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Heavy clouds converged overhead as Amelia and Kate helped Megan and Sarah with bringing their bags into the house—or, as Kate continued to insist on calling it, the Inn.
The air was thick with the threat of rain, and Amelia hoped Clara showed up soon, too. It was time to get the party started. Literally. Amelia had spent the previous evening stocking up on snacks and goodies. She fully intended to pull together a pseudo housewarming party for herself and Kate, who was none the wiser so far.
Once everyone was inside, Kate immediately took to the windows, cranking them open and inhaling with great drama while Amelia conducted Megan and her daughter upstairs to Megan’s old room.
As soon as they were up and unpacking, Amelia shooed Kate to the front to wait for Clara. “I have a little surprise,” Amelia whispered conspiratorially.
Kate threw her a skeptic glance but followed directions, tapping at her phone as she sashayed to the parlor windows, which she dutifully stretched open.
It was too warm out to have the windows open, but the air conditioner was broken anyway, and they meant to air the place out the night before but had grown too tired to remember to open the downstairs windows. Thankfully, the storm would cool the place off, no doubt.
Amelia unpacked her hitherto hidden grocery sacks, arranging the goodies in charming baskets she’d discovered in the pantry.
Then, she lined the treats artfully along the center of the island and pulled a bottle of champagne and a jug of orange juice she’d managed to stash in the far back of the fridge. After rinsing and drying five delicate glass flutes, she angled them in little rows and fanned out a pack of green paper napkins beside the white plates she’d stacked at the far end of the island.
Glancing suspiciously into the foyer, she saw that Kate had left through the front door and was thoroughly distracted by the arrival of Clara. Amelia tugged her phone loose from her back pocket and scrolled to her music app, finding a station and hitting play before setting the device in a ceramic mixing bowl. The trick worked, and a bright ballad carried nicely from the makeshift acoustic station, echoing around the kitchen in pretty reverberation.
As one final touch, Amelia dug beneath the countertop into a narrow cabinet, finally withdrawing a vase of buttery yellow daffodils. She’d have chosen dahlias, but they weren’t nearly as bright, and that weekend demanded positive spirits. After all, the Hannigan women were embarking on a new beginning.
Amelia caught a glimpse of the door opening and closing, and so she dashed out, wiping her hands along the front of her jeans. “Clara!” she beamed, holding her hands out and wiggling her fingers until she’d lured the petite blonde into her arms.
Clara hugged Amelia back, and then they pulled apart. Amelia felt that she was seeing her youngest sister in a new light. Clara seemed refreshed. Her face was flushed, and a smattering of light freckles spread from her nose to her cheeks. Amelia didn’t remember Clara having freckles. While Kate, Amelia, and Megan were aging, their baby sister was glowing.
“You look great,” Amelia gushed, then added suspiciously, “Why?”
Kate and Clara laughed together, but Clara came up with an answer, much to Amelia’s surprise. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.”
Amelia crooked her head. “What do you mean?”
“Taking care of Mom was exhausting, you know? And I miss her. I miss her so much. But, well—” she looked at Kate with affection, and Amelia knew exactly what she meant.
“We’ve talked a lot,” Kate interjected, squeezing Clara’s shoulder. “All good things. Now that I’m going to live here full time, I think Clara and I—and you,” she stabbed a finger at Amelia, “can finally catch up.”
Kate was right. Fourteen years Clara’s senior meant that Amelia was out of the house before Clara even knew how to read. The age gap felt insurmountable when they were younger. But it was closing. Especially now that the three of them were back in Birch Harbor. Together.
“Okay, you two go upstairs and get Megan and Sarah. I’ll wait in the kitchen for you,” Amelia said, propping her hands on her waist. Though she was anxious to get into Michael’s office and discuss the lighthouse, it felt good to save the weekend for her sisters—and niece.
After all, the Hannigans hadn’t enjoyed much girl time in recent years.
She strode to the kitchen, taking in the sweet and simple scene: baskets of chocolate and a little plate of meats and cheeses, the mimosa fixings, and the fresh flowers converged into something picturesque. For a brief moment, Amelia saw exactly what Kate was envisioning for the place.
A quaint bed-and-breakfast, complete with midmorning snacks and afternoon tea, maybe. Sherry in thick crystal goblets in the parlor before dinner. Tourists from all over the country—no, the world. There, in their family home, enjoying Lake Huron and Birch Harbor as tourists do—with admiration and delight.
Amelia wondered if she ought not just pretend the lighthouse didn’t exist. Maybe her place was there, in the Heirloom Inn, among her family and whatever visitors arrived for a cozy weekend getaway.
Then again, no. That wasn’t Amelia. She wasn’t a hostess ushering people into a dinner theatre show.
Amelia-Ann Hannigan was the main act.
And she needed a real venue.