Lighthouse on the Lake

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Are you talking to Sarah?” Megan asked.

  Clara looked up. “Oh,” color rushed to her cheeks. “Um, no.” She fumbled her phone onto the table until it landed upside down with a thud. “Sorry. I was on Facebook.”

  Megan and Kate looked at each other, then back at their little sister. “Facebook?” Kate arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later. What about Sarah?” Clara batted the air and her face returned to its normal tone.

  Waving her own phone screen at Clara, Megan replied, “Sarah is asking if she can stay at your apartment with you?”

  Clara’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that! Maybe she can help me start moving stuff over and getting set up in the cottage?”

  “Perfect,” Megan replied, tapping out a quick reply to her daughter. She was about to open Brian’s message when Amelia came back in the room, a triumphant look on her face.

  Kate asked, “Well?”

  Amelia grinned, hands on her hips. “Okay,” she began, relaxing from her power pose and returning to the table and assuming a conspiratorial tone. “He said he’s going to look deeper, but from what he can see this Liesel Hart character began paying property taxes upon the deaths of Grandma and Grandpa Acton. Dad never paid taxes, and he wasn’t technically listed in their estate, we can assume. But that’s not all.”

  The other three leaned in closer.

  “Michael said that he found no record of sale.”

  “What does that mean?” Megan asked.

  “He could see that the deed was transferred from a joint agreement between the Coast Guard and the county to a private entity in the early nineties. But that was before Grandma and Grandpa died.”

  Clara shifted in her seat. “And after they died, it wasn’t sold?”

  “Right. Michael said the property became private with that earlier transfer, but from what he can tell, the Actons never sold it.”

  Megan drew a finger to her mouth and began to chew on a hangnail. “So why is this Liesel person paying taxes on it?”

  “We don’t know. We’d have to get in touch with their estate attorney.”

  Kate piped up. “Does anyone remember who that was? I feel like I should know this. I mean, we were beneficiaries. Remember? We each got a little money when they passed.”

  “Right, but didn’t their other relatives sort of take over?” Megan protested, her memory growing shades clearer as the conversation jogged it.

  “Yes,” Kate answered. “Their siblings saw to the arrangements. I think it was a brother who acted as the executor. Uncle Hugh, right?”

  Megan didn’t know any of that. She wasn’t as in the loop as either Kate or Amelia, but surely this would be an easy mystery to solve. “Do you have his contact information?”

  Kate’s eyes flashed. “Yes, I do. In my address book. I sent him a Christmas card for years.”

  “There ya go,” Amelia answered. “If you can get it to me, Michael agreed to keep helping.”

  Megan eyed her older sister. “Oh, he did, did he?”

  Amelia, not one to blush easily, rolled her eyes. “He’s become a friend, okay?” Megan thought she noticed a quick look between Amelia and Kate but brushed it off.

  “Well if that’s settled for now, can we please return to the notebook? Who knows? Maybe Mom outlined the change of hands for us, and we are sitting on the information right here.” Megan leaned back in her seat, stretching lazily as her rush of energy started to plateau, earlier than usual. She needed a third cup of coffee or else she’d be napping on the beach while her sisters dug into a treasure trove of juicy family history.

  “Right. Let’s do it.” Kate flipped open the cover, and Clara and Amelia, who were seated on either side of her, instinctively scooted their chairs closer and craned their necks.

  Megan pushed air out of her mouth and stood, grabbing a bar stool from the island and propping it behind Kate so she could look over her shoulder.

  Their combined silence lasted only a moment.

  “The first page was torn out, look,” Clara pointed along the jagged edge in the center of the book. After it, a blank page sat.

  “Go to the next,” Amelia prompted.

  Kate turned the page and a new entry materialized. “This is the one that confirmed it was her diary. Look at the date.” The oldest pointed at the left corner and read aloud for their benefit.

  May 1965

  I’ve never kept a diary. I feel a little silly writing here, but I’ve got to get this down somewhere and since I’m not allowed to confide in even my own sisters, I will just have to write it here.

  No, that won’t do. I can’t be entirely honest because what if somebody reads this! You can’t trust sisters any more than a stranger on the street. They’ll share your secrets for little more than a piece of candy. It’s true.

  And anyway, I’m not entirely sure this is my secret to share. But I just want to put down that there’s something going on in my life, and I can’t talk about it.

  But something I can tell you is that I met someone. Gene. He says he loves me. I can’t say I love him back, yet. But he’s fun, and he’s interested and says he’s there for me. I guess that’s all you need when you’re young and going through something hard.

  Well, maybe I’ll write here again later if I have time.

  Nora

  ***

  “Oh my gosh,” Clara whispered. “She sounds like one of my students.”

  Megan’s throat closed up involuntarily. Hearing and seeing her mother’s words was at once morbidly fascinating and heart-wrenchingly painful. “What do you think she’s talking about? Who’s Gene?” Megan asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  Kate flipped the page. “Let’s find out.”

  Chapter 21—Amelia

  They spent the next hour poring over vague entry after vague entry, searching for clues. The name seemed vaguely familiar to Amelia, but she couldn’t quite pin it down.

  Soon enough, they were burnt out. Every line seemed to hold some suggestion of what the first entry hinted about. Though they didn’t get through the whole thing, it was clear that there were wide gaps in when Nora had decided to write—not only because of the chronological expanse between entries but because she’d torn many, many pages out. Perhaps the entries she’d torn out were the most specific ones. The most revealing. Wrought of truth and emotion, like those four she’d left with Michael.

  There was no other specific mention of Gene. Yes, some romantic pinings, but each of those did not name anyone, and each felt, well... like it was about a different man. Or boy, in the earlier cases.

  “Let’s take a break,” Amelia suggested. “We’ve learned nothing more than the fact that Mom was a girl with a secret. Lots of secrets, probably.”

  Clara slid from her seat and took her mug to the sink, rinsing it dutifully. “I agree. I’m ready to hit the beach for a walk or something. It’s officially summer. Let’s act like it.”

  Megan checked her wristwatch. “All right. Sounds good to me. We have lots of time before Brian and Sarah get in, and I have nothing to do.”

  “Well, I have a lot to do,” Kate complained, her expression sour. “And I have company coming.”

  “Company?” Amelia asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Kate glanced away, clearly suppressing a smile. “Matt is helping me get started on some things around here. I can’t wait around to get started. I need income now.”

  “What about your realty job? And your house? What’s the latest on those?” Megan piped up from her squatted position at her bag. She’d been rummaging for a bathing suit, apparently. Of them all, Megan was treating the day like a vacation. It put Amelia in the mood to rent a kayak and head out on the open water.

  Holding up her palms and now smiling broadly, Kate confessed, “I quit. And I dropped the price on the house. I’ll need to get my furniture out here soon, probably. My old boss said they’re expecting to get some nibbles today.”

  “That’s g
reat, Kate,” Amelia offered sincerely. She was happy for her older sister. After a lifetime of doing what was expected of her (generally speaking), it was nice to see the Type-A Perfectionist making choices that only she wanted to make. In fact, Kate was even more enjoyable to spend time with. Some of her neuroses and anxieties had seemed to subside in favor of a relaxed attitude, generally. Amelia wondered if it wasn’t also the reunion with her high school sweetheart that had allowed Kate to loosen up. She hoped so.

  “Okay, Kate, you do your thing with Matt. We’ll take a break in the sun. Sound good, girls?” Amelia asked, clearing the last of the table into the sink and filling it with hot tap water before squeezing dish soap in.

  “Perfect,” Clara agreed. Megan nodded, too.

  ***

  As soon as her naked toes curled into the warm sand, Amelia was transported to her youth. Images of herself as a child, building sandcastles with her sisters flooded her brain as Megan and Clara strode ahead toward the marina.

  Loud calls from the nearby dock floated across the water and into Heirloom Cove.

  Clara turned around ahead, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Maybe we should walk the other way? Away from the Village?”

  Amelia shrugged. “I like walking near the marina.” And she did. Amelia loved being in the presence of people—strangers or acquaintances. Friends, too. She missed the friends she’d made in New York and elsewhere. Keeping touch had gotten harder as time passed on. Being around the dock where she hung out as a teenager, made her feel safe.

  That was less true for Megan and Clara. Megan wasn’t shy, and she probably didn’t identify as an introvert, but she could take or leave people. Clara, on the other hand, would be happy as a clam to tuck herself away in a corner of her apartment with a book for hours (if not days) on end.

  Still, something in Amelia was drawn toward the harbor, and so she pointed in the opposite direction of where Clara wanted to go. “Let’s walk to the Village, get an iced tea to go, then walk back up the shore.”

  Their sandals dangled in their hands, and the three moved rhythmically across the beach, closer to the boat traffic on the water and foot traffic in town. Tourist season was just beginning to heat up. As a teen, it was Amelia’s favorite time of year. It was the time of year she was most likely to find a boyfriend which had often been Amelia’s central goal—apart from nailing a main part in the school musical. That dream never did pan out. Once she finally signed up for voice lessons when she was nineteen, the teacher accused her of being tone deaf. All the grit in the world can’t make up for being distinctly unable to carry a tune, young lady. This is why the arts are The Arts! Talent! Chance! You have none!

  It was the harshest advice she’d ever received, and the second most useful. The first most useful came from an acting teacher in Louisville, where she’d spent a spell in hopes of joining their summer stock. That teacher reminded the whole class—all ten of them—that You don’t have to take a class to become an Actor. You just go out there and audition. Simple as that.

  Hah. If only.

  Of all the years Amelia had spent chasing her dream, there was only one summer she recalled finding true happiness, fleeting though it may have been.

  Autumn, just before she moved west, Amelia and her mother and sisters took a girls’ trip to Massachusetts. Although Nora, Kate, Amelia, and Clara each wanted to stick to the basics—Boston, New England Clam Chowder, Harvard, Foliage, and so forth, Megan insisted on dragging them to two of her bucket-list locales, as she dubbed them: Salem, the site of Puritanical witch fervor, and Fall River, a tiny, out-of-the-way industrial town that had long ago been home to one of America’s most infamous women: Lizzie Borden.

  During the Fall River day trip, which was a brief tour of the teetering Victorian house in which Lizzie had been accused of committing patricide, the quirky owner recognized Amelia’s flair for memorization and presentation. On the spot, she offered Amelia a summer gig to give tours and help keep up the property.

  It was almost a no. Amelia planned to be in California the following summer, performing in Shakespeare in the Park or taking tickets at the Chinese Theatre, if all else failed.

  But Megan had pushed her, literally pushed her, into the cash register where they were purchasing hatchet earrings as souvenirs. “She’d be perfect,” Megan promised the woman.

  And just like that, Amelia filled out the application and bought a plane ticket to return in May.

  Which she did.

  It was the best summer of her life.

  Had the Borden house not been sold in the following winter, Amelia would have done it again every year until her death. She loved being a docent of the macabre. If she didn’t know any better, Amelia would have thought she had a little of Megan’s dark spirit living inside of her somewhere.

  But it wasn’t the ghoulishness of the job that Amelia adored. It was the interacting with guests. Putting on two shows a day. Hosting a captive audience and bringing oddball history to life.

  After that summer, her sisters encouraged Amelia to find similar positions in other museums around the country. Or, perhaps she could have worked as a Civil War re-enactor, they implored. But Amelia believed in fate above all else, so when that season of her life had ended, she pressed ahead with her previously scheduled plans.

  As Amelia and her sisters neared the dock, she slipped her hand into her front pocket and rubbed her father’s watch.

  Maybe fate was at it again.

  Chapter 22—Kate

  “Hi.” Kate stood at the door. After her sisters left in their bathing suits and flip-flops, she dashed upstairs and changed into fitted jeans and a relaxed white t-shirt. She’d already blown her hair out that morning and felt that only a quick smear of lip gloss and light coat of mascara would be enough to greet Matt.

  She was right. He grinned broadly from the welcome mat. “Hi, Kate.”

  The moment would be perfect for some affectionate gesture, but she might not execute it well and instead fumble awkwardly through a side hug or force him to kiss her ear instead of her cheek. The smooth thing to do was wait for his lead.

  A shared chuckle took the place of their momentary silence. The opportunity passed, and Kate’s heart sank a little, but that was okay. They had time.

  The plan for that day was for Matt to take measurements for her in the basement and start creating an informal blueprint for her plans to add additional guest rooms. Once they were downstairs, he also offered to help her go through the boxes and bins and move out the furniture. On a whim, she accepted, but mostly because she didn’t want him to leave quite yet, even if they would be seeing each other on a more regular basis.

  “You don’t have another project going on today, do you? I’d hate to keep you from your real work,” Kate asked as she brought down two tinkling glasses of iced tea. Matt had grabbed a dolly from the bed of his truck and was pulling stacks of boxes from one corner for her to peek into and decide about.

  He eased the dolly down, his hand gripping the box on top. “I have to be home by five to cook dinner with Viviana, but otherwise I’m all yours.”

  Warmth flooded Kate’s heart. A man raising a daughter alone tugged at her heart. She wondered how he would have been with Clara. She wondered how he was with Viviana. Kate swallowed a lump in her throat. “Tell me about her.”

  “About Viv?” he replied.

  “Yes. I have a sudden urge to know everything about your life.”

  He grinned and rolled the dolly to a new stack, and Kate realized she’d better start doing her part or they would never get out of that basement. The one where there used to be an old set of sofas, situated around a thin limp rug, board games piled high in the corner between the sofas.

  Rolling over another stack of dusty, decaying cardboard, Matt gave her a pointed look. “What about you?” he asked. “Tell me about your sons.”

  Pride flooded Kate. She wasn’t the sort of mother to pull out a photo of her handsome boys and flash it in t
he checkout line at Town and Country, but when given the chance, Kate was liable to talk a man’s ear off on the subject. She tried to refrain, but details poured out. Matt listened on as she shared their academic pursuits. Both boys wanted to be engineers like their dad. They eschewed frat life in favor of intra-murals and other on-campus clubs. Ben had a serious girlfriend. They called her every Sunday. She tried not to bug them during the week too much.

  “They sound a lot like you,” Matt observed when she stopped for a breath.

  Kate smiled. “I’d like to think so. I miss them a lot, but I know they’re happy. One day, I think they might settle somewhere near here. They claim to be city boys, but we’ll see about that.” She flipped open the four flaps of a box nearby and peered inside. Mottled, dust-caked afghans. A sigh escaped her mouth. “Keep,” she mumbled, drawing a finger toward the side of the staircase they’d designated for Things to be Dealt with Later. “And Viviana? I love her name, by the way.”

  “It’s Italian, if that’s not obvious. I had to fight my ex a little. She wanted something white bread and midwestern. Even Vivian would have been a stretch.” He chuckled, but Kate knew better than to engage in that particular line of discussion. The laugh fell away, and Matt’s expression darkened. “Viv is incredibly smart. Too smart for her own good, if I’m honest.”

  “I think that’s the norm with teenage girls.”

  “Maybe.” He sighed. Instinctively, Kate knew there was a lot more to the story, but she was not bold enough or rude enough to pry.

  Licking her lips, she found a response. “With a father like you, I can’t imagine she’s anything less than perfect.”

  Grinning again, Matt fixed his gaze on Kate. “You do like me, don’t you?”

  She flushed and grabbed a dusty throw pillow from the next box she’d opened. “Don’t tempt me,” she warned, holding it up like a teenager at a sleepover.

  Matt pushed his hands forward. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Katherine Nora Hannigan.”