Chapter 6 #2
"Hand me that drill?"
Clara climbed the temporary ladder without a word, tool in hand. She looked tired. Annoyed. Beautiful in that wind-whipped, sun-kissed way that wreaked havoc with his mantra of keeping a safe distance from anything that threatened his wanderlust.
He took the drill, their fingers brushing briefly. "Thanks. You didn't have to climb up."
"Seemed faster than throwing it."
“I appreciate not having to duck.” He lined up a screw, drove it home. The brilliant blue skies and the warmth of the sun made a liar out the weather’s recent bipolar weather pattern. “This is a good town.”
“They're nosy as all get out.”
"They care about each other. That's not nosiness—that's community." Jack moved to the next joint. “It’s a good thing. Trust me, when it’s gone, you realize you should’ve appreciated it.”
Clara shifted her weight, glancing his way with those gorgeous, mossy green eyes that somehow seemed to see right through him. “In all this time, you’ve never been back home?”
The question hit hard.
“Um, no,” he admitted. “I mean, it wasn’t planned that way, it just…
something always seemed to come up and the opportunity never presented itself.
But it’s not like I don’t keep in touch.
My sister requires regular check-ins and then she lets my mom know what I’m up to.
And I try to send a postcard from the places that I think they’d enjoy seeing. ”
“Have you called your sister since nearly drowning?”
“No, not yet.”
“You might want to do that.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely on my to-do list. I just…haven’t worked up the courage yet to face the verbal ass-chewing that’s coming my way.”
A beat passed between them before Clara smiled, surveying his work. “You’re really good. This new stage is going to be great. Thanks for doing this.”
He returned the smile, warming beneath her praise. They held each other’s gaze a moment too long before Clara abruptly broke contact and climbed back down to the ground to continue helping in her own way.
By late afternoon, the stage was nearly complete. Jack climbed down, stretching his back with a wince. Seven hours of work. His ribs were screaming.
"You should take a break," Clara said.
"Almost done. Just need the railing and a safety check."
"Jack."
She'd used his name. Not "you" or "carpenter" or any deflection. Just his name.
He looked at her, surprised.
"Your ribs," she continued, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "You're favoring your left side. Have been for the past hour."
"I'm fine."
"You're still recovering from being dashed against the rocks. You need to take it easy.”
Jack's mouth quirked. “Lighthouse keeper, illustrator and nurse? Damn, your talents are endless.”
“Ha ha, smart-ass. Maybe I just don’t want you to have an excuse to hang around for longer than necessary because you hurt yourself again,” she quipped with the cutest hint of a smile. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Intrigued, he holstered his hammer on his tool belt. “Okay, you’ve got my interest. Let me tell Thomas we're done for the day.”
Clara took the lead, choosing a winding path that meandered away from the center of town and toward the beach.
They walked along the coastal path in comfortable silence.
The cove appeared suddenly—a small crescent of sand sheltered by high cliffs, accessible only through a narrow gap you'd miss if you didn't know to look.
“Oh wow,” Jack breathed. "This is incredible."
"It’s my favorite spot.” Clara sat on a flat rock overlooking the water. "My Gran brought me here to collect shells. She said sometimes you need a place that gives more than it takes.”
“The more I learn about this wise woman, the more I wish I could’ve met her. I could probably use a little wisdom in my life.”
“She was good for telling it like it is but in a nice way.”
Jack sat beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her shoulder. The sun hung low, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
"Thank you," he said. "For bringing me here."
"You earned it. Though I should tell you—you were wrangled into a job that could've been handled by anyone back there."
He laughed. "I know."
“You caught onto that, huh?”
"Of course. That was a vetting disguised as a favor." Jack picked up a stone, turned it over. "They wanted to make sure that you’re safe around me.”
Clara's eyes widened with mortification, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. They’re all locked into the 1950s and have no clue that two single adults don’t automatically need to pair up.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Jack said. "They love you. The whole town. It's obvious. That’s a gift.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still embarrassing.”
"Clara." He looked at her. "They check on you constantly. Mrs. Patterson asked me three times if you seemed happy." Jack's voice softened. “They all seem fairly concerned about your welfare and it’s…I don’t know, really sweet.”
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the water. “They need to just leave me be. I’m fine.”
He sighed. “That’s the thing about family, they aren’t always convenient in how they show up.
Back home, in Lockport, everyone knowing everyone's business, showing up uninvited with casseroles and advice.
" He smiled, but it hurt. “After my dad, then Joel—" His throat closed. “It was just too much. I couldn’t handle all that attention. Felt suffocating. So I get it, I really do. Now? I see it differently.”
Clara's hand found his. Warm. Steady.
"I ran away from all of that,” Jack admitted.
"Because staying hurt too much. Because every street corner reminded me of them.
Because the people who loved them kept asking if I was okay, and I couldn't answer without lying.
" He stared at their joined hands. "I thought I was running toward freedom.
Turns out I was just running away from the only thing that mattered. "
"Which was?"
"Home. Connection. The kind of people who show up at seven AM to vet the stranger staying with someone they love." Jack's laugh was rough. "The kind of place that feels like family even when your actual family is scattered or gone."
Clara squeezed his hand. "Beacon's End is like that. Annoying and invasive and impossible to escape."
“But they were here for you when you needed them. That’s golden.”
Clara pulled her hand away, wrapping both arms around herself.
“Yes, they were and I appreciate it, I truly do, but one thing that they probably don’t realize is that when they’re constantly hovering around me like a bunch of mother hens, it just reminds me that at one point I was so broken, they were afraid to leave me alone.
It’s hard to move on from that when no one lets you forget. ”
They sat in silence as the sun sank lower, painting everything golden. Jack memorized the moment—the sound of waves, the salt air, Clara's profile against the sunset—knowing he'd need it later when this was just another place he'd left behind.
"We should head back," Clara said finally. "Before it gets dark."
"Yeah."
Neither of them moved.
Because this moment felt important. Fragile. Like something that might not exist again once they left this cove and returned to real life with its deadlines and departures and all the reasons why neither of them should be feeling a certain kind of way.
Finally, Clara stood. Brushed sand from her jeans. Offered him a hand up.
Jack took it, felt the strength in her grip, and wondered what it would be like to hold on instead of letting go.
But he didn't.
Because that's what he did. He left. He moved on. He built temporary things in temporary places for temporary reasons.
Even when a voice whispered the question he wouldn’t answer, what if he stayed?