconut lime sauce—and then went back into the kitchen, where Anna was working on scones.
“Looks good,” Wendy said, looking over at the batch her daughter had just pulled out of the oven, before making her way to the fridge and taking out the clotted cream, the jam and the lemon curd.
“Thank you,” Anna said, sounding out of breath or annoyed, Wendy wasn’t sure.
“You’re welcome. Have you—have you started paperwork for your...? Are you going to go ahead with the divorce?”
“Do you really want to discuss my divorce over lemon curd?”
For the past month she had been trying to build a bridge between herself and Anna. Had been trying to find a way to connect with her.
She’d been...so oblivious to what was happening with her. It was a stunning realization. That she’d lived so near Anna, seen her so often. Seen Thomas so often. Seen them together and even then hadn’t noticed a rift between them or her own daughter’s unhappiness.
Maybe you didn’t want to see it...
“If not over lemon curd, then when?”
“I’ll let you know when it’s finalized.” She sighed. “No. No progress on that front. If you ignore a marriage, will it go away?”
Wendy’s laugh came out on a breath. Anna was funny, and always had been. No matter her circumstances. “Not in my experience.”
“Shoot. I guess someday I’ll have to figure that out, then.” Anna went back to work on her food and Wendy let silence reign.
They maneuvered around each other with a certain amount of practice. Anna had learned to bake here when she was just a girl, and she had assisted Wendy from the time she was in fifth grade all the way through high school. A few moments later Anna swept out of the kitchen and collected the dishes, and then grabbed hold of a serving platter with her scones and their fixings, and went back out into the dining room. Wendy could hear her explaining each element, before coming back into the kitchen.
Wendy was already at work on the peach-and-rose lassi that would go out next as a palate cleanser.
And after that was the slightly more time-sensitive puff pastry and eggs.
Wendy whisked the smoothies out and Anna cleared. The conversation of the guests was light and easy, and that was a source of some relief.
You never knew what you were going to get when it came to guests.
This group was laughing together and seemed perfectly at ease.
John, though, was quiet.
Oh, he would nod his head or chuckle at a story, but he didn’t offer up any of his own.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. As long as there were no dustups she was happy enough. And no uncomfortable silences.
The awkwardness of a group of people sitting there, the only sound spoons hitting their glasses, was the kind of thing that compelled Wendy to rush things along and start her historical talk a little bit early.
“It’s a good group,” she said to Anna when they were back in the kitchen.
“Yes,” Anna agreed. “It will be interesting to see if that changes tomorrow, since the birdwatchers are going home, and we’re getting two new couples.”
“You never know.” Silence trailed on after those words. There were always moments of normal. And then afterward the tension crept back in.
“I’ll do the history talk today,” Anna said.
Anna hadn’t done a history talk in ages, and Wendy wasn’t quite sure why she was offering now.
“You want to?” Wendy asked.
“Yeah. I don’t have anything else to do.” Anna sighed. “You are helping me, Mom. And I know it’s been weird between us, but I’m appreciative I have a place to stay and a job to do. I want to make sure I’m actually doing that job.”
“You don’t have to do anything to earn a place, Anna,” Wendy said.
“I want to.”
They both worked together assembling the eggs in the puff pastry, and then when it was time, presented it together, though she let Anna explain that the cheese had come from Rogue Creamery, and the chanterelles had been foraged in the woods behind the lighthouse. To the best of their ability, they used local and Oregon-based products.
It was a part of what made the Lighthouse Inn unique.
It was a piece of history, up there on the rocks, a piece of this state that was her home, and this town that had been her fresh start all those years ago.
The food that she made—the food that she and her daughters made—was a love letter to that. And sharing it with those who came was a great joy to Wendy.
In fact, it made her wonder if it was time to consider providing other meals at different times during the week. She had extra help now. Her flock was back home, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.
And Anna wanted more work. God knew they needed to find a way to talk to each other.
Maybe building something here would be the key to fixing what was broken. Again.
The Lighthouse Inn had healed her. It had healed them.
Maybe it would again.
Breakfast finished up with a piece of pound cake, and when everyone was fininshed eating, they walked out of the dining room and into the parlor for the beginning of the history talk. There was a fireplace there that had been made propane for easy starting, and a couch that wasn’t exactly authentic to provide large, comfortable seating.
There was also an antique table beneath the window with a Tiffany lamp and books about the area. There were historic photos hung suspended from the crown molding all around the room.
Anna began her talk, moving easily through the historical dates and facts about Cape Hope, and the Cape Hope Lighthouse. The cape had been discovered in the 1700s by an explorer and h
is crew who’d all had a bad case of scurvy. And here they had found fresh drinking water, huckleberries and the rather inedible camas plants. This place had been hope.
And it had remained.
While Anna spoke, Wendy moved quietly to the end of the parlor, looking at the pictures that were set up on the antique piano in the corner.
Pictures of the lightkeepers’ families, who had lived here for generations. Pictures of the different iterations of the property. Of times when there had been barracks everywhere and doghouses for military dogs, and when the carriage house had been used as an armory.
Of times when the trees had been burned away by intentional fires set for gardening purposes.
When the trees had grown back, and began to reach toward the sky, like they did now.
“An interesting fact about the barracks,” a low, soft voice said behind her. “I didn’t know about that.”
She turned sharply. It was John.
“Yes,” Wendy said. “Of course, after Pearl Harbor, the government was very concerned with the protection of the coastlines, which became all the more intense in Oregon after the shelling of Fort Stevens, and the balloon bombs.”
“Of course. My father didn’t talk about that, but then, he was deployed overseas.”
“Yes, I think it’s easy to forget.”
“I came here because I needed to see the place,” he said. “You see, my father just passed away.”
“Oh,” Wendy said, feeling a sharp twist of pain in her chest. His loss reminded her of all of theirs. “I’m sorry.”
“He was ninety-six. He had a very good life, and I’m sorry, too, but I am glad that he was so healthy for so long. But in any case, he spoke with fondness about this place, and I thought it was time that I come see it. Because nothing makes you realize that time isn’t infinite quite like loss.”
Wendy’s heart twisted. She understood that, and all too well.
“Yes. That is true.”
“My great-great-grandfather was Olaf Hansen. The first lightkeeper at Cape Hope. Back in the late 1800s. I believe Jenny Hansen was his wife.”
