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It had been a sleepless night. Heather was accustomed to these. Those dark nights after Max’s disappearance into the depths of the ocean had cast her into a similar spell. She’d spent hours tossing herself beneath the sheets as sweat pooled across her stomach and between her breasts. Always, she’d walked to the bathroom mirror to toss water on her cheeks and blink at her reflection. A sad, lonely woman who couldn’t even figure out the basic how-tos on keeping herself alive and healthy peered back.
It was September first, and Bar Harbor had drawn a glorious morning for them— complete with eggshell-blue skies and glowing sunlight that crept through the still-green leaves in the fluttering trees. Heather sat on the back porch of the little green house with a mug of steaming coffee. It was just past seven, and she could hear Nicole fidgeting around in the kitchen. There was the jangle of her keys, then a rough step as she turned back toward the toaster to remove her nearly burnt toast. In a moment, Nicole appeared in the view of the glass door, a piece of toast between her teeth and her smile seen just behind on either side.
“Hey there,” Heather greeted as Nicole stepped through the glass door. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Nicole chuckled as she performed a little juggle, placing her mug of coffee on the table, taking a full bite of toast, then pressing herself into the chair alongside Heather. When she swallowed, she asked, “And what are you up to today? I feel awful that I haven’t taken you around to see any of the sights. We should plan a beach day before it gets too cold or go for a hike in the mountains.”
The thought of these nearly strenuous activities made Heather’s heart drop.
“Yeah. Maybe,” she said. “Today, though, I thought I’d just head into Bar Harbor. Maybe check out a bookshop or two and write in a coffee shop— that kind of thing.”
Why did she feel it necessary to lie? Oh, but the light that curved out of Nicole’s eyes at this moment pleased her.
“That’s incredible, Heather. Seriously. You always used to tell me that you got such inspiration from going into bookshops,” she beamed. “I teased you that time, saying you stole your ideas there, and you burst into tears.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “I was maybe fifteen? Right? Super hormonal and very self-conscious about anything my older sister said to me?”
Nicole giggled. “I guess Casey and I were never as emotional as you. But it’s why you’re in the arts to this day.” She paused and then grabbed a little pad of paper off to the left, where she began to scribe a list. “Here are a few really cool spots in town. I think you’ll die for this coffee shop. They have these brilliant little oat cookies that remind me of the ones Aunt Tracy used to make.” She paused as the memory fell over both of them like a blanket. “I’ve tried to imitate them, but they never come out just right. Too crunchy.”
Aunt Tracy had passed away only a couple of years before. She had been the last link to their family on their mother’s side. Heather had a hunch that Aunt Tracy’s death had pushed Nicole to reach out to Uncle Joe although she couldn’t be sure.
“Well, anyway. I have to hit the road,” Nicole finally said as the silence continued between them. Her eyebrows twitched with confusion.
Just as they’d agreed, Luke picked Heather up at the far end of the long driveway that snaked from the main road to the Keating House. Heather waited as the truck wheels crept to a halt before she whipped a hand up to the door handle and eased herself into the much-higher front seat. She wasn’t accustomed to massive trucks like this.
“Not bad for a girl from Portland,” Luke teased as she finally adjusted herself.
Heather laughed. “Maybe from Portland. Maybe not. I guess today will tell the tale.”
Luke drove them back east, then north into the town of Bar Harbor. The radio station in his truck spit, then fizzed until he adjusted it back to an oldies station. His whistle was vibrant as they drove into Bar Harbor. He spread his hand out toward the view of the gorgeous water, which glowed from the bright light of the confident blue sky above.
“I never get sick of this view,” he confessed. “No matter how long I’m here. I’m still a Midwestern boy to my core and amazed by everything else.”
“Midwestern?” Heather arched an eyebrow with surprise. “What brought you all the way up here?”
Luke laughed as though he had about a zillion little secrets up his sleeve and didn’t plan to share a single one with her. This intrigued Heather in a way. It had been a long time since she’d felt any sort of curiosity— yet here and now, with her father’s diaries and this letter and this Midwestern man, her mind found new reasons to latch.
“I guess there’s a lot to say there. And also not so much,” Luke affirmed. He drove the truck down a side road, then slid up to an official-looking government building. He turned off the engine and turned his gray eyes toward her. “You ready to figure this out?”
She flashed him an uncertain grin. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They jumped out of the truck. Heather was surprised at the warm tinge of the air. Somehow, her brain had already made peace with the fact that autumn was coming. The fast-approaching darkness and depression were nothing new to her. But right now, the sunlight demanded something else.
They entered the building. Luke lifted a hand in greeting to the person who seemed to be his “friend,” a young woman in her early thirties, it seemed like, with overly blond hair and blue eyes that shone like little pools. Heather felt a funny stab of jealousy. She guessed it was just the presence of such a young, vibrant woman with her entire life ahead of her. She’d never lost her husband in such a substantial accident on the ocean. Her life was cotton candy and rainbows, probably.
“Hi, Monica,” Luke greeted as he rapped his hands across the counter.
“Hey there, stranger.” Monica’s teeth were overly large, too. Was that attractive? “It’s been a while since I saw you at the bar.”
Luke’s smile was mischievous. “I’ve had a whole lot of work up at the Eatery. Working as a sous chef now.”
Monica’s eyes gleamed. You could see she was clearly impressed. “Well, we miss you around there. Although I have to say, some people are pleased you’re not around to beat them at darts.”
Luke chuckled. Heather’s impatience mounted.
Did they want to get a room?
“Anyway, I was curious if you could help me with those records.” Luke smoothly slipped into this mode. It almost sounded flirtatious, as though it was linked to all the other conversations they’d had.
Ah! He was manipulating her for Heather’s benefit. Her cheeks burned with a mix of gratefulness and fear.
“Oh, of course. It’s a slow day around here,” Monica affirmed. “I can show you the way.”
Heather and Luke followed the sound of Monica’s clacking heels all the way down the hallway, then off to the right. They entered a room with many shelves, all filled with boxes labeled with birth records, death records, wills, deeds, information about the mountains and the national parks, and everything in between. Luke whistled again. “It’s pretty impressive that you’re in charge of all this, Monica.”
Monica whipped her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s a big responsibility.”
Her actions reminded Heather of a child always looking for attention in this way. She had to force herself not to roll her eyes.
“I’ll just be up at the front desk,” she stated. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure thing, Mon,” Luke said with a wink. “Thanks a bunch.”
When Monica disappeared, Heather lifted her eyes toward Luke’s and made a funny face.
“What?” Luke asked, his eyes twinkling. He knew exactly what her face was about.
“Nothing.” She wanted to tell him that he would have made a good investigator by how he could easily slip in and out of situations and manipulate people. But in truth, she didn’t know him at all, and even more than that, she wasn’t sure her words would come out as flirtatious, the way she wanted them to be. She couldn’t trust herself.
In the silence that followed, Luke shrugged and then asked, “So. What month and date and year are we looking for?”
Heather headed toward the birth certificate section, where she dropped down to 1977— the year she’d been born. “My birthday is in February,” she told him. Her finger ticked along the stacks of boxes until she found the month. She then dragged the box out and leafed through the multiple documents, which were filed in alphabetical order. “I guess if I was actually born in Bar Harbor, I would have my father’s last name— Keating.”
“As opposed to?”
“I was Harvey as a kid,” Heather explained. “We didn’t want anything to do with my dad. Not until recently.”
Luke nodded firmly as Heather continued to hunt. But soon, her hunt fell flat. February 1977 featured a number of other babies— all of whom had lived on the planet just as long as Heather had, a full forty-four years— yet her birth certificate was nowhere to be found.
“No record,” she whispered. Her heartbeat sped up. “Maybe that means his letter is just ramblings? Maybe I was really born in Portland after all?”
She glanced up to find Luke’s eyes. He gave a half-shrug.
“I know. It doesn’t matter to you,” she lamented as she placed the box back on the shelf.
“It does,” Luke insisted. “I know how horrible it feels not to belong to anything or anyone.”
She turned and locked eyes with him. His swirled with emotion, and his words felt deep as if he had been wounded. Heather wanted to know more about his past now that he was being slightly vulnerable with her, but she decided not to ask anything. At that moment, there was the clicking of Monica’s heels and then the bright flash of her hair in the doorway.
“Hey, Luke-y? Can you wrap up in here? My boss is about to come back, and he doesn’t love it when people rifle around in the files.”
**
LATER THAT NIGHT, HEATHER collapsed back in the house and flicked through the channels on the TV, waiting for Nicole’s arrival back from the inn. In the wake of their unfortunate search that morning, she and Luke had wandered around Bar Harbor, both at a loss, hardly speaking. Heather had told him briefly about her work as a fantasy writer for young children and teens, which had fascinated him.
“For a long time, I didn’t know you were allowed to do stuff in life that you actually wanted to do,” he’d explained after that.
These words had thrilled and fascinated Heather. She’d never known herself to settle. Now that Luke worked as a sous chef, it seemed he had found his way to what he actually wanted. But what lurked in his past that made his eyes so somber sometimes?
Still, Heather felt she couldn’t pry.
When Nicole entered, she was a flurry of activity. She walked around the living room, dropped her purse on the opposite chair, and told a series of harrowing stories about the guests at the Keating Inn who’d tried their hand at destroying an entire suite. “I swear, I should know better by now than to let bachelor parties stay at the inn,” Nicole groaned as she yanked her hair from its ponytail. “But they seemed so nice and sweet yesterday. You know, before the buckets of booze.”
Heather couldn’t be fully present in the conversation, not with the pressing weight of her fears. Slowly, Nicole recognized these worries lurking behind her eyes. As sisters— or something like it— they could read one another like a book.
“What’s wrong, Heather?” She dropped down on the chair across from her as Heather’s face crumpled.
“I want to tell you. But I think we have to call Casey, too.”
Nicole’s hands shook as she gripped her tablet and dialed Casey. Heather could sense the fears that raced behind Nicole’s eyes. Probably, she assumed Heather was about to announce a real illness— cancer or heart disease or something equally sinister.
Casey’s face sprung up on the tablet. She looked disgruntled.
“There they are,” she said, exasperated. “The women who turned their backs on me.”
Heather’s lower lip quivered. Immediately, Casey’s face shifted to one of shock.
“Heather? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Nicole’s shoulders dropped. She swung an arm around Heather, the youngest sister, and announced, “Apparently, Heather has something to tell us.”
“Oh, my God,” Casey whispered.
Heather’s heart banged in her chest. “It’s not what you think,” she tried. “But it’s a huge shock to me. I did some digging in the basement of the Keating Inn, and I found an old letter. Dad wrote it to Mom, and it was addressed from Bar Harbor to Portland. The only reason it’s here is because Mom used the letter to write her response on the back. The letter is kind of a ramble— a real mess.”
“Dad wasn’t in his right mind, Heather,” Casey whispered.
“I know that,” Heather said.
“He took his own life,” Casey countered.
“I know. But this letter—” Heather lifted the letter itself from the binding of the leather book beside her. Nicole took it and began to read it furiously as Heather continued. “It basically insinuates that Dad was here in Bar Harbor with a toddler that had jet-black hair and a mole beneath her chin. And he asks Mom if she’ll meet him and pleads for her to take the toddler.”
Nicole’s nostrils flared as she continued to read. Her eyes were like glass. Casey remained silent. When Nicole finished her read-through, she flipped the letter over and read Jane’s words. A strange and low sound escaped her lips.
“What?” Casey demanded.
“Umm. It’s weird. It’s really weird.” Nicole hung her head as she flipped the letter back over and reread it.
“Come on. We can’t just take this letter as proof of anything,” Casey huffed with impatience.
Heather pressed her lips together as Casey continued to rattle out facts they knew about their father. That he was unreliable, and their mother and aunt hadn’t ever had much good to say about him.
“Mom was just always so vocal about the three of us. Us three girls,” Heather said finally. “I just can’t get my mind around the idea that it might not be true. That it might be a lie.”
Silence fell again. Nicole dropped her shoulders and lifted her chin toward the tablet to look at Casey again.
“Mom always said I was born in Portland,” Heather said finally. “But today, I looked through the birth records here in Bar Harbor.”
“Anything?” Casey asked.
“No,” Heather admitted.
“Maybe I can do some investigating here,” Casey offered. “Maybe we can even find proof that what Mom always said is true.”
Heather’s heart lifted. “That would be incredible, Case. Seriously.”
“Anything for my baby sister,” Casey said.
“That’s what I’m terrified of,” Heather breathed. “I’m terrified we’re only half sisters. I’m terrified that we’re not—”
“Shh,” Casey said. She waved a hand back and forth in front of the screen. “We don’t know anything for sure yet.” She then gave Heather a funny smile and said, “I told you not to go back to Bar Harbor, didn’t I? Now, look at the can of worms you’ve opened.”