His Saving Grace

by Janice Carter

  Drew hesitated at the bottom of the wood spiral staircase leading to the lantern room, peering upward to assess its reliability. Well, he wouldn’t really know how stable it was until he tested it. He grasped the railing and began to climb, one creaky step at a time. When he reached the top, he was perspiring. No wonder Henry had given up his duties, though why he hadn’t handed the job over to someone else was a mystery. It wasn’t as if he’d been receiving a salary.

  The lantern room at the top was a tad smaller than Drew’s bathroom at The Lighthouse Hotel and his soft chuckle echoed down and up the tower. When Henry told him the tower was functioning by 1918, Drew knew its light source would be an incandescent light bulb and sure enough, there was one thousand-watt bulb, long dead by the look of it, screwed in place along with the reflector and a basic Fresnel lens. He figured when the light had been working, the beacon was most likely a fixed one rather than revolving, due to the tower’s location. Hence the smaller size of the lens, too.

  He sidled around the whole apparatus to the windows, but the storm panes were so filthy he could barely see the water below. No doubt the tower had served its purpose at the turn of the twentieth century, if in a limited way. Now it even lacked the quaintness that would have made it a tourist draw. It certainly wouldn’t generate any income for the town and was far enough off the state’s lighthouse tour route that few people would stumble upon it by chance.

  After snapping a dozen photos inside and out, Drew locked up to head back to Henry. His initial judgment yesterday was confirmed. Given that the tower no longer served the community in any realistic way, its precarious stability and especially that its historical value was dubious, Drew knew there was no point in putting it up for sale. He doubted even National Park Service, which had purchased a number of lighthouses in the country, would bother with it. Demolition was the only option.

  Treading carefully along the pebble-strewn path, he noticed again the wilted flowers. He figured they’d been left by Grace. Henry had said the place was important not only to the family, but especially to her. He thought of the plaque in the drawings he’d seen earlier. Was the tower’s renewal meant to be some sort of family tribute?

  He reached the crest of dunes and saw Henry sitting below. Now was his chance to get some answers. The light tumble of sand at his footfall caught Henry’s attention. He craned round and smiled as Drew held up the thermos that he’d grabbed at the last minute.

  “Hah! Wondered where I’d put that thing. Been a few years since I’ve seen it.”

  Drew smiled at his sheepish face. “I also noticed an old flashlight and some candles. Someone been camping out?”

  “They’ve been there from before my time volunteering. Maybe kids hanging out.”

  “Kind of a dangerous place for that.” Drew sat in the chair next to Henry’s. “How long have you been volunteering?”

  Henry pursed his lips. “About half a dozen years or so. The fellow before me gave it up long before that and for a few years no one else took the job until I stepped up.”

  Drew nodded. Due to automation, the tower really didn’t need someone to look after it, other than to keep the storm panes clean or change the light bulb. General housekeeping. Clearly even that hadn’t been done in some time.

  “Tell me more about the place. It’s in pretty bad shape. I’m puzzled why you and Grace would want to tackle a restoration. What’s the payoff for you?”

  “No payoff for me, except maybe to make up for my neglect.” He averted his gaze again. After a moment, he said, “I guess you’ll hear the story anyway, so it might as well come from me ʼcause I doubt Gracie will be keen on telling it.”

  Answers were finally coming. Drew sat back in the chair.

  “It must be about sixteen, seventeen years ago. Gracie was just a kid. Well,” he clarified, “a young teenager. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. And when I say young, I mean that in more ways than years. She was different from the other girls in town. More protected. I don’t think Charles allowed a lot of independence. I still had the bookstore then. In fact, had it many years before that summer. Gracie loved to read, and the town had no library. Still doesn’t.” He snorted. “So, Gracie was a regular customer, especially in the summer holidays. She usually came in with friends when she got her allowance.” His face crinkled. “Can’t recall their names, but one of them was Cassie Fielding.” The smile gave way to a frown as he glanced briefly at the derelict cottage behind them.

  “Anyway,” Henry continued, “it happened on Labor Day weekend. The local teens as well as the ones vacationing here had a beach party up in the dunes.” He gestured behind him. “One of the boys—Gracie’s younger cousin, Brandon—left the party early for some reason and went missing. No one knows exactly what happened but there were plenty of rumors.” Henry shook his head. “They found him on the shore next morning, not far from the lighthouse. Drowned.” His voice trailed off as he stared out across the water.

  “An accident?” Drew finally asked.

  “Most likely. There was a bit of a police investigation because he’d been reported missing the night before. Then a few weeks later there was an inquest and the ruling was accidental drowning. Figured he’d been caught at the lighthouse in high tide.”

  “Didn’t the kids know about the tides?”

  “ʼCourse they did! Kids here learn about the dangers of that place as soon as they’re old enough to start going off on their own.” He paused, the indignation in his voice fading. “The tragedy shook up all the Winterses. Brandon’s father, Fred, was Charles’s younger brother and his family was never the same afterward. Fred took to drink and that eventually ended his marriage. His wife, Jane, took their daughter and moved to Bangor. They came back when Fred passed away but only for a couple of days.”

  “Did they ever learn why Brandon was at the lighthouse?”

  “Nope. As I said, just lots of rumors and gossip. Things small towns are famous for.” Henry gave a cynical harrumph. “I don’t repeat them,” he added, facing Drew. “No point. What good could come of spreading stories?”

  The question was rhetorical, but it interested Drew. Clearly there was much more to the tragedy, but it wouldn’t be coming from Henry Jenkins. He thought suddenly of Grace, her anxious expression when he dismissed the tower’s potential for restoration—her whispered “please” and imploring eyes.

  A slight unease flowed through him. Maybe this detour to Lighthouse Cove wasn’t going to be as uneventful as he’d thought. Even more, maybe his recommendation wasn’t going to be as easy to make. Her project was obviously meant to be a memorial for this cousin, but why now, after all this time?

  * * *

  GRACE WAS ON the verge of flipping over the open sign and locking the door when Drew Spencer appeared. She noticed two things right away. He’d changed his jeans and T-shirt for khaki slacks and a short-sleeved cotton striped shirt—as Mom would say, he cleans up nicely—and he was smiling. That simple expression made all the difference to her initial calculation of his age as somewhere in the early forties. He’s not much older than my thirty-two years, she decided, and with fewer gray strands in his hair.

  “I’m not planning to make your workday any longer,” he began as soon as she opened the door, “but I thought you might be interested in hearing my observations.”

  His returning to talk surprised her because she’d guessed he wouldn’t bother. She’d learned from experience that bad news often arrived via email. Maybe his appearance was a good thing. Plus, he was smiling.

  “Yes, of course. Come in.”

  “If you’re closing up, would you like to go for a coffee? Or maybe even a drink? To talk about your proposal,” he added quickly.

  Grace hesitated, unsure if this was a good sign or not. Was he hoping a drink might catch her off guard or lessen the blow of a rejection? She had a sudden image of her brother wagging his finger at her, telling her she
was overthinking things as usual. “Um, sure. Come in while I finish up.”

  He brushed past her, wafting a light scent of aftershave and soap. “Take a seat,” she said, pointing to the area where they’d chatted earlier.

  “Okay to browse? Bookstores are one of my favorite places.”

  “Along with lighthouses?”

  His smile was even brighter, a fact that pleased her for some unknown reason. Julie was right. He was cute. Super cute, as she’d said. Not that it mattered.

  “Definitely. Not sure which comes first though. But considering it was a book about lighthouses that got me into the Coast Guard, maybe they tie for first place.”

  It was her turn to smile. “I won’t be long.” She closed down the computer, checked that the rear door was locked and reviewed her calendar for the next day. A shipment of books was due and the family was meeting with her father’s specialist in Portland. It would be a full day and one she hoped wouldn’t be marred by bad news from Drew Spencer.

  “All set,” she announced, pushing her purse over her shoulder.

  He was perusing a book and his head shot up. Almost startled, Grace thought with amusement. As if he’d forgotten she was even there.

  “Great.” He replaced the book on the shelf and headed for the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk while she locked the door. “So, what’s it to be then?”

  “Well, if I have a coffee, I’ll be up all night. And it is just past five so...”

  He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Beer? Wine?”

  “If you’d prefer a beer, there’s a nice pub up the street.”

  “Lead the way!”

  Grace had never been good at small talk and she lapsed into silence almost at once. Normally she felt awkward in these moments, keeping quiet while others talked. It was a holdover from high school. She’d always been on the fringes, hanging around the popular girls but never actually part of the group. That’s why her friendship with Cassie had been so important. And look where that got me. She pushed the unhappy memory aside, focusing on the easy saunter of the man at her side who didn’t seem bothered by her silence.

  The pub was cool and dark inside. It was a Wednesday and early yet, so only a handful of people were scattered around the main area.

  “Live entertainment?” Drew nodded toward the small raised platform at the far end of the room as they sat at a table.

  “Fridays and Saturdays. Usually only local talent, though sometimes performers come from Portland.”

  “What kind of music?”

  “All kinds. The pub posts a monthly calendar of acts online and in The Beacon.”

  “The Beacon?”

  “Our local paper. It’s only a weekly.”

  “Is everything here lighthouse related?”

  Grace laughed. “Of course! That and lobsters.”

  The waiter appeared before he could comment and they ordered beer for him and a glass of white wine for her. “Any snacks?” the server asked.

  “What’ve you got?” Drew looked across at Grace. “Lunch seems a long time ago.”

  Grace felt her face heat up, recalling the silly scene with Julie outside Mabel’s. She wondered briefly if he’d intended the remark to prompt an explanation from her but decided from his absorption in the menu that she was overanalyzing again.

  When the waiter left, Drew glanced around the room. “It’s nice. Neither trendy nor kitschy. No dartboards at least. No loud music, thank goodness.”

  “Not until Friday night anyway.”

  “Guess I’ll miss it then.”

  “How long are you staying in town?”

  “I took my room for two nights.”

  “Are you in town or in a motel up by the highway?”

  “Here. At The Lighthouse Hotel. Another example of the town’s obsession with themes.” He smiled.

  She leaned against the back of her chair, enjoying the moment simply for what it was—on the surface at least. A casual drink after work with an attractive man. “The hotel’s convenient though I hear it’s seen better days,” she said.

  “Perhaps. My room is definitely on the basic side but I like the place. Reminds me of the grand old hotels in movies.”

  Grace smiled at the fitting comparison. “My cousin runs it.”

  His face faltered for a second and from the way he said, “Your cousin?” Grace realized he might have heard about Brandon. From Henry?

  She picked up her wineglass, taking a sip to cover her surprise. Then she realized perhaps it was better he’d heard the story from Henry rather than her. She didn’t trust her emotions enough to recount that weekend. Plus, he’d find out when they discussed the memorial aspect of the project.

  “Yes, my cousin—Suzanna Winters. She and her husband have been managing it for a couple of years now.”

  “Do the Winterses own everything in town?” His tone was teasing.

  “Just about,” she said in all seriousness.

  Their order arrived and for several minutes they dug into the nachos that were surprisingly delicious. They had a brief debate about whether they ought to have chosen the ground beef topping as opposed to the melted cheese.

  “Decadent,” Drew said. “Definitely would have put them over the top.”

  “I agree. Without is better.”

  For a few minutes the only sounds were crunching ones until he asked, “What was it like growing up in a small town like this?”

  “Okay, until my teens.”

  “And then?”

  “Then it seemed too small. Everyone knew your business.”

  “I can relate to that. I grew up on a farm and got my driver’s license as soon as I legally could to escape whenever possible.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Iowa.”

  “It’s a long way from Iowa to Maine. How did that happen?”

  “When I was about twelve, I got a book on the Portland Head Light for Christmas. The same one you have in your store as a matter of fact.”

  “And that’s all it took?” She smiled at the way his face lit up.

  “That’s all it took. But it remained a secret passion for several years and after I graduated from college, I joined the Coast Guard.”

  She thought of her own path to librarianship, taken more by default than choice. She’d always been a reader and loved books. Why not be a librarian? Unfortunately, the logic in that decision had been flawed because the job had never been as interesting as the idea.

  She sipped her wine, feeling her earlier tension ease. For a moment she could almost believe they were having a night out like some of the other people in the pub and that thought was troubling. This was a business meeting.

  “About the lighthouse,” he said.

  Grace set her glass down. The way his voice dropped and his eyes flicked from hers to some point beyond her told Grace all she needed to know. So, it actually is a business meeting, she was thinking, scarcely listening to his comments about the tower’s structure, safety and something about broken floorboards but only focusing on three words—tear it down.

  “Wait!” she interrupted. “You spent what? Ten or fifteen minutes inside and this is what you’ve decided?”

  He reared back in his chair as if she’d struck him.

  Grace glanced around, noticing the bartender shoot a curious look their way. She lowered her voice. “Of course, it’s in bad shape. It’s been neglected for years. That’s why we want to repair it.” She waited for him to continue but he just kept staring at her. She picked up her wineglass but her hand was trembling so she set it down again.

  “Look,” he said, leaning forward to make his point. “I understand what the lighthouse must mean to you and your family. Henry told me about your cousin’s death there when you were a teen.”

  The eyes fixed on hers were almos
t soothing, but she peered down at the table, afraid the sympathy she saw in them would bring tears. And she had shed enough of those over the years.

  “When we decommission there are two options, as I told you earlier. Selling—often to National Park Service, though unlikely in this case—or tearing down. We clearly can’t sell it in its present condition. It’s unsafe. Therefore, the only option is to pull it down.”

  Grace raised her head to protest.

  “But,” he went on, holding up his hand, “you can still use the site afterward as a memorial to your cousin. I believe that was the intention of the project, wasn’t it? The plaque in the drawing?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “And considering what happened to your cousin, perhaps keeping the lighthouse would be too painful. Maybe the plaque alone would be a more fitting reminder.”

  Grace felt the room close in. She wanted to defend her side but was afraid the truth would come out to this man—a stranger—whose assessment of the lighthouse was based purely on cold hard facts. How could she prove having the lighthouse was a way to keep Brandon alive? That tearing it down would essentially delete him from memory, not only hers but the town’s?

  “I’m sorry but...uh... I have to leave,” she stammered. “There’s somewhere I have to be.”

  He set his half-empty pint of beer down. “You—”

  “I’ll think about what you’ve said and get back to you.” She reached for her handbag on the floor and stood. “But remember this—all acts have consequences. Do you want this town to bear the consequence of no memorial for a young teenager because you’re obviously too stubborn or nearsighted to see another point of view about the lighthouse?”

  He was staring up at her, his face a map of confusion.