Fireflies in the Field

by Elizabeth Bromke

  A laugh climbed up her throat at their antics. Their foolish descent into filing for a divorce that was never meant to be. Their rush to sell the house. Everything hard that happened to them because of their decisions.

  But then he frowned, the paper he’d withdrawn frozen in the air above them. “Why are you laughing at me?” he asked.

  Megan’s face softened, and she pressed her palm against his cheek and leaned into her husband, kissing him on the mouth, a sweet, soft kiss that smelled quite like home. When they broke, Megan squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again and answered him. “I’m laughing at us. How did we even get here?” She peeked up at his face as she finished the question.

  He smiled, too. “Oh, you know. Life,” he replied, his smile turning goofy and his eyebrows scrunching in the center. The wrinkles there were a reminder of all they’d been through. All their years together. He started to lift the paper again, but Megan had another question.

  “Wait,” she said. “Before you show me the surprise, I have another question.” Her expression turned serious, and she swallowed.

  “Okay,” he answered, his tone dipping as his face hardened.

  “Brian, how do we stay here?”

  At that, his goofy grin returned in full force and he slapped the paper against his other hand. “That’s what this is about.”

  He unfolded the packet and held it out so she could read.

  Her eyes flashed across legalese, down to Brian’s signature, then to another one. Beneath the latter a familiar name was printed. “It’s a contract? With Matt Fiorillo?” She blinked and cocked her head around the pages.

  “I got that job I applied for,” he answered. “I can telecommute. I can work from here and also build our app. We’re safe, Megan. We don’t have to worry about how to fund your business or where we’re going to host Sarah’s graduation party next summer or where she’ll stay when she visits from college. It might be a hard year,”—he was rambling now—“but I talked to Amelia, and she said we can move into the two-bedroom bungalow come September. That way Sarah will be with us while we build, and anyway, Megan, we have the future. We can make it work. If we put in the effort, we can make everything work.”

  Still confused, she shook her head, squinting back at the pages then searching his face. “You took another job? What about your dream? And what is this?” she raised her hand to the pages, and he dropped them.

  “Megan, my dream wasn’t building an app. My dream was having the freedom to be with you and Sarah. My dream was us.”

  She smiled, still tentative, still confused.

  He lifted the papers again but waved them around, and Megan’s eyes flitted from his enthusiastic gesturing to the warm lights in the backdrop. The happy people dancing. Her sisters. And then her eyes fell back on her husband, who explained himself. “I hired Matt. This place is going to be more than a field of dreams for your mixers or a business front for our dating app.”

  Megan started to put it together, her face going slack at the realization. “Are you saying…?” she started as she let her mouth fall open in disbelief.

  Brian nodded urgently. “We break ground in one week. Megan,” he lifted her chin with his free hand and searched her eyes. “Hannigan Field is going to be our home.”

  She began to say something, but he held a gentle finger against her lips. “That is how we are going to stay here, Megan.”

  His eyes twinkled, and Megan smiled. She swallowed down the urge to cry and instead fell into Brian, squeezing him and breathing him in and knowing with every bit of her being that he meant exactly what she wanted him to mean. Home in Birch Harbor, home in Hannigan Field, had drawn them together. But it was the hard work… the time together both in town and on that forgotten plot of land inland from the lake—away from the others but still near her sisters… it was Brian and Megan’s combined efforts and their dedication as a pair, as a team, that would keep them there, together.

  “Birch Harbor,” came a voice behind them as they broke away from a second kiss, this one even better than the first.

  Megan turned to see Amelia and Michael passing behind them, en route to the dance floor.

  “What?” she asked her sister.

  Amelia winked. “Come for the lake, stay for the love.”

  Megan rolled her eyes and laughed, but Amelia and Michael went off toward the dance floor, a song from Grease blaring from the speakers.

  “I said no Summer Lovin’!” Megan called after Amelia, laughing again.

  Amelia twisted in Michael’s arms as they hit the parquet floor and lifted a hand. “Look around you, Sis!” She waved across the field. “It’s too late!”

  Megan followed Amelia’s gesture and took it all in. Her vision had come to life, but more than that, other things had fallen into place too. Romance for each of them, even her. Tourists and locals intermingling and sharing the little harbor town together, as one. Her eyes flitted across the dance floor and past the buffet and landed squarely on a distant couple.

  “See?” Kate said, catching Megan’s gaze as she joined Brian and Megan. “What did I tell you?”

  Megan found Brian’s hand and squeezed it, a smile curling across her lips as she watched the sun set behind her baby sister.

  34

  Clara

  Clara had arrived later than she planned. She’d been hung up at the cottage, searching desperately for something perfect to wear. She felt drawn to white, and though she herself didn’t own a white dress, she had the distinct memory that her mother had some such frock. A light, gauzy sundress that would no doubt fit Clara. It was one characteristic the two women shared: their slight stature.

  Rummaging frantically through Nora’s closet, which still sat untouched, she came up empty.

  Nearly sweating after a quick, hot shower and a blow out, she had one more option: the cottage basement. Clara hadn’t recently ventured into the cottage basement. It was a small, cramped, damp space, mildewy and forgotten. When she and her sisters had previously started their search for some of Nora’s more notable belongings, even the items from her will, Clara willfully kept the basement out of their search radius but was surprised that her sisters didn’t push her to look there.

  When they’d come across Nora’s diary in the junk drawer in the kitchen, the search was deemed irrelevant and put on hold. After, once other matters came to the forefront that summer, Clara continued to keep mum about the basement.

  It scared her a little, after all.

  But now, with this sudden urge to look as pretty as her sisters, she managed to push the fear aside, grabbed a flashlight from the laundry room, and forged into the bowels of her inheritance.

  Bypassing the single dead lightbulb that hung at the top of the staircase, she shone the light down the steps and around the floor, recognizing some old furniture and little else.

  It was a generally barren space, surprisingly. Still, Clara had a distinct recollection of bringing down boxes of Nora’s old clothes not long ago. It was her assignment in the wake of the diagnosis—the first step in clearing out Nora’s possessions when they all realized the end would be near.

  Sure enough, as she made her way down, she found the boxes, pushed up against an old bureau.

  Clara set the flashlight on a dusty little side table facing the boxes, the bureau and the back corner of the basement. She flipped open their dry rot lids and started digging through, pulling outdated underclothes (even a lacey negligee, purchased in the eighties, no doubt) from the one and moving on to the other to find heavy winter coats, reeking of mothballs but folded quite orderly.

  About to give up and go with the orange tunic she usually wore on the first day of school, Clara stood and started for the flashlight. That’s when she saw it. A third box, wedged between the bureau and the wall, the top taped shut.

  “Ah-ha,” she huffed to herself, victorious. She knew that cute white dress was down here. It had to be in the last box. Had to.

  Stepping beyond the firs
t two boxes, she pulled herself closer to the third.

  And that’s when she saw the other thing.

  The thing she was tasked with finding. The big thing.

  Nora’s hope chest, hidden behind the bureau, there the entire time. She really hadn’t looked that hard for it, had she? She really was afraid.

  Clara bit down on her lip. She was at a crossroads now. Skip the mixer and tear into the chest? Save the chest for later and dash off to keep her promise to Megan?

  It was no competition. She had to go. She had to find that dress and go.

  So, Clara pinned the hope chest to her mental to-do list, ripped off the tape on the third box, combed through until she found a folded stack of white garments, and jogged back upstairs.

  The hope chest could wait. Nora could wait.

  The present was more important.

  And, for the first time in forever, the future was tickling Clara’s heart. For the first time in forever Clara knew that she could hold her mother in her heart but go after something that she wanted first.

  Not an hour later, Clara had parked her little car in the newly graveled lot and made her way, embarrassingly late, to the field.

  The scene was something out of a woodland fairytale. Lights twinkled in the dusky night sky, and upbeat love songs spilled from the speakers. She was proud of Megan.

  Smoothing her mother’s dress and slightly nervous that other people would be able tell that it was still a little damp from a quick rinse and dry, she swallowed and picked her way through the short grass, her sandal straps rubbing fresh blisters into her ankles.

  Clara wasn’t unfamiliar with looking nice. She did it every day of the school year, fixing her hair and adding a little mascara. Ironing her polos and khakis or shift dresses and applying a dab of perfume on special days, like parent-teacher conferences.

  But tonight she went above and beyond, and she was worried she didn’t quite pull it off.

  In addition to the gauzy knee-length garment, she wore a push-up bra she’d forgotten she had. She added smokey eyeshadow above her lashes and rubbed a pinkish gloss across her lips. Peachy blush felt heavy on her cheeks, even though she used a light hand, and she’d backcombed her hair at the crown of her head, smoothing it and mussing it and fussing with it until it fell back to its usual blonde wisps anyway.

  All in all, Clara wondered if she came across as trying too hard.

  She bit her lower lip, tasted the gloss and shuddered a little. A voice interrupted her nervous approach to the party.

  “Miss Hannigan?”

  Clara faltered at the greeting, and her eyes adjusted to what, or who, was striding toward her from the party. Not her sisters or Brian or Matt. Or Michael-the-Lawyer.

  It was him.

  “Mr. Hennings?”

  “Jake,” he corrected, smirking as he held a drink casually in one hand, his other hand shoved in khaki shorts pockets.

  She pointed to herself. “Clara.”

  “Clara,” he replied, a grin forming across his mouth. “I thought you might be here.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest, and she wasn’t quite sure how to reply. Quickly, she glanced beyond him and around the party. It was packed, with bodies moving on the dance floor, some huddling in small circles at the buffet and some relaxing languidly at the tables. Megan had pulled it off.

  Clara smiled, then returned her gaze to him, still uncertain what to say. Then it dawned on her. “Oh, right. Hannigan Field. You probably know my sisters were hosting it, and—”

  “No,” he answered, his smile slipping.

  “No?” Clara asked, squeezing her clutch against her abdomen.

  “Well, Mercy said you were—”

  Clara sucked the insides of her cheeks through her teeth and inhaled sharply. Could her students see into her heart? Could they see everything she was and wasn’t and how she longed for companionship? Could Mercy—sweet Mercy with her new friend group and a bright future full of dates and bonfires and bliss… did that girl tell her dad something? Something that even Clara didn’t know?

  “Did she say I was single?” Clara blurted out.

  Mr. Hennings—Jake—laughed nervously. “Oops,” he admitted. “I’m not always sure what I’m supposed to share or what’s a secret.”

  “It’s no secret,” Clara replied, growing more comfortable now that she had crossed an invisible threshold of some kind. She let out her breath.

  He grinned again and threw his head over one shoulder. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  Clara looked past him to the refreshments and saw Kate watching, grinning from ear to ear. Megan and Brian were there, too, huddled together intimately, in their own little world of marriage and business. A perfect reunion.

  Clara felt herself flush but managed a quiet “Okay,” and followed Jake.

  They passed by the two meddling women, though he didn’t seem to notice.

  “You look amazing!” Kate hissed as Clara locked eyes quickly with her sister.

  Megan nodded and gave her a discrete thumbs up around Brian’s back, and Clara beamed in return, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

  “Do you need any help?” she squeaked out to Megan as she hesitated a moment there.

  “Yes,” Megan replied, amusement curling her lips.

  Clara came to a complete stop, her eyes flashing to Jake who was slowly making his way closer to the beverage table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Okay.” Defeat filled her voice and she flicked her gaze back and forth from Kate to Megan to Jake.

  Megan rested a hand on Clara’s shoulder and pulled her closer. “I need your help right now,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  Clara’s heart sank. Jake still hadn’t noticed she was stalled. “Okay. With what?” she replied meekly to her sister.

  Megan exchanged a look with Kate, who answered on both their behalves.

  “Clara, we need you to go sneak away with that sexy marina guy and have some fun for once, got it?”

  Flushing deeper now, Clara’s eyes grew wide and she couldn’t suppress the smile prickling at the corners of her mouth. Her sisters giggled, but Clara didn’t care. She loved it. She loved them. A spike of adrenaline coursed through her veins, and all she could do in reply was nod and force herself to keep walking.

  After allowing Matt—always helpful Matt whose gaze she still refused to meet—to pour her a lemonade, Clara and Jake made their way to two empty Adirondack chairs out past the dance floor.

  It was back-up seating that Megan had Michael and Matt situate on the off-chance the event drew in a bigger crowd. Clara smiled at the faint bit of hope and how, indeed, they were the only available (and private) seats in the whole field. Her heart grew full that the tides had changed so much over the summer. From the loss of their mother in May to Kate’s return home, to the big secret, all the way to Amelia’s search for truth and Megan’s search for happiness.

  Through so much of it, Clara had often felt like a footnote. Sure, she was embedded in the upheaval; she was the initiator of it all, in a small, unwitting way—her very birth had thrust the family down a whole different road. Some might even suggest she was the problem with the Hannigans, though not by any fault of her own.

  But lately, things were different. She was around more, helping her sisters and finding joy in the work. So long as she could have her down time here and there, her soul had grown degrees more complete with each passing day.

  And now, there she was, talking to an impossibly handsome man at her sister’s impossibly gorgeous mixer on an impossibly perfect Michigan summer night.

  She took a sip of her lemonade, studied the glass for a moment, then perched a little higher on the edge of her chair, mirroring Jake’s position. They faced each other at an angle, their knees just inches apart.

  “Mercy was mortified that I was coming to this thing,” he confessed, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

  “Oh?” she answered. “Well,” she hesitated before laughing lightly. “I
suppose that makes sense.”

  He laughed too. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a teenage girl. She lost her mom…” Clara glanced up, nervous that she’d overstepped, but though Jake’s face had turned solemn, his expression was still soft. There was still a light in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” Clara added with a whisper.

  “It’s okay,” he answered, his voice low, too. “Time has helped us. Both Mercy and me, but you’re right.”

  Clara’s heart sank. “I am?”

  “Mercy has struggled a lot with that.”

  Swallowing her hope like a horse pill, all Clara could do now was nod along. Then, something occurred to her. “You know,” she began, tentative.

  His mouth pressed into a thin line and he leaned a little closer.

  She went on. “That’s something she and I have in common, I suppose.” By and large, it was the truth. After all, it wasn’t Kate who raised Clara. It wasn’t Kate who had changed her diapers, fed her in the wee hours of the morning. Kate didn’t register her for school and help her go shopping and get her hair cut and send her to time-out when the easy thing to do would be to indulge the baby of the family. It was Nora. Nora never remarried. Nora never dated. Nora stuck by Clara, bringing her up to work hard and be charitable and kind and even despite all the things that Nora failed at as a mother… she was still just that. She was Clara’s mother.

  “That’s true,” Jake agreed, a sad smile forming across his mouth. He dropped his head. “It’s too bad Mercy won’t have you for her teacher anymore.”

  Clara cleared her throat. “You haven’t heard?”

  “No,” he answered, frowning and shifting on his chair, inching closer to her. “Heard what?”

  “The school transferred me. I’m going to teach at the high school now.”

  “Oh, wow! That’s great. That’s really great. Mercy will be thrilled. Does she know? Is there a chance she could have you?”

  Clara chuckled at the barrage of questions, and he grinned foolishly.