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A detour to The Bungalows was in order. Amelia announced to Megan and Clara that she wanted to check on her assets, as she’d taken to calling the small complex of individual, ground-level units. After the recent reading of the will, Megan had expected Amelia to jump on the project with fervor, maybe choosing a new color to paint the shabby wood siding.
Instead, she’d set her sights elsewhere, clearly.
Since she’d seen to her duty of learning that their mom’s personal diary was little more than a hodgepodge collection of teenage ramblings (though the torn out entries certainly intrigued Megan), the third Hannigan sister now only had to wait for Brian and Sarah to show up for their reunion at the cemetery.
She wondered if he’d want to grab dinner after or if his whole visit really was just to offer respects to Nora. Megan didn’t care if he left after. That would suit her fine. She could get Sarah set up with Clara then tuck herself in for an early bedtime. Lots of sleep. That would do her good.
Kate had been downstairs, rummaging through boxes with Matt when they barged into the house and so Megan and the others decided to leave them be.
Megan left it up to her and Clara to coordinate an arrangement for the older party who’d been wandering around town.
She couldn’t fathom being in Kate’s shoes, single and flirting with the idea of getting back out there, as well-meaning couples often pushed. Having married Brian so young, Megan’s dating life was non-existent. She didn’t know what it meant to travel alone. Maybe people enjoyed the option to see what they wanted to see and do what they wanted to do. Megan could appreciate that. The freedom. But then what about at night? In a foreign hotel room or a cozy bed-and-breakfast? Did they lie awake thinking how nice it would be to snuggle against someone’s chest and recount the day’s events?
That’s what Megan loved about their family vacations. Sarah would be tucked into her own bed just feet away, and Brian and Megan would whisper about how wonderful a trip it was. How lucky they were. What a charmed life they led.
Family vacations were a point of pride for the couple. Or at least, they had been. Brian, who loathed traveling, would take every measure to ensure a perfect trip, including saving as much as possible in the intervening years. To both ends, the Stevensons only went away together a rash of times in the past two decades. But each vacation was a blow out. First-class tickets gave way to private cars with concierge service at the hotel. Lately, Megan wondered if Brian put out money to see to his own comfort. If he could alleviate stress for himself, he’d be more enjoyable for Megan and Sarah. That was her cynical impression on the situation.
Though, it didn’t jibe with the man she’d married. The frugal penny-pincher who’d just as soon never go anywhere if he could get away with it.
Perhaps the extravagant vacations were more about his wife and daughter after all. They were the one thing in her marriage—in her life—that she cherished. She bragged about. Looked forward to. He knew that and clung to it, sharing in the storytelling for months and years after each trip. Showing off photos to his coworkers. Reflecting with Megan on the sofa or in bed late at night about how perfect their life was. How lucky they were.
They hadn’t been on vacation in a couple of years now. No projects, either. They didn’t really have anything in their marriage to look forward to. Save, perhaps, for Sarah’s impending flight out of the house and to college.
That might have been something to rejoice over, for more reasons than one. It could be an opportunity for Megan to get back in the workforce.
Brian’s financial fears would have to have taken a backseat at one point. There was no room for happiness in a life built on fear. And that was Brian. A fearful, worrisome man who was more concerned with basic survival than he was with day-to-day joys. Of course, until he worked up the energy (and built a savings) to let loose every few years. Those were the golden moments. Megan often wondered if she could just freeze Brian in those times—when he had the money and emotional freedom to splurge on a vacation—maybe things would not have crumbled into boredom.
Maybe it wouldn’t have come to divorce.
Maybe it still didn’t have to.
Megan’s mind flicked to the idea of dating. Gross. If their divorce did go through, she would probably be forced to return to Birch Harbor. A tourist community. She could picture it now. Friday night JEOPARDY! and popcorn gave way to squeezing into too-tight jeans and a blouse that hid her budding love handles. Fifteen minutes of makeup application and another fifteen minutes of blowing out her hair and for what? To make small talk with a weekender who didn’t know a rowboat from a kayak?
Megan gagged at the idea.
Sure, other people might enjoy fraternizing their weekends away. In fact, Megan would love to watch that. But she’d like to do so comfortably, from a secure marriage that promised evening snuggles and an early bedtime.
Her dreams of a matchmaking business, her memories of luxe vacations and room service, and her ritual of cuddling on the couch with the love of her life had left a hollow cavern in her chest. The things she once had but could never get back.
Currently, as she and Amelia and Clara began their walk up the street to The Bungalows, Megan tried to push away her own drama.
They left the house fully clothed (eating lunch in a tankini top and sarong was the norm for Village eateries but still felt awkward now that Megan was older and a little less local), Megan cleared her throat and directed a pointed question to Amelia.
“Have you heard from Michael yet?”
Amelia shook her head. “No. Well, yes. I mean we checked in briefly on the phone. He is having lunch with a client then hitting the research. His plan is to get in touch with the Liesel Hart woman, but I had some other ideas.”
“What? You think she’s irrelevant?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I figure we could approach a couple different angles in the meantime.”
Megan could read Amelia’s mind. “Uncle Hugh.”
“Yep.” Amelia grinned. “Do you have his email address? Phone number?”
The question was for Megan, but Clara chimed in. “I doubt he has email. He’s pretty old. But a phone number probably. In Mom’s address book. It’s in the cottage. I’m sure of it.”
“Perfect. We’ll find his information and maybe some other Actons. If anyone knows Liesel Hart, it’ll be one of them. I’m sure Mom’s side wouldn’t.”
Amelia made a good point. Not only had most of the Hannigans moved far away from Birch Harbor, but clearly whoever was bequeathed the lighthouse wouldn’t be connected to them. It had to be someone on their dad’s side of the family.
“Is that it then?” Megan asked. They’d made their way to the four-plex where Clara could get changed. From there, they’d go to the cottage. Initially, Megan and Amelia figured they could look around for anything pertaining to the lighthouse.
Amelia and Megan plopped onto Clara’s sofa once inside. “No. There’s something else we can do.”
Megan studied Amelia, who now wore a poker face. After several taunting beats, Megan finally gave her sister’s shoulder a soft push. “Well, what is it?”
The older woman’s smile slipped off her face, and her voice dropped an octave. “I want to get my hands on Dad’s case files.”
Her eyebrows crowded together as Megan narrowed a serious gaze on Amelia. “What are you talking about? Case files? This isn’t CSI Birch Harbor.” Amelia had lost it. Their dad was a deadbeat, at best. Their mom shunned him and manipulated him into running away and never looking back. Megan’s gut told her once they got in touch with their long-lost paternal relatives, that would all become crystal clear. In fact, maybe good old Wendell Acton was alive and well and living like a hippy on Mackinac Island for all they knew, totally happy to be entirely separated from the nut job daughters that his nut job estranged wife had raised. Without him. “You’re crazy,” Megan added for good measure.
“Maybe I am. But I’m also sick of being an orphan.” Amelia shook her hair off her shoulders and threw up a hand.
“And now you’re being dramatic. Sick of being an orphan? Mom died less than a month ago.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Amelia shook her head, her eyes squinting with sassy attitude.
“Then what do you mean? What are you suggesting, Amelia?”
Clara entered the room, and Megan glanced back at her. Suddenly, the energy had changed. The warm walk on the beach was a cold memory. The sweet iced tea and sounds from the harbor had washed away as they sat in Clara’s tiny one-bedroom. A lighthearted, hope-filled investigation into the fate of their well-meaning dad was suddenly devolving into the stuff of one of Megan’s favorite true-crime TV shows. If it wasn’t her life, Megan would be all in.
But it was her life. It was their life.
Megan’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down at the screen. It had been a long time since his name was a welcome reprieve. And now, it felt like her only escape from Amelia’s over-the-top plan.
She looked up to Amelia and then again back to Clara.
“I have to take this.”
“Who is it?” Amelia’s eyes grew wide, and Megan wanted to slap some sense into her. She was turning family history into a crime drama.
Megan hissed her reply. “It’s my husband.”