Fireflies in the Field

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “What’s a swingers’ event?” Brian asked, lamely.

  Megan took a deep, deep breath and counted to three. “A swingers’ event is lascivious,” she answered. “It’s where lots of people just want to hook up. It’s not even close to what we’re doing. They had to be looking for a reason to deny the permit,” she huffed.

  Michael nodded. “I agree. You made it patently clear that you and your sisters would host a matchmaking gala where single people would show up to be paired off individually with other people. It’s a huge stretch, what they said. A huge stretch.”

  Amelia ate the last nub of her ice cream cone, less affected by the news, but only just. The chestnut-haired sister was known to never lose her appetite. She was that sort of person—the sort who ate all the time and rarely gained an ounce. And when she did gain an ounce, she’d lose it by snapping her fingers. She clapped invisible crumbs from her hands and grabbed Megan’s knee. “It’s a plot,” she said darkly.

  “A plot?” Megan answered, bewildered.

  “A political plot.”

  Brian scoffed, and Michael let out a long sigh, jumping in and taking on his girlfriend’s wild theory. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say political plot, but I agree that it makes no sense. They are looking for a reason. You’re right, Megan.”

  “But why? Doesn’t the town want to see new businesses come to the shore?” Amelia asked.

  Michael shrugged. “Yes and no. Birch Harbor is notorious for denying small business permits. Kate had trouble, too, though not as much. It’s hard to deny a bed-and-breakfast when she had little competition.”

  “There’s no dating service in town,” Megan pointed out. “I have no competition.”

  “You’re right,” Michael agreed again.

  How could someone so… agreeable be so useless? She frowned at him before adding, “I wonder how Amelia will do when she proposes a museum?” Michael shrugged helplessly, and Megan felt bad for thinking so poorly of him. “I’m sorry,” she managed without looking up from her hands. “I’m being rude. I just… I just don’t understand.”

  Brian cut in, even-keeled. “Okay, so if there’s no competition and if Megan’s idea isn’t some tacky hook-up service, then what reason could these people be looking for?” His face took on a pained expression. Pain for Megan, she thought. She offered him a small, grateful smile.

  Michael cleared his throat for the millionth time, and Megan wanted to shove a cough drop his way she was so angry. But she counted to three again and waited for his answer, her face open, ready. He went on. “Honestly?” he asked.

  Megan nodded.

  “They didn’t just mention the lascivious thing in the video. It wasn’t even the mayor’s main issue. It wasn’t why he called the meeting.”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t the mayor’s main issue?” Brian asked.

  “I mean,” Michael went on, “the mayor called an emergency meeting to oversee the proposal, which perhaps could have to do with Megan’s added request for expediency. Of course, he did appear agitated in the video, yes. But he isn’t the one who came up with the question about what the business was, how it would function, or if it was appropriate. They didn’t come to that conclusion, or rather, assumption, for a very long time. At least half an hour, if you can believe that.”

  “So, how did it all start?” Megan asked.

  “It was a little hard to hear,” he replied, shifting his gaze to Amelia. Megan had never seen the lawyer nervous. But that’s exactly the expression that crossed his face. Nervousness.

  “We can handle it,” Megan urged him, her voice softening as guilt racked her for acting so ruthless. So angry. “Go on, Michael.”

  “Well, they reviewed town hearsay,” he answered, leaning back on his chair, bracing his hands against his knees.

  Brian asked, “What do you mean town hearsay? Do you mean they gossiped?” His tone took on a thick, incredulous effect. As though he was learning for the first time that all the stereotypes were true. Small towns really did have the type of drama you’d see on soap operas.

  “Not exactly. The mayor was careful. He asked that they consent to discuss the proposing member’s local reputation and that of her family. Her propensity for success among her peers.”

  Megan’s jaw fell open. What reputation could she possibly have? She’d only been back for less than a month! She looked from Michael to Brian then back to her sister. “This is a joke. Right?”

  Michael shook his head gravely. “No, I’m sorry, Megan.”

  “What reputation?” Amelia asked, speaking Megan’s mind.

  “Honestly? I think it has more to do with Nora’s than with Megan’s.”

  Megan leaned back in her chair, accepting his answer and running it through her memory.

  After Wendell left, Nora shut down her social life. For a while, at least. Once Amelia was out of the house, things began to shift. By the time Megan left home, she’d experienced what she considered to be three distinct phases of her upbringing. Before. In the wake of. And just after.

  Just after… maybe three or four years after Wendell left, and before Clara had started school, Nora started volunteering for local events. She lived at the country club. She went out for wine with her girlfriends. Those occasions were burned into Megan because she was Clara’s designated babysitter, of course. And when Nora would return home, Megan always expected to find something out about her mother that she didn’t want to know. She expected to peek down from her window to catch her mother kissing a stranger as he bid her goodnight. She expected to witness her mother stumble off the sidewalk, cracking her high heel and her ankle in one tragically tipsy fall.

  None of it happened though. It was like Megan was waiting for something bad, and there was nothing bad.

  Until now. “Why didn’t they like Nora?” she asked Michael, her sweaty palms open to the sky. Heat pooled on top of her head, bearing down on her and burning off brain cells, willing her away from reason or critical thinking. Willing her far away from her own estimations of her mother.

  Michael returned her look, offering something between Come on, Megan and I’m sorry, Megan. He raised his hands, too. “Because she was Nora.”

  “What are you even talking about?” Amelia cut in, her voice slick with ire. “Mom was the Queen of Birch Harbor. I swear she even has a pageant sash with those exact words. She won it at some country club party.”

  “I loved your mom,” Michael agreed, pressing his hand to his chest. His face was earnest now, but something dark stood beyond the sympathy in his eyes. Megan saw it. She saw he knew. He knew that Nora never recovered from her shame, her personal shame, the transferred shame of having a granddaughter much too young, and the ultimate shame of scaring off a good man.

  Maybe there was more to it. Maybe she wasn’t just ashamed of Wendell’s abandonment. Maybe she genuinely didn’t think he just up and left. Maybe she worried. Maybe she was scared. Of the truth. Of what could be. Maybe the woman was heartbroken. How could any of that relate to how the town council thought of her? And thought of her daughters?

  What bearing did Nora’s heartbreak have on her reputation? Didn’t other people in town have sympathy? Deep sympathy for the woman? She wasn’t some rowdy teenager, drifting from spring fling to summer romance at the snap of her fingers. That would be an easy heartbreak. The sort that others rolled their eyes at.

  But to be heartbroken with four mouths to feed? The littlest a baby? Not even her own? With no family to help? To be the last one from her own lineage stuck in a lake town, beating down the walls her ancestors constructed in some desperate effort to keep others out?

  Nora couldn’t take on that heartbreak. She had to push it off and survive.

  Pushing it off, surviving, moving on… that’s what most people managed to do. They’d come out of that part of their life battle-scarred and streetwise but hopeful, longing for some sweet fresh start. A new man. A happier time.

  Maybe those were the smart ones. Or not.r />
  But it wasn’t Nora. Oh no. Nora clung to survival. She curated it, modeling every aspect of life after the need to belong and be good enough… or better. Not so better to build resentment, but just better enough that she drew the eye of the community. She wanted to be just better enough that people longed for her as she had longed for Wendell.

  Nora never did move on. She was in survival mode for most of her life. And that was never a good place over a long term. No, it wasn’t. Not for Nora Hannigan. Not for anyone.

  Unfortunately for the mayor of Birch Harbor and his town council cronies, though, Megan Hannigan Stevenson was not in survival mode. She was in thrive mode. And whatever bone he had to pick with her or her family, he’d have to do it in person.

  He wasn’t getting the chance to weasel out underneath some lascivious claim. No way. He’d have to face Nora’s daughters head on. Eye to eye.

  “I want names, and I want an address,” Megan said at last, pulling out her phone on which to log the information.

  “Pardon?” Michael asked, turning his head as if he didn’t quite hear her.

  “I want to know where town council meetings are held. I’m going to do my own emergency meeting. But first, I want to know who they are. You two have your own research project going on. Now I will. I want to learn everything about them. What they do for fun. Where they spend their time. What businesses they have sponsored. I’m going to win them over. We are.” She flicked a glance at Brian, her mouth in a tight, thin line, the fight for her business sharing space in her heart with the fight for her marriage. “Right, Brian?”

  He nodded, his eyes turning to lasers as he shifted his gaze to Michael. “Honestly, I think we should start with how the town council knew Nora.”

  Michael pulled out his phone, too, more prepared than Megan previously realized. “Fair enough,” he answered. “They’re public figures. You have a right to their names.” He began reading through the list, beginning with the mayor and shuffling through vaguely familiar surnames until he stopped at the last one. A woman. Her first name meant nothing to Megan.

  Judith.

  But her last name meant everything.

  19

  Amelia

  Amelia and Megan exchanged a look of shock. Surely this was the premise for some episode of Knott’s Landing or even Scooby Doo, for goodness’ sake.

  “Is there any relation to—” Amelia began.

  Michael held up a hand. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But we shouldn’t speculate, anyway.”

  “Let’s all just take a deep breath here,” Amelia answered, as Megan sat, her mouth still agape. “All we have to do is contest the rejection. Once we confront them—the town council people—with a perfectly clear explanation of Megan’s intentions, then they will have to overturn the decision. They will have to allow her to conduct business in Birch Harbor. No matter who they are or how we’re connected.”

  Brian shifted in his seat. “I don’t get it. Which one do you know?”

  Megan finally let her mouth draw closed before she opened it again to answer, acid in her words. “We do not know her.”

  “We kind of know her,” Amelia added, a teasing half-smile creeping up her face.

  Burning a glare at Amelia, Megan cut her hand through the air. “We do not know this woman.”

  “Well, we met her, though.” Honestly, Amelia wasn’t trying to be difficult. But, if they were going to accuse Judith of blackballing them, then Michael and Brian had to have all the information available. After all, it was becoming clearer and clearer that the menfolk were a little better able to see the situation objectively and without the screen of twisty small-town rumors.

  “Who is she?” Brian asked again, clearly losing his patience.

  “Judith,” Amelia began, but she was cut off by Megan this time.

  “Why didn’t she fight Kate and the Inn? If these people are ready to double down on some opportunity to flash a grudge around for all to see, then why not start with the Heirloom Inn?”

  “I don’t think they have a grudge,” Michael reasoned, his voice even. “We don’t even know if there’s a connection,” he pled.

  “If there was a connection, if this Judith person is who we think she is, then you’re right, Megan,” Amelia said. “She would have blocked Kate, too.”

  “Well,” Michael interjected, passing his hand across his mouth. “Like I said, they did put some heat on Kate.”

  “So, you’re saying the council tried to block her, too?” Amelia pressed.

  “Tried, yes. But at the time Kate filed for her permit, things were a tad different.”

  “Different how?” Megan asked Michael. “That was less than two months ago.”

  He let out a long sigh and clasped his hands over one knee. “It’s nothing you don’t know. The history of the house on the harbor, I mean. It’s been, well, fraught.”

  “Fraught with what?” Amelia asked, the heat of the sun dwindling now, as it sank closer to the edge of the lake.

  “The town has always wanted that property to turn commercial. They wanted tax revenue. Ever since the original Hannigans settled it, you know. Well, maybe not that far back. But the powers that be here, the other settler families I mean, always wanted the Hannigans to sell out. At one point, according to my research, there was an offer of a purchase. Some big wigs inland, long before the marina had been established, offered to buy the house and turn it into the town hall. They had grand plans, it seems, to run a dock out of the back yard and convert that old barn into a boat house. They were going to expand south from the house on the harbor. They wanted it to be the center of life in Birch Harbor. They wanted it to be what the Village ended up becoming, complete with a marina and lots of boat traffic. It’s where the town got its name. That hope for a harbor nestled inside of the birches.” Michael smiled sadly.

  “And our ancestors said no,” Amelia guessed.

  “Obviously,” Megan added, but her voice was free of sarcasm or spite. She sounded just as sad as the whole story was.

  “Is it so wrong that our family wanted to keep what was ours?” Amelia asked earnestly.

  Michael began to shake his head, and then Brian chimed in. “Maybe that’s what Michael is saying, though. When Kate announced to the town that she was opening the house to the public, it came as a relief. Maybe the descendants of the settlers that fought your ancestors… maybe they are somewhere amid the town council, and they put it down as a win in their book?”

  Michael nodded solemnly. “That’s exactly what happened. In fact, Mayor Van Holt had the final say. He had the final vote on Kate’s Inn.”

  “Van Holt,” Amelia whispered. “They were the ones. The other settlers. Remember Megan? Those stories Mom and Dad told us? And Grandma and Grandpa?”

  Megan nodded silently. She appeared to remember. And Amelia could tell she was devastated.

  Amelia could see in Megan’s eyes that she thought she lost to Kate. She lost to a legacy hard won. And in the wake of it, her matchmaking business was irrelevant. A pain in someone’s butt. Not a compromise or some dramatic betrayal to her own bloodline. Something far less tangled in the web of town history. Something much sillier with someone who had a much sillier bone to pick.

  And that someone won.

  “Wait a minute.” Amelia held up her hand and glanced at Michael. “If this woman is who we think she is, then how can she be on the town council?”

  The other three looked blankly back at her.

  Amelia went on, darkly. “She doesn’t even live here.”

  “Maybe there’s not a connection after all,” Megan whispered, but something inside Amelia told her not to believe that. Something told her that the Hannigan women’s fate was written in the stars that hung above the harbor.

  “You know what?” Amelia asked, pushing up from her chair and propping her hands on her hips.

  The others’ eyes followed her up, expectant.

  She set her jaw on Megan. “We’re going to talk to them.
We’ll confront them. After all, if Birch Harbor is hanging by a thread that’s connected to this person, who, by the way doesn’t even live here full-time, then maybe we turn the tables. We’re contesting it. And we’re going to win.”

  20

  Megan

  Naturally, they’d have to wait until Monday to schedule a meeting with the mayor.

  This had given Megan and Brian the rest of the weekend to, well, just be together. It was a weird concept for them, and they tested the limits of their comfort in their reunion.

  Sunday morning was fine. Breakfast at Heirloom Inn. Kate wanted to take advantage of everyone being around so she could perform a test run for her Inn-Warming menu. Eggs benedict, French toast, bacon, and fresh fruit. Traditional but exquisite. After that, Clara disappeared, claiming she needed to work on her classroom.

  Sarah asked to go to the beach, as if she didn’t go every single day. After ensuring she had sunscreen and a hat, Megan shooed her off, pleased that Birch Harbor had turned into such an easy home for the girl, despite her temporary stay at Amelia’s.

  Temporary.

  Everything felt temporary. Their apartment. The dream of opening a business. Even Brian’s ambiguous promises that he would find something or get something going soon!

  That was the point at which Megan leaned into Brian and whispered her first admission of regret.

  “Maybe we’ve made a mistake.” She leaned back and batted sad eyes up at him.

  Brian, who’d been laughing—Megan couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Brian laughing so much. Full on laughing that curled his body in and reminded her of their early days at college. At parties and football games and during sweet evening walks on the campus when neither one had a care in the world, when a perfect future was the only possible thing that could lay ahead.

  All things considered, their future had turned out pretty perfect. They had their health. They had a beautiful child.

  So, how could either one have the right to be disappointed in anything? Irritated with anything? How could either one have wound up in that death-warmed-over state their marriage had slid into?