Cottage by the Creek

by Elizabeth Bromke

  If her father or mother had ever found her with a gun in the house, they’d send Amelia off to Arizona, too.

  So, stupidly, she kept it in her backpack, hidden.

  Then, days later at school, a new rumor took shape.

  In some ways, it was a welcome reprieve for the older two Hannigan sisters.

  Amelia owns a gun!

  She brings it to school!

  Somehow, the minor detail that one of the other drama kids had first grabbed it out of the Matuszewski library faded into the ether. The new truth was that Amelia had become a psychopath, naturally.

  The good thing was that any talk of Kate having lost her virginity was old news. The hivemind had buzzed past that now.

  The bad thing was that, well, Amelia was branded a psychopath with a gun, of course. This complicated matters, because there was no way in hell she’d give it up to her parents. If she did that, she and Kate would both be big, fat disappointments in addition to scourges of Birch Harbor High.

  And there was no way she could simply return the gun to the Matuszewski home. Despite his cooperation with the party, she still hardly knew Michael. What if his lawyer dad had her arrested? Anyway, Harbor Hills was a gated community. Plus, she sat in front of Michael in class, not conveniently behind him. Even so, Amelia remained hopeful that she could find a moment to secretly slip the stupid relic into the Matuszewski mailbox or even Michael’s locker, somehow.

  But she never got the chance.

  Someone told on her.

  And soon enough, she was sitting in the office of the Birch Harbor High School principal:

  Mr. Gene Carmichael.

  Chapter 16—Megan

  Megan and Brian stopped for a slice of pizza before heading back home. Another full day of work lay ahead of them—detailing plans for their as-of-yet unnamed fall event taking priority. But Megan had also promised Amelia she’d take a look at the script they wrote for the re-enactment.

  If she were being honest, Megan had low expectations of the lighthouse opening. She’d never say as much to her older sister. It’d crush Amelia’s dreams, of course. Still, the whole thing seemed too quirky. Too oddball. Too Amelia, maybe.

  But that was precisely the reason Megan agreed to help. And it was the reason she nagged Kate and Clara to help, too.

  If all three of the more down-to-earth sisters took a look at Amelia’s plans, maybe they could shape it up into something that might not be dismissed as the latest town spectacle, brought to you by the town looney.

  During dinner, Brian settled Megan’s question about Amelia and Michael. What does Michael see in Amelia? What could a stable, quiet, serious, lawyer see in funky, off-beat, transient Amelia?

  “Whatever he sees in her, it’s a good thing,” he said. “Amelia is fun loving and warm.”

  “And pretty and interesting,” Megan added, feeling silly for suggesting anything else earlier. “It’s just that they’re sort of opposites, though. You know?”

  “Opposites can attract,” Brian pointed out.

  “Ooh,” Megan replied. “That’s not a bad name for a future event.”

  Inspired, Megan shifted the conversation squarely onto their business brainstorming, a new favorite focus for both of them. Megan pulled her notepad from her purse. “We really do need to nail something down for a title.”

  “Okay.” Brian steepled his fingers and put on a serious expression. “Are we sticking with the letter F?”

  “Yes,” Megan replied. “And I still like Flirting into Fall,” Megan said, referring to the name she’d coined on the drive down to the Village.

  “Too young and too… I don’t know. Girly? You’re going to lose the men with that one,” Brian answered, clearing away their drinks as the server poised a steaming pepperoni pizza on the iron stand in the center of the table. They both thanked him, then Brian went on, “You know, Megan, what’s wrong with keeping it simple? Why not Fall Festival?”

  “Too generic. Married people will show up thinking we’re a farmer’s market or something.”

  “Does it have to have alliteration?” Brian asked. “You’re boxing yourself in if you have to have alliteration.”

  Megan raised a slice to her mouth and took a bite, considering his point. At last, she swallowed and nodded. “Yes. We started with it. It’s our branding, now. And I think it sets us apart, you know?”

  He shrugged and took his own bite, chewing with a thoughtful expression. “Autumn Affections?”

  “Weird,” Megan replied, still adding it to the list. That was their process. Judge aloud but jot it all down.

  Brian turned his head to the window. “I wonder how Sarah’s little party is going?”

  “I can’t believe she agreed to go,” Megan answered. “She’s been so… moody lately. Like a premature recluse.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “What? To have a moody teenager? No, actually. I don’t. But what choice do we have?” She grinned at Brian, who laughed and shook his head.

  “These lake parties. Or ‘beach’ parties,” he drew air quotes.

  “Hey, no mocking,” Megan answered. “And yeah. I mean, didn’t you go to parties in high school?”

  Nodding his head, he swallowed another bite before answering. “Our parties weren’t on the water. It scares me a little, you know? It’s dark out there, and…” He paused then met Megan’s stare. “Has a kid ever drowned?”

  Megan frowned. “Not that I know of. I mean, it’s not like they’re drinking. And the marina is well-lit. Plus, they usually do a bonfire, you know.”

  “I don’t really like it, Megan. I think it’s too risky.”

  She didn’t disagree, and now her stomach was churning. “Should we call her and tell her to go home?”

  Brian turned his head back to Megan. “Send her a text to check in. But after tonight, let’s put a soft halt on the waterfront parties.”

  “Well, summer is over, so there won’t be many more. Maybe there won’t be any more, actually.” Megan racked her brain. “When we were kids, we didn’t hang out on the beach after Labor Day. It was tradition to move the parties to houses.”

  “And parents allowed that?” Brian raised an eyebrow.

  “Not really. They were always secret parties.”

  “Almost as bad as lake parties, then,” he answered.

  “You mean ‘beach?’” She curled her fingers into air quotes, mocking him and smiling. “Well, kids don’t have a place to hang out in Birch Harbor, you know?”

  Brian snapped his fingers. “That’s it, Meg,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

  “What’s it?” She dropped her crust onto her plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin.

  “The field.”

  “What about it?”

  He grabbed her hands across the table. “We’ll let Sarah host parties on the field.”

  The idea struck her brain like a bell, chiming to life a litany of possibilities. Nodding slowly, her mouth turned up in a slow grin. “I love it. Perfect, Brian. Between events, any weekend we don’t have something planned, Megan can have the place for high school get-togethers or parties or whatever.”

  “Do we chaperone?” Brian asked, tentative.

  Megan considered this. “Do we chaperone their lake parties?”

  “Good point,” he replied, bringing a finger to his lips and nibbling on his nail. “Well, it’s a start. Let’s pitch it to Sarah. The good thing is, no more secret house parties while parents are gone. And no drowning.”

  Megan nodded and took another slice of pizza.

  “But the bad thing is,” Brian went on, “parties in the woods can be just as bad as parties on the lake.”

  “Not if we know about it,” Megan reasoned through bites. “Consider this: we know about the lake parties. All parents do. All locals do. They’re effectively public, which adds that safety net. It’s the secret house parties where things get out of control. Kids get into trouble because they have the privacy factor. The hidden fac
tor. If we give Sarah the field, then she and her friends know that we know about the party. It’s all you need. That accountability. Plus, no water.”

  “True,” Brian agreed. “I suppose the next step is just to make sure kids will actually show up.”

  “And how do we do that?” Megan asked. “Sarah lost her shot to be a social leader when she split apart from her little summer group. Remember? Paige and Chloe? Mercy and Vivi? They all idol-worshipped her. Now, she’s on the outside.”

  Brian stared back outside the window, his eyes focusing on something in the distance.

  She followed his gaze to see a pack of kids moving up the shoreline, an offshoot of the high school group, no doubt. He answered at length, “I don’t think so. Look.”

  Megan craned her neck to get a better vantage point from her side of the table. Then, narrowing her eyes on the group of kids, Megan recognized Sarah there. It was always a little thrill to see your child wandering in her own parallel universe—out in public or somewhere apart from her parents. And there she was now, laughing and walking with those same girls she’d effectively broken up with just a week prior.

  “I guess that’s how it goes when you’re young,” Megan murmured.

  “What do you mean?” Brian asked.

  “Friendship is fluid like that. Grudges don’t last.” Megan wasn’t convinced Sarah ever held a grudge against Vivi or vice versa, but teenage drama was like seaweed—washing in and out, a rubbery net hiding beneath a moving blanket of water.

  “Did they have a fight or something? What exactly happened, anyway?”

  Megan sucked in a breath. Sarah had divulged her secret to Megan alone. A daughter confiding in her mother.

  So far, it could stay that way. A secret.

  But Megan knew she needed to keep her eye on the situation. It was one thing to protect your child’s trust.

  It was another to forsake your family’s reputation.

  Just as she was about to reply to Brian, her phone rang.

  Chapter 17—Clara

  “The craziest thing I’ve seen?” Jake echoed her question wistfully, filling her glass three-quarters full. He’d revealed a chilled bottle of wine, nestled secretly in the ice chest, and it was too late for her to decline. Maybe one little drink wouldn’t hurt, anyway. Now he went on, answering her question about the most exciting parts of his job. “I haven’t been here that long. It’s only my second full summer, you know.”

  “Right,” she replied easily, tasting the sweet white Zin and considering the fact that maybe she did like wine after all. Was that the turning point from young adult to full-fledged grownup? You suddenly liked the taste of wine?

  “Okay, I got it. This is an easy one, actually.”

  She grinned and took another sip. This one longer. “Go on,” she replied.

  “My first year out here, I got a lot of flak from locals. I felt a little like that geeky scientist in Jaws.”

  She shrugged. “Haven’t see it in years. Since I was a kid, probably.”

  “Oh,” he answered. “Well, you should really watch it again. It’s a classic, Clara.”

  Each time he used her name, her heart beat a little faster. “Well, maybe we can watch it together sometime?” She twisted her hands in her lap beneath the table.

  “I’d love that. Maybe on our second date?”

  “Second date?” she replied, dipping her chin. “We haven’t even finished our first.”

  “Do we have to wait until it’s over to decide?”

  She shook her head.

  He took another sip. “So, anyway. In the movie, Richard Dreyfuss is this smarty-pants biologist called out to help with the shark problem. But, of course, the hardened locals write him off.” Jake frowned, then shook a finger at her, “Actually, I think I’m more like Brody. The police chief—”

  “But you were a marine biologist,” Clara reasoned then laughed and threw her hands up. “I don’t even know the movie! I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, I’m both of them. I’m the likable police chief who wants to protect the town even if he isn’t an islander, and I’m the clever marine biologist who has enough gumption to tell the locals they can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “Ouch,” Clara replied, pressing her hands to her chest and feigning injury to her heart.

  “Sorry,” Jake answered. “I guess you’d be the local in that scenario, huh?”

  Clara nodded, and a coy grin cracked through her lips. “You do sound like quite a guy, though. Caring but strong.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just kidding. I love that movie. It was probably a factor in my career choice, you know. And then again in my career change. Studying and teaching marine biology is a lot different than living on the water.” After another swig, he went on, “Anyway, when you asked about the craziest thing—well, that’s what came to mind. That local versus outsider conflict. Or old guard versus new hand, I suppose. Because my first year here, we had a boating accident that threw me right into it.” He pointed a finger toward the shoreline of Heirloom Cove. “Some tourists rented a couple of our stock. One took a jet ski, the other a rowboat. Then they proceeded to get drunk. Or maybe they were already drunk. I’m not sure. It was a big party, and they made their way around the lake then down south on the cove, I guess. I wasn’t working when they took out the rentals.” He gave her a knowing eye as if to suggest it was only ever the local deckhands stupid enough to rent out vessels to drunkards or frat boys—whoever the scoundrels may have been.

  “Were they okay?” Clara asked, thumbing through her memory for news of the incident.

  “Yeah, actually. They did have life jackets on. I think they walked away with nothing more than well-earned seasickness, truth be told.”

  Clara finished another sip of wine. This one even longer than the others. “That’s probably why I didn’t hear about it then. We don’t get much news about what happens on the lake, unless it’s some huge tragedy.”

  “Right, well, the people were okay, but the jet ski was beat up, and—here’s the kicker—” he leaned, in, his arms crossed on the table “—the rowboat was so badly damaged that by the time the Marine Patrol got out there, it had sunk.”

  “Ooh,” Clara replied. “A sunken ship.” She liked where this was going. If he made it any spookier, she’d have to spring across the table and into his arms until he comforted her worried heart. She grinned to herself and wiggled to the edge of her seat.

  “Well, that all happened before I got to the scene. It was a Sunday, and I was off work,” Jake went on. “When I finally got there, after the jet ski was returned and the drunks were arrested, I arranged for the patrol to bring a standby vessel and a couple of divers.”

  “Why?” Clara’s eyes grew wide. “Was one of the drunks still down in the boat?” Her voice raised in a high pitch, and Jake laughed, waving her off.

  “No, no. I told you. They were fine. I’m talking about raising the boat back up and salvaging it.”

  “But wouldn’t it be useless?” she pressed, fascinated now. Clara had heard about a sunken barge up north of town and other ships across Lake Huron that had met the same fate. As far as she knew, they just stayed down there, turning into part of the lakebed like accessories in a fishbowl.

  “Not so we could save the boat,” Jake answered, his eyes turning to fire. “So we could save the…” He leaned away and spread his hands out, glancing right and left and stumbling over his words, “So we could save the… lake. The earth!” He laughed at himself.

  Clara tilted her head at him sympathetically and smiled. “Oh, I see. Right, of course. I guess I never thought about that.”

  “Sunken vessels are a big factor in marine pollution,” he added, downing the rest of his drink and centering the empty glass between his hands, studying it. “Anyway,” his eyes flitted back up to hers, “Marine Patrol called me crazy. It’s just a rowboat! they said. And they were right. It’s not like it was a steamboat or even this baby
right here.” He waved his hand around them again, indicating the ferry.

  “I see your point. But would it be easy to do? To drag the boat back up?”

  “Well, yes and no. There’s a system for pulling them up, you see. But they were right. You need two certified divers, and you need to dedicate time and a standby vessel and crew—which we could have used the Bell, but then there are the regulations the Marine Patrol has in place. It can get murky.”

  “No pun intended?” Clara joked.

  Jake cracked a smile. “Anyway, they branded me a newbie and a dreamer, and I haven’t quite regained the respect of the Marine Patrol.”

  “And the rowboat is still down there?” Clara asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Jake replied. “We never touched it again.”

  “Could you, though?”

  “Could I what?”

  “Dive to it? Like Ariel in The Little Mermaid or something?”

  Jake laughed. “Haven’t seen it in years,” he answered wryly.

  Clara blushed but narrowed her eyes on him. “You should watch it again. It’s a classic, Jake.”

  He laughed hard, and now they were both leaning in across the table, their hands just inches apart.

  “So could you?” she asked again.

  “Dive down there? Well, yeah. I could. I’m certified. But it’s pointless. It was a rental. There’s nothing valuable, and it’s just a piece of aluminum. It’s done its damage, and I’d have no one to go with.” He glanced away. “Anyway, Marine Patrol was right. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Sounds like it could be fun, though.”

  “Diving down to a sunken rowboat?”

  “Romantic, even?” Clara squinted, the sunset bouncing around him and into her eyes, but she squeezed them shut quickly and shook her head, cringing inwardly. “That was super cheesy.”

  “Tell you what,” Jake flipped his hands over, palms up on the table. Involuntarily, almost, Clara slid hers onto his, and then there they were: sitting on top of the Birch Bell, holding hands.