Whispers of Nantucket (The Coleman #11)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

October 1982

I t was another stormy night on Martha’s Vineyard. From where he lay in bed next to his wife, Mia, Chuck Coleman watched through the crack in the drapes as lightning burst through a jet-black sky. Waves surged against the stones that lined the beachside property. October was rife with this kind of weather on the Atlantic; he’d always known this because the ocean had raised him. He knew it as well as his own body—sometimes even better.

However, the difference between this October and all those previous ones was that Chuck Coleman was on Martha’s Vineyard. After years of living two separate lives, a life of lies and confusion, he’d left Nantucket—and his first family—for good. And for whatever reason, maybe it was his imagination or his guilty conscience, he felt as though these October storms on Martha’s Vineyard were a thousand times more harrowing, as though God himself was prepared to rip Martha’s Vineyard out of the ocean and throw it through the sky. Maybe Chuck deserved it. But all of Martha’s Vineyard certainly didn’t. His girls and new wife certainly didn’t.

The attempt to sleep was useless. Chuck knew better than to try. It felt like a waste of time.

Carefully, so as not to wake his wife, Chuck got out of bed and tiptoed to the hallway, where he closed the door behind him and then opened Meghan’s and Oriana’s bedroom doors to check on them. Look at how tender they looked! How sweet! But time was passing too quickly. Oriana was already ten, and Meghan was seven years old. His heart swelled with affection for his little girls. Although he loved his second wife, Mia, dearly—with his entire heart—it wasn’t lost on him that he’d finally gotten up the nerve to go to Martha’s Vineyard for good because he wanted to help raise his little girls. Roland and Grant were both fully grown now. Plus, they hated him for what he’d done.

Chuck would have liked to shield them from that reality as long as he could. But they’d found out about his affair and second life on their own. And they wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Well, they wanted everything to do with his money, but that was something else. It couldn’t be helped. Maybe Chuck had raised his boys to be selfish and money-driven. Perhaps that was to be expected since he’d been selfish and money-driven for much of his own life.

Children always paid attention.

Chuck wandered downstairs and made himself a mug of tea. Rain splattered the back patio and glinted on the window. The clock over the stove said it was just past eleven thirty, which meant there was still hope for him. If he got to bed by one or two, he’d still be able to work tomorrow.

Chuck went to his study to read for a little while. He was in the middle of Moby Dick , a novel about a madman’s quest to kill a big white whale. It hadn’t taken Chuck long to see himself as the main character. Maybe his quest for happiness was akin to the main character’s quest to kill Moby Dick. Perhaps that was why he’d cheated on Margaret. Maybe life was a continual battle—a long, difficult journey punctuated by moments of joy. The births of his four children—each of them, including Roland and Grant—had been sensational moments for him. Sometimes he wished he could have bottled his emotions when he’d held each of them for the first time. He would have liked to return to that feeling every once in a while, the way you could return to a photograph or a favorite meal. But babies grew up quickly. Memories became foggy.

The storm petered out by midnight. Still, Chuck wasn’t sleepy. He imagined that the minute he slipped into bed next to Mia, he’d toss and turn, his thoughts spinning with anxiety until he was forced out again. Rather than pour himself a glass of whiskey—which he might have done back in Nantucket—he decided to go for a walk to clear his head. It was in the low fifties, warm enough for just a light jacket, and he put on a pair of rain boots and a bucket hat and stepped onto the back patio, closing the door behind him. The clouds were moving quickly over a nearly full moon, and Chuck thought that was fitting. After all, it was nearly Halloween. The girls had already picked out their costumes, and he’d promised to take them trick-or-treating, just as he’d once taken Roland and Grant.

Aren’t you done with parenting? a friend from out of town had asked him when he’d told him what was happening and that he had two secret little girls who needed him. Haven’t you had enough?

How could anyone “have enough” of this?

Parenting was one of the most soul-affirming, difficult, and remarkably beautiful things Chuck had ever done. He’d built an enormous business and made buckets of money. But he’d also taught his children to ride their bikes. He’d taught them how to tie their shoes. He’d taught and taught and taught. He just hoped they didn’t learn too much from him. He hoped they never wronged their romantic partners the way he had. He hoped they were honest and genuine.

It didn’t matter that Margaret had cheated on him first. He’d forced her into that, too.

Oh, Margaret. He thought of her now, imagining her the way she’d been when he’d first met her. How he’d loved her! His Nantucket Princess. They’d sailed for hours and hours, kissing beneath cerulean skies, never imagining for a second that they wouldn’t be together. Never imagining that they’d fall in love with anyone else.

Chuck started walking down the beach toward the lighthouse. As ever, it flashed its big light across the landscape and over the water, around and around. Back in Nantucket, Chuck hadn’t lived near the lighthouse, and this one intrigued him so much that he found himself walking toward it as though it were his guiding light. He hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, but he had the moon and the lighthouse. What else could he ever need?

When Chuck approached the lighthouse, something caught his eye along the water. A man stood gazing out across the waves, smoking a cigarette. Chuck guessed the man was maybe ten years older than Chuck’s fifty-one—in his sixties, at least—although the wind and sun and salt did something to sailors’ and seamen’s faces that made them look more rugged and older.

The man sensed Chuck and turned to scowl at him. Although Chuck was still on the beach, he was pretty sure he was on private property or else the portion of the beach that belonged to the lighthouse. He took a step back and waved his hand with an apology.

But the man beckoned for Chuck to come closer.

A shiver went down Chuck’s spine. Without knowing why, exactly, he went over to the man. Maybe he was too curious not to. But more than that, Chuck was a man of six-foot-three with broad shoulders. Nothing much in the world scared him—save for loneliness and his children’s safety.

“Evening,” Chuck addressed the man, whom he didn’t recognize as he approached. But that wasn’t so strange. Although he’d done business on Martha’s Vineyard for years and spent many weeks with Mia, Oriana, and Meghan, he hadn’t properly lived here till now. It meant he didn’t know everyone the way he did in Nantucket.

Meeting a stranger was a relatively new concept to him.

“Good evening.” The man raised two fuzzy eyebrows.

“Chuck Coleman.” Chuck extended his hand.

“Ah! The adulterer.” The man pressed his lips together as his eyes shifted. They were difficult to read.

Chuck shimmered with anger. It wasn’t surprising that this man had heard of him since Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket thrived on gossip. But it was a shock that he’d come out with it just like that.

He’s one of these sailor types , Chuck thought. Harmless but a waste of my time.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, shaking his head. “That was rude of me. I spend almost all of my time alone. It does something to the head. I’m Clarence Knight.”

Chuck shook Clarence’s hand but still decided to head home. “Pleasure.”

Clarence tilted his head toward the lighthouse. “I work up there.”

Chuck’s curiosity was piqued. “You’re the lighthouse keeper!”

Clarence’s eyes glinted as though he knew this was the kind of thing that would impress someone like Chuck. “My son is up there right now, taking care of the light. His mother died many years ago. But he’s older now and much more mature than I was at that age. He’s capable of taking on the light, I reckon.”

Chuck nodded, thinking of Roland and Grant, wondering if they’d ever talk to him again.

“Would you like to see it?” Clarence asked.

Chuck couldn’t say no.

Clarence put out his cigarette and put it in a little box he kept in his pocket, presumably because he didn’t want to litter on such a gorgeous beach, then led Chuck through the rocks to the bright red door of the lighthouse. Once inside, they climbed up and up and up the stairs all the way to the top, where Clarence’s son manned the light. His son was maybe sixteen or seventeen, fresh-faced and innocent in a way that contrasted his father’s face remarkably. It was hard to imagine that Clarence had ever looked like that, but Chuck had seen his own father’s transformation from young man to older man and knew it could be abrupt. For whatever reason, Chuck looked slightly younger than he was. Mia’s theory about that was that she was forty-one and ten years younger than him, and therefore, she “kept him young.” But all the heartache in his life should have aged him. Shouldn’t it have?

Clarence’s son, Travis, showed Chuck around the little room at the top of the lighthouse. He seemed pleased to explain the various mechanisms to Chuck, speaking animatedly. It occurred to Chuck that it was a school night. Wasn’t Travis supposed to go to high school tomorrow? But he decided it was rude to ask. Maybe Travis had flunked or dropped out. Maybe Clarence had decided to homeschool him.

“It’s the first time my dad ever let me operate the place by myself,” Travis explained, rubbing his palms together.

“How did it go?” Chuck asked.

“He’s a natural, like his father,” Clarence said from behind Chuck.

Chuck turned as Clarence bent down to retrieve some whiskey from a cabinet. Chuck wondered if Clarence was using his son as a sober lighthouse keeper so he could fade in and out of tipsiness throughout the night. When did lighthouse keepers go to bed? Chuck wondered. Was it up to them to stay up all night to make sure the light didn’t go out?

Chuck had lived on an island all his life. Why didn’t he know the answer to that?

“Let me pour you a drink,” Clarence offered. “You need one.”

Chuck rubbed the back of his neck and thought of his wife and daughters back home. They probably hadn’t even realized he was gone.

He thought of Margaret sleeping in the bed they’d shared for years—all the way over on Nantucket. Had she seen the same storm?

He thought of the grandchildren Roland and Grant would never let him see again. Maybe they’d have children in the future, too. Maybe Chuck would never know about them.

“Yeah. I need one,” Chuck admitted. His heart shattered at the edges.

In the lighthouse towering over his adopted island of Martha’s Vineyard, Chuck allowed himself a few moments of reprieve. He didn’t think about how much he blamed himself for everything that had gone wrong. He didn’t feel the staggering weight of regret.

But then, something happened.

“Wait.” Chuck hurried to the window to peer out into the black. “I think I saw something.”

“Was it a sea monster?” Clarence asked with a short laugh.

Chuck didn’t answer. He fixated on that spot in the far distance, waiting for the light to flash over it again.

When it did, he barked, “A ship! There’s a ship!”

It was so far in the distance that it was difficult to make out. In some ways, it really did look like a massive sea monster, all tilted and strange in the black. But something was off about it. Its lights were off, for one, which maybe meant it had lost power. And two, Chuck was pretty sure too much of the bow was dipped into the water.

The storm had taken hold of it.

Clarence and Travis came to the window to follow his gaze. When they saw what he saw, Clarence hurried to sound the alarm and call the Coast Guard. Things sped up after that. Chuck watched from the window as helicopters and boats sped out to the great sinking vessel. His heart pounded in his throat. Beside him, Travis and Clarence were quiet and solemn, neither willing to admit that Chuck had been the one to see the ship first and, therefore, do their job for them. But Chuck wasn’t one to cast blame. Most likely, they would have seen the ship eventually. Probably.