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“He might have,” Clara answered weakly. She had no idea if the wedding band was still on their father’s finger, wherever he was, or what.
But she had a head start on looking. Clara had searched high and low for her mother’s hope chest. She was still searching. She’d scoured every box and nook and cranny in the house on the harbor. The Inn. And by now she was over halfway through the cottage. Each night, she committed no less than an hour to the hunt for that hope chest. If the wedding ring was still in Birch Harbor somewhere, that’s where it would be. “How come you didn’t think of this when we were in Michael’s office?” Clara asked.
“Distracted? Confused? Grief-ridden? Take your pick, Kid,” Amelia spat back.
Clara rolled her eyes. When Amelia’s attitude came out, she wanted to crawl under a rock and disappear. For such a magnetic personality, the woman could be as sassy and condescending as she was enthusiastic and charming.
“How do you know he didn’t leave it behind?” Megan pressed in reply, her mouth full of salad.
“I lived with Mom, remember? We went through her jewelry boxes right after her diagnosis. It wasn’t there.”
Amelia scoffed. “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t keeping it somewhere, right?”
Shrugging, Clara bit into a chicken tender.
The feeling of being wrong about it nagged in her brain as Amelia droned on with wild theories about some father who didn’t walk out on them, hiding for good, but was forced out.
“What?” Clara asked after Amelia’s last suggestion. “You think Mom... you think Nora Hannigan kicked him out?”
The brunette nodded somberly. “Like I said... theirs was a passionate marriage.”
“You’ve been watching too many soap operas.” Megan stretched back in her chair.
Amelia protested. “There’s no telling how angry she was when he disagreed with her about Clara.”
Though Clara had never met Wendell Acton and generally agreed with her sisters that he must have been something of a flake to disappear without a trace. But that’s just it. Such a kind-natured sort of man wouldn’t up and leave.
Maybe Nora Hannigan was awful enough to push him away.
Dread washed over Clara.
Or maybe... worse.
The rest of lunch was a quiet, tense affair. None of them spoke what was on her mind, but Clara had the distinct sense that they shared the same suspicion, at least to a degree.
They split the check three ways and began the short walk home.
As the three sisters moved through the wooden slats of the Village walkways, Clara scanned the harbor for signs of Jake. She was curious about his new job there. It was a far cry from what Mercy said he did when he worked at the university. From college professor to marina manager? Well, maybe not so far a cry. He had studied Lake Huron, after all. Now he was living there. It could work. Her stomach churned with discontent about how the first day of summer was unfolding.
Too many questions.
Not enough answers.
And Clara didn’t even want any—of either. She was officially on vacation. She could use a break from the whole process of inquiry and study and work. She wanted to get down to moving out of the apartment and into the cottage. That was her priority now. Not searching for Wendell Acton. Not renovating the house she’d cleaned all her life. Clara needed distance from sisters.
She needed a friend.