Lighthouse on the Lake

by Elizabeth Bromke

  A green Tiffany lamp the likes of which Amelia had never appreciated as a teenager, shone dimly on Kate’s small laptop. The old wood of the dresser shined under a fresh layer of polish.

  Amelia wondered how she missed the little set up when she dragged herself down for breakfast that morning.

  “Kate, this is amazing,” she gushed, rounding the hulking dresser-desk and finding a wobbly, three-legged stool behind it. “Hey, that’s Grandma Hannigan’s old chair.” She ran her hand over the thick hand-upholstered seat. It was stained and rickety, but she recognized it immediately from when her grandmother had once scolded her for sitting on it.

  Amelia-Ann! That’s not a sitting chair! the old woman had cried out.

  At the time, Amelia had wondered what it was for if not for sitting. Later, her mother would explain that Grandma Hannigan liked things a certain way, and some of the furniture were antiques and just for looking at, not enjoying. It was at that moment that Amelia knew she’d never be the sort to buy furniture just for looking. She’d buy it for sitting on it and enjoying it, like any other normal person. The admonishment and her mother’s defense thereof was one of those moments in a child’s life that shapes who she becomes. Amelia believed that firmly.

  “This is not a sitting chair,” she murmured, falling back to that moment from so long ago.

  “What?” Kate asked.

  “Oh,” Amelia laughed lightly. “I just remember Grandma Hannigan yelling at me for sitting on this when I was a kid. She said it wasn’t a sitting chair.”

  Kate appeared to take Amelia’s memory seriously. “I knew it was hers, but she never told me that,” she commented.

  “Probably because you were so well-behaved. You naturally knew right from wrong, even when it was illogical like a no-sitting chair. No one was ever worried you would ruin anything.”

  Silence fell between them. What Amelia said was filled with great, retrospective irony, and they both knew it. Amelia flicked a glance to her sister, waiting for her to snap back defensively.

  Kate did not snap back, however. Instead, she laughed, a deep belly laugh. Amelia made a face, waiting for the laughter to turn to tears, but it didn’t.

  “Ah, so you are proud to be a rebel?” Amelia joked, crossing her arms.

  “I was never a rebel. I was... I was...”

  “You were in love,” Amelia whispered, smiling sadly for her sister.

  Kate stopped laughing entirely, and her face fell. Although, she didn’t seem upset.

  Shaking it off seemed easy enough, and Kate joined Amelia in the cramped space behind the dresser. “Here, look,” she said to Amelia, waking up her laptop and navigating to a landing page.

  Amelia squinted at the screen. Kate had drawn up a listing on the Air B&B website. It was her own. Amelia flashed a grin at her older sister then read on.

  Welcome to the Heirloom Inn of Birch Harbor! Quaint individual guest rooms are now available in this historic, lakeside home on Heirloom Cove. Perfect for a cozy waterfront weekend and complete with easy-access full bathrooms. Enjoy the stunning sunrise on our well-appointed deck or take Grandpa Hannigan’s old kayak out for a whirl to nearby Heirloom Island. Prefer to relax? Find your favorite snoozing place in an Adirondack chair on our private beach. Full breakfast offered daily in addition to brunch-time and afternoon snacks and evening wine and cheese, sourced locally. Finally, the Heirloom Inn is a short walk to Birch Village Marina, where guests can dine, drink, shop, and boat any day of the week. Don’t miss out on your best weekend getaway yet. Book with Kate Hannigan today.

  “Oh, Kate,” Amelia breathed the words as she clicked through a couple images Kate had uploaded. “And these photos. Kate, you were meant for this,” Amelia beamed, finally tearing her eyes from the screen.

  “You like it?” Kate asked, her eyebrows scrunching lines into her forehead.

  “Like it? It’s perfect.”

  “Do I oversell it?”

  Amelia considered that. For the time being, Kate didn’t have a fully functional bed-and-breakfast in the modern sense. Her guest rooms were their childhood bedrooms. And locally sourced wine and cheese? She tapped her chin with her finger. “I believe in you, Kate,” she said at last, recalling every other time someone in her life had reminded her that dreams were dreams. If someone had told Amelia they believed in her, too, maybe she’d be more than a bit-part actress in off-the-beaten-path theatres. “But,” she began to add, an idea forming in her mind. “I think you could use one more thing for this reception stand.”

  “What?” Kate asked, frowning through her growing excitement.

  “A brochure stand.”

  “Huh?”

  “If I were coming to town, I would want to know where I could catch a show or what restaurant you recommend.”

  “I can just tell them that. No need for a brochure. That’s too... motel.”

  A giggle fell out of Amelia’s mouth. “Okay, fair. But you should probably have a list or something to reference.

  Kate cocked her head. “I wouldn’t have thought of that. It’s sort of a minor thing, though. Right?”

  “Take it from someone who rushes into grand ideas with little success. You want to think of everything in advance.” Amelia couldn’t believe she had to remind her older sister of this. Kate was the organized one. The detail person. The perfectionist.

  “True. Let’s chat over gardening. I need to till the front beds and head up to the nursery this morning. Maybe you can give me a rundown of local attractions.”

  “Ha,” Amelia scoffed. “Birch Harbor has the lake. That’s it.”

  “What about that community theatre Michael and Clara mentioned? Have you looked into that?” Kate literally elbowed Amelia, who realized exactly where the line of conversation was going.

  “I haven’t pursued that angle,” she said, sighing.

  “Well what angle have you pursued?” Kate gave her a knowing look.

  Amelia's voice sharpened to a point. “I’m pursuing the matter of our missing father, actually.”

  Chapter 18—Kate

  The nursery didn’t open until nine, but Kate and Amelia arrived a few minutes early. Simply called Birches, it offered a good-sized garden and shop, and it was where Nora had come for everything she ever needed. Situated just on the inland side of Birch Avenue from the Village, the women could have walked there if they’d rolled a wagon with them, but Kate couldn’t find the rusty Red Flyer she had recalled from her childhood.

  So instead, she threw a paint sheet down in the back of the SUV and drove it the short way. Amelia had hopped out and stretched like she’d been cooped up then twirled around in the sunlight. Kate smiled at her younger sister. A dreamer in every sense of the word.

  It was probably Kate’s job to help the girl find a path, but if Amelia wouldn’t take her advice, then it was a futile attempt.

  They leaned together against the hood, waiting for the owners to open the front gates.

  “Have you heard from Jimmy?” Kate asked while she chewed on a painful hangnail.

  The sun warmed Kate’s back. It would be nice to spend the afternoon under an umbrella on the beach. Maybe she would if she finished her garden plans and drew up a list of local attractions like Amelia had suggested. It was a good idea that Kate had considered. She wanted her sister to feel like she was helpful. Necessary, even, so she feigned ignorance. In fact, Kate would have a little checklist and information stowed neatly in a Word document for when her guests inquired. Maybe she’d even upload it to a website, if she ever developed one. But she did believe that handing out a half sheet upon check-in didn’t fit the quaint, homey experience she hoped to offer.

  Her mind began to wander off to Matt, who was coming by after he handled some morning business. He didn’t install new air conditioning units, but he agreed to see if he could fix the current one. If not, they’d go together to order a unit and schedule the installation at Harbor Hardware.

  Beside Kate, Amelia kicked at an errant green
leaf then answered. “Heck no, I have not spoken to Jimmy. He was an easy one to boot.”

  Smiling, Kate patted Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.” Amelia was the type to date a guy for a year or so, break up (or rather, be dumped), meet someone similar to the last, enter a new relationship right off the bat, dive deep, break up, and so on into a long, deep cycle that revealed how unwilling she was to be alone. Of course, the pretty brunette had terrible taste. For nearing middle age, she looked closer to thirty-five and therefore attracted men south of thirty, even.

  Once the guy found out Amelia’s real age, it went one of two ways. He was normal enough to quit then. Or, he was immature enough to pursue the cougar-style fling. What Kate never could figure out was why Amelia didn’t go for men her own age.

  Then again, perhaps that was the wrong question.

  “What about Michael?” The words fell out of Kate’s mouth. An accident. She hadn’t planned to bring it up, because all of them had been there, done that. Suggested Amelia try this nice man or that and with zero success. Amelia was the sort who needed to stumble along herself, pushing away help like a four-year-old.

  To Kate’s surprise, Amelia didn’t make a face or slap away the question. Instead, she smiled. “He’s handsome, that’s true.”

  The two shared a look, a dash of bewilderment, a hint of glee. Kate nodded. “He is handsome.”

  “But he’s not my type.” There it was. The batting away of a great idea.

  Kate just sighed.

  “Actually, that’s not it.” Amelia pushed off the SUV and walked a short distance away and back, flapping her hands gently along her jeans.

  “What do you mean?” Kate watched her sister, who looked more nervous than petulant.

  “I think I’m not his type. That’s what I mean.”

  Kate frowned. A truth materialized in Amelia’s words, something dark and deep. Kate was about to answer with a word or two of encouragement, but somebody shuffled behind the gate, jiggling the chain and cutting short what could have been an important conversation.

  ***

  Back at the Inn, the sisters worked efficiently to unload the SUV. Tansy and thistle, shrubs, and a couple young trees sat patiently in their plastic pots, awaiting the delicate process of transplantation into their forever home.

  “Start now or snack first?” Amelia asked, propping her hands on her hips.

  Kate clicked her tongue. “All we’ve done so far is shop. We’re starting.”

  Together, they began clearing the planters and churning soil in silence. Kate didn’t mind pulling deep-rooted weeds. She was good at it. Amelia seemed to struggle, so Kate directed her to start measuring and spacing out holes for the new selection.

  “So,” Amelia broke the quiet, her voice light. “Are you going to get a sign or something like that?” She heaved back on her heels and stared up at the house. Kate mimicked her then twisted around to study the road.

  “I’m not sure. I want to keep it homey; you know?”

  “You could do something tasteful and simple. Just something that says The Heirloom House.”

  “It’s the Heirloom Inn,” Kate corrected, feigning exasperation. She knew she was being a little militant about a business name that wasn’t even real yet, so she tried for levity, but her tone came out edgy instead, and Amelia just rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” Kate went on, “that’s a good idea. Maybe something small. Like a little wooden placard hanging from a post. Like an old-fashioned business that happens to be nestled in a family neighborhood.”

  “Well, this is the property nearest the marina, so it wouldn’t be odd to have a sign. People might even think this place is a business rather than a house, especially because it’s so big.”

  “But those are all homes.” Kate pointed down the shoreline at the other houses, spaced generously apart, that unfurled all the way past the town limits. She turned and went back to weeding, tugging hard at a stubborn and gnarly root.

  Amelia resumed digging. “Can we put on some music?” she asked. “I’m getting a little bored.”

  Kate laughed. “You are so... you,” she observed. “Is there ever quiet in your head?”

  “I hate to have quiet in my head,” Amelia admitted, grinning mischievously. “I mean we could gossip if you want instead, but I have a hard time being alone with my thoughts.”

  Kate’s smile washed away, and she rubbed a line of sweat from her brow. “Well, let me ask you this.”

  Amelia arched an eyebrow.

  The root in Kate’s hand loosened, and she sailed backward, falling on her butt as she lifted the stickery green weed in victory above her head. They both chuckled, but Kate tossed it to the pile with the others, patted her hands off on the knees of her yoga pants and grabbed the nearest thistle, returning to Amelia to begin the transplant. “Amelia,” she started, treading carefully. “You said you didn’t think you were Michael’s type. How do you know?”

  “Why? Are you interested in him, too?”

  “Oh, so you are interested,” Kate jabbed a finger into Amelia’s shoulder playfully, and the latter shook her head and then threw it back, laughing at herself. “All right, all right. You caught me. I think he’s hot, what can I say! And he’s smart and interesting. A little elusive, maybe. Dark and brooding. Older.”

  “Older?” Kate shot back. “He’s our age, for crying out loud!”

  Amelia laughed again, and Kate beamed back. They were on track again. It was just the sort of conversation they needed to break the ice and get down to it.

  Shaking her head and helping pull apart the roots of the thistle, Amelia answered. “I can’t imagine he would go for a flighty actress-type. You know?”

  “Opposites attract.” Kate pulled a bag of topsoil over, tearing a hole into the top with her car key then ripping the plastic wide enough to dump some dirt into the hole. They set about patting the fresh earth in around the plant.

  “You have to have something in common, even a little something. We don’t.”

  “Who knows? Maybe you do. He’s interested in this little family mystery, after all. Right?”

  “Well everyone loves a good mystery. And anyway, the only reason I’m invested is because it’s Wendell. Our own father. What stake could Michael really have.”

  Kate stopped patting and smiled at her little sister. “Maybe he’s bored, too.”

  ***

  “Hey there.” The voice came from behind the women as they sat like schoolgirls, giggling themselves into fits of laughter. Tears streamed down Kate’s face and her sides ached in blissful hysteria, but she managed to turn and wipe the wetness away. Her gaze focused on Matt.

  “Hi,” she finally said, standing and brushing dirt and dying weeds from her behind. “Come on in.” She waved him through the gate of the white picket fence.

  He smiled and lifted his hands. “Can I get in on this joke?”

  Amelia’s laughter finally died off. “I’ll go brew some tea and slice up that watermelon. It’s definitely snack time now.” Kate began to thank her, but Amelia then had the gall to wink at her. A fat, goofy wink that Matt also had the burden of witnessing.

  Kate flushed a deep red and apologized profusely, but he didn’t let it go and instead played dim.

  “What was that for?” he asked, grinning and dipping his chin in Kate’s direction. She could have melted then and there. She could have died of humiliation. But life was too short, and she’d been a party to too much heartache of late.

  So, she played right along.

  “Oh, the wink?” she answered boldly. “She thinks I like you again.”

  Clearly unprepared to be pushed to the defensive, Matt fell back a step, laughing awkwardly. “This feels a little like déjà vu. Wasn’t it Amelia who set us up in the first place?”

  “Inadvertently,” Kate allowed. “She’s the one who blew my cover at that party.” Kate cringed inside. She’d never been a cool kid at school. And never a partier. But so many decades ago, when she was just a sop
homore and Amelia was only in middle school, one of Amelia’s so-called friends caught word that the Hannigan parents were out of town for the weekend. Matt, being more connected to various social circles at Birch Harbor High, showed up and slipped into the corner of the back deck. It was the same place Amelia and Megan were hiding, two little girls, watching on as high schoolers whooped and laughed, played music and danced. Nothing too nefarious happened that night, but only because Kate frantically policed the whole event, monitoring guests and turning the music down every ten minutes.

  At one point during that night, Amelia and Megan had grown confident. They began strutting around the place like Kate should have, flirting with the older boys and munching on potato chips between casual sips of soda.

  Near the end of the function, while Kate was plucking plastic cups and wadded napkins from the back of the sofa, Matt had wandered inside. Matt Fiorillo, the boy she’d swooned over since forever. The one whose name was doodled in pretty swirls across otherwise empty pages on her desk in her bedroom. The one she confided about to her sisters, bragging that his parents owned the Italian restaurant at the Village.

  Kate could picture the moment, and she was certain Matt could too. They were frozen alone in the living room, her with a white plastic bag, him with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He said hi. She said hi. He thanked her for a great party. She pretended that it was her original goal and accepted his gratitude, coolly, unwilling to admit that it was another girl who made everything come together. Another organized girl. A more social one. Not Kate.

  Then a little voice piped in from the doorway behind them. It had been Amelia, of course, the one more willing to intrude. She’d told Matt that Kate was in love with him.

  In every other scenario in which such a mortifying event would have taken place across the late-night living rooms of America, it would have been game over right then and there.