| |
Mere moments later, the phone was ringing against Amelia’s ear. Her heart thrummed in her chest with the excitement of the first step in what could be a successful enterprise. If she performed well.
“Hickory Grove Antiques, this is Fern.” The voice on the line was serious but warm.
“Hello. My name is Amelia Hannigan. I’m calling with a strange request,” she began.
Fern laughed softly. “We tend to get those from time to time.”
A smile softened Amelia’s face. “All right, well here goes nothing.”
Carefully, avoiding any salacious or oddly vague details, Amelia explained her situation just as she promised Michael, relaying the truth but in limited detail. When she was finished speaking, she sucked in a breath, bracing for a rejection.
Fate intervened.
“I know Liesel,” Fern replied quietly.
Amelia’s mouth opened and shut but no words came. She held a hand over the phone receiver and shouted for everyone to return quickly, and she tapped the speaker icon on the phone, finally finding her voice as her sisters and Michael and Matt crowded in around the table. “Oh my,” Amelia answered, her breath shallow. Licking her lips, she shook her head and blinked. “You do?”
“Why, yes. Through church. We both serve on the Little Flock Ladies Auxiliary. We aren’t close, per se... but I do know her.”
Amelia felt her shoulders go slack; her entire body sagged.
Maybe it was more than fate that drew her back to Birch Harbor. That pushed her to say goodbye to New York and a studio apartment and move Dobi away from the city smog and late-night cigarette stench. Maybe it was never simply meant to be. Maybe it was a higher thing. Maybe someone was looking down, watching her, guiding her, and... trusting her, finally, to follow her gut instinct and make a good decision for once. Maybe this, all of it, was a good choice.
***
Her conversation with Fern was brief. The woman was kind and sympathetic and happy to help but not comfortable handing over Liesel’s phone number to a veritable stranger. Amelia understood this and instead provided her number for Fern to relay to the elusive Liesel Hart.
Now, all they had to do was wait.
And wait.
And wait.
In the end, two whole weeks had passed since the morning Amelia had placed a hopeful call. In that time, much happened.
Amelia and Michael put in a request for a release of the case files concerning Wendell Acton’s missing persons case.
Kate had commissioned and hammered in an adorable wooden sign and established herself with a boutique online reservations coordinator. The Heirloom Inn was mostly functional and even accepting reservations, much to Kate’s glee. Matt helped her a little each day, and Clara—who’d grown bored with summer already—even began pitching in with planting a small garden and repainting the guest bath. She seemed comfortable enough to be around Matt, and Amelia started to witness a budding relationship of some kind. She kept her envy at bay and focused instead on Michael and her work on the Liesel Hart inquiry, composing a thoughtful letter to Liesel and sending it through certified mail.
Megan and Brian had spent several days together in Birch Harbor before he left to return home for the work week. Things between them were awkward, and there had been several small fights. Sarah sometimes got caught in the middle, but by the time they left, there was hope.
There always was.
For her part, Amelia contacted the Birch Harbor Players. For the time being, she had no need for a significant income. She agreed with her sisters to take on the role of property manager at The Bungalows, which would net her a fraction of the income. When Clara moved out of her unit, it was open for Amelia’s use, should she need it.
She might, since she’d officially decided to give it a year. In a year, Amelia would know if there was a life for her in Birch Harbor, but as she always liked to do, she gave it up to God. He’d opened a window for her, now it was time to see if she could crawl inside and make a home.
All that, of course, would depend on her ability to settle into a meaningful job at minimum. Beyond the housing and a satisfying gig, all Amelia needed was a loving relationship.
Out of all three of her basic needs, the relationship was her hottest lead. In fact, that very evening, Michael was due to pick her up from the Heirloom Inn and take her out to an early dinner and then the Birch Harbor Players’ first show of the season, set in a grassy park just outside of town. It was a new production based on the founding of Birch Harbor. Amelia was interested to see what events the director chose to highlight and how the company would pull off what very well could be a tiresome story. Mostly, though, Amelia was anxious to be with Michael and not, for once, discuss her family. It would be her first real date in a long time. And the best part? It wasn’t with a twenty-something out-of-work actor. It was with a lawyer. A man. A friend.
At just before four, she perched at the parlor window in the Inn. Kate was upstairs, turning a bed for a couple who’d made reservations for the evening and were expected any time now. Downstairs, it was just Dobi and Amelia. They were playing a little game. Who would show up first? Michael? Or Kate’s guests?
Amelia predicted it would be the guests, which left Dobi with Michael for a bet, but they were both wrong.
Outside, just beyond the white picket fence, the mail truck pulled up, popped open the mailbox and hastily slid a packet of envelopes inside. As the carrier drove off, the mailbox door fell open.
Amelia sighed and pushed up from the window seat before heading to the door. Dobi picked up her energy and darted out through the door before she could stop him and nearly ran right into the street and in front of a slowly oncoming truck.
“Dobi!” she screamed. The Weiner dog put on the brakes and veered left, cut off by the closed gate, anyway. Amelia laughed and shook her head then looked up to the truck. It was Michael. He stopped and popped out, closing the door behind him and pointing to the mailbox.
“Can I grab that for you?”
She smiled and nodded, disappointed that she didn’t have a chance to open the door and impress him with her cobalt blue sundress.
But he was impressed even without the dramatic effect. “You look amazing.”
She opened the white gate and let him in as Dobi darted around like a maniac. Michael wore khaki shorts and an easy white polo, which cut across his fit shape so beautifully she wanted to press her hands to his torso. She refrained, of course, thanked him for the compliment and returned it in kind, accepting a light peck on the cheek.
Something in her stomach stirred, but she pushed it down as deep as it would go. Tonight was not about Amelia reclaiming her youth or vying for the role of ingenue in the latest promising off-Broadway production of a Shakespearean comedy. It was about good choices. Great ones, even.
“Here you go.” He passed her the mail, and she fumbled it for a moment then dropped her hand and called Dobi over. After tossing the mail on the reception desk and calling out to Kate that she was leaving, Amelia stepped back outside and caught Michael studying the marina.
“Beautiful, right?”
“Yes,” he agreed, smiling.
He held out his hand, and she took it. Together they walked down the round cobblestone pavers, but Michael stopped suddenly, just before the gate. “Oops,” he said, bending to collect a letter that must have slipped from his grip. “Sorry about that. Want me to run it inside?”
She plucked it from his hand and shook her head. Nothing was going to delay this moment any longer. “No, it’s fine,” she replied, slipping the stark white envelope into her purse with little more than a peek. It was addressed to The Hannigan Family in a lilting, sad sort of script. Likely a belated condolence card. Amelia pushed it out of her head and accepted Michael’s gentlemanly help with hoisting herself into the passenger seat.
The show was odd, as many low-budget productions often were, particularly ones written and produced by the very small-town people who put them on stage. Amelia pointed out various errors in the history of the town in brief whispers with Michael who acted decidedly more respectful, keeping utterly silent through the show and joining the standing ovation after.
They walked back to his truck, hand in hand. He complimented the courage of the actors, the gorgeous green setting, and wondered what else was in store from the Birch Harbor summer stock.
Amelia liked that about him, his positivity and kindness toward the artists. She might do well to have followed suit and, indeed, once they were driving away from the park, mused that she had reached out to their director in search of a role within the company. Her experience would be a benefit to the troop and their humbleness would be a benefit to her. Michael encouraged her warmly, offering to help connect her however he could. She thanked him and wondered if he, too, might want to involve himself more. He’d make a fabulous dramaturg, she argued. He didn’t know what that was, and when they laughed together it was decided they shared that in common, an eye for history.
“It’s a little early still,” he said after they agreed it was the next logical step that both Michael and Amelia committed to work with the Birch Harbor Players.
Amelia glanced at the clock. “You’re right. Maybe we could take a little detour?”
He looked over at her and smirked.
“Hey, now,” she admonished in a semi-serious tone. “I just meant a little drive.”
“Ah,” he replied, mock disappointment filling his voice. “That sounds nice.”
In silence, they drove north for a few miles, passing by farmland intermixed with forest. “You know,” Amelia said, narrowing her eyes on the mile markers and county signage. “I think our property is out here somewhere.”
“What property is that?” he asked, frowning, but then answered his own question. “Oh, right. The land. From Nora’s will. Do you know exactly where?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t come with Megan and Kate when they made the drive to walk it. Wait!” She sliced a finger through the air at a green clearing. “There it is!”
A small wooden sign hid among a grove of white birches. He slowed down in time for Amelia to make out the words. “Hannigan Field.”
“Want me to turn in?”
“Sure,” she replied. They drove up a gravelly, weedy lane and took in the expanse of land. It would make a perfect little event venue or perhaps dairy farm. Lots of garden space and privacy. Perfect for parties or weddings.
“It’s gorgeous,” Amelia said, rolling down her window and breathing in the fresh Michigan night air. “I bet the fireflies here are amazing,” she gushed.
He laughed. “That’s true. We’d have to wait until dark though, and our dinner reservation is for six-thirty.”
“I can think of another place we could visit,” she offered, smiling coyly.
“Let me see if I can guess,” Michael said, making a smooth U-turn and pulling out of the secluded side street and back onto the thoroughfare.
Amelia smiled the whole ride, safe in the knowledge that she was with someone who, despite the short time they’d spent together, knew her. Truly knew her.
“Tell me about yourself, Michael,” she murmured, her hand hitting air pockets out the open window.
He didn’t put up a wall. He didn’t change the conversation or go on about exes he hated or jobs he couldn’t keep. Instead, he told her the sweet story of a city boy who longed for the country life. A quiet, country life filled with books and good meals. He confessed that despite his age, he hoped to one day marry. Maybe have a child, maybe not. He enjoyed mass on Sundays and helping people on weekdays. Saturdays were for culture, he told her. Amelia liked everything he had to say, even if it stood in stark contrast to every way she had lived her life.
By the time he finished, they’d pulled off the road and driven a mile toward the shore, parking finally just outside of the lighthouse. “Did I bore you?” he asked, glancing over at her assuredly.
“Quite the opposite,” she answered. “You enchanted me.” They sat in silence, staring at the narrow tower that descended high above the water like it was reaching for Heaven. But when she looked over at him, he grinned back at her.
“No one has ever called me enchanting before,” he remarked, chuckling.
She laughed, too. “No one has ever enchanted me before.”
Michael licked his lips, his smile falling from his mouth as he leaned over towards her. Amelia swallowed and leaned into him, pressing her hand down onto her handbag, accidentally knocking it to the floor of the truck.
The moment caught in the air, and she stared at the bag. Unreasonably bothered. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bending to collect it.
He reached for her hand and pulled her back up to him, wrapping his other hand around the back of her head and gently, slowly pulling her in for a chaste, tender kiss.
It was the most passionate moment of Amelia’s life.
Just a moment later, when he took her hand in his and remained sitting, staring across to the house and lake beyond, she let out a long sigh. “I’ll miss this place.”
“You can come here anytime, though. Right?” He looked at her and squeezed her hand.
“I sort of... I sort of thought I’d get it, you know? That it could be my little project.”
“Maybe it still can. Maybe Liesel will sell it to you.”
Amelia did not want to talk about Liesel. She’d spent the past fourteen days obsessing over why she hadn’t gotten a call or a text. There must have been a mistake. That’s what she finally settled on. Maybe Gene was even wrong. Or maybe the so-called baby had passed away in some tragic accident. Amelia couldn’t cling to the past any more than she could plan for the future. It was just her cross to bear. To roll with the punches.
“I haven’t even heard from her, though,” she answered, rolling her shoulders back and down. But the idea reminded her. “Wait a second,” she said, releasing Michael’s hand and reaching for the contents that spilled out of her bag.
His eyes lit up in the orange light of evening. “Is that what I—”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled the white envelope onto her lap. “It couldn’t be,” she reasoned. “There’s no way.”
But she pinched the corner and tore it off, then pushed the side of her finger along the short end, at last pulling out a two-page handwritten letter.
Amelia’s eyes flashed over the words, reality coalescing around her. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “We were right.” Her voice rose. “It’s her!”
Michael leaned over and read at her side.
Amelia stuck her hand into her handbag and called Kate, adding in Clara and Megan to the line in one big group phone call. Once her sisters were all listening in, Amelia began. “You’re not going to believe this.”
***
After she finished relaying the new information, she looked over at Michael, who’d picked up the envelope she let drop to the console. It was an oversized white mailer, its paper thick and lined like specialty stationary.
“Look,” he said, opening his hand. In it, lay a small, silver key.
“Cancel dinner,” Amelia answered, plucking it from his palm. “Our plans have changed.”