43. Margot
The sun sparkled on the early morning water. I carried two cups of coffee in my hand. I was going to attempt something I had never attempted before. I watched a graceful heron skirt over the surface of the water as I crossed the parking lot. I was careful not to slosh either of the mugs. My stomach did a little flip and I held my breath as I approached the fisherman on the end of the pier.
“Hi.” I smiled. “I brought you a cup of coffee.” I placed it on the piling closest to him.
I stood back and waited for something to happen. He cast his line again.
“I’ve been here for months, and I see you out here every single morning so I thought we should finally meet. What better way to meet than over a morning cup of coffee, right? So, here I am,” I babbled. “I’m Margot. You probably know that, but Walt’s niece, Margot.”
He jerked on the line and reeled in a few inches before giving it another yank.
“John.”
I blinked. “You’re John?” I nodded. Okay.
“Thanks for the coffee.” He reached to the side and brought it to his lips. I couldn’t read his expression beneath the hat. The brim concealed his reaction. “Good.” He placed it on the top of the post.
“Okay, then. Good luck with the fish.” I started to back away.
“There’s another pole.”
“What?” I knew we were alone, but I still believed he must be talking to someone else.
“Grab that pole over there. Come on.”
I was too astonished to argue with him. I rested my coffee mug near his and rushed to the end of the pier where he had pointed to the pole. I returned carrying it like I was holding a sword.
He stared at me. “You ever fished?”
“Not since I was a little kid,” I confessed.
“All right.”
I waited for more instructions, but John didn’t say another word. He reeled his line in before taking mine and attaching bait to the hook. He walked a few paces away and cast it over his shoulder.
“Here.” He handed the rod to me. “Crank it if you get something.”
“I can do that.” I stood next to him, waiting for something to happen. Part of me knew it already was happening whether we caught any fish or not.
The water was bright. I realized why he wore a hat every day. I was thinking about going inside to get my wide-brimmed straw hat I liked to take with me on beach walks. I looked over and saw Dean’s car pulling into the parking lot.
“I need to go see why he’s here,” I explained. I brought the line onto the spool. I didn’t know how long Dean would stay so I returned the fishing rod to the stack of others. “Thanks for the lesson.” I smiled at John as I walked away.
I thought I saw his lips turn upward, but I couldn’t be sure.
Dean greeted me on the steps of the cottage. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Were you fishing?” he asked. He looked perplexed.
I laughed. “I was trying to. I didn’t catch anything.”
“I think that’s what fishing is. A lot of trying with little results.”
“Maybe.” I shoved my hands in the back pockets of my shorts. “Did you come to bring me another tax bill?”
“No. No bills this time. Let’s go in.” He was wearing a charcoal suit. I was certain he was sweating beneath the pressed white shirt.
I led him in through the screen porch and into the air conditioning. I poured a glass of water. He sat at the kitchen table, withdrawing an envelope from his briefcase. It wasn’t the usual legal envelope or one of the blue folders filled with threatening letters. He slid the envelope toward me.
“This is for you.”
“What’s this?” I ripped open the top and retrieved a check from inside. The check was made out to me and signed by Island Stewards, LLC. I stared at the amount typed into the payment box. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Dean shook his head. “It came to my office yesterday. I put a call in to the bank. It’s legit. The funds are there, and it will clear.”
“But twenty thousand dollars?” I took a seat at the table. “I’ve never heard of Island Stewards, LLC. What’s this company?”
Dean took out his notebook. “I’ve tried to look into that too. All I know is it’s an LLC for another LLC. Basically, that’s a shell company, hiding the identity of the members. There was a letter that came with it.” He unfolded a printed page. “It clearly states these funds are supposed to go to you and are for the preservation of Marshoak Island’s Blue Heron Marina.”
“But who? Why?” I was stunned. Then my eyes turned to Dean. “You did this, didn’t you? I told you I’m not taking your money, Dean. I’ll figure out how to save the marina without a loan from you.”
He lifted his hands in the air. “Hey, it’s not from me. I can show you everything it came in. Here’s the letter.” He handed it to me. “My offer is still good, but I swear to you this was sent by the LLC with strict instructions for you to have the funds.”
It was hard to believe him. He’d tried on many different occasions to give me money. The legal complexities of this check seemed like something an attorney would know how to do.
“If it’s not you, then who is it?”
“I wish I knew. But it does solve your problems. You can pay the back taxes, Margot. Get the IRS off your back and there’s enough to do some of the upgrades you want.”
“But who would do something so generous and not want to be recognized?”
“Maybe you have a fairy godmother.” He smiled. “It happens.”
“Not to me. I end up with rundown marinas.” I grimaced, holding the check in my hands. If I read it enough times maybe I could garner a clue. Interpret one of the details Dean had missed.
“There’s no way we can figure out where the money came from?” I wasn’t going to let it go.
“I didn’t say that. I’m still working on it. Just because the benefactor doesn’t want to be found doesn’t mean I can’t find them. They used a bank at Pointe Harbor. My guess is there are in the area and local.”
“That narrows it down?” I slumped over the table.
“I thought you’d be happy about the money.”
I raised my head. “I am happy. I think I’m suspicious. An anonymous donor?”
“I can deposit it for you in the trust and pay the taxes if you want?”
I took a deep breath. The taxes kept me up at night. I worried nightly the IRS would show up on my doorstep one day and throw me in a van, ready to haul me off to prison. I didn’t think that’s how it actually worked, but it was a nightmare I couldn’t shake.
“Okay. Yes, pay the taxes.”
“Good. I’ll take care of it for you.”
I signed the back of the check and returned it to Dean. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket next to his chest.
“I’m going straight to the bank from here and I have the tax documents at my office. I have court this afternoon too on the mainland.”
“I was wondering about the dark suit.”
“The judge doesn’t care if it’s summer or not. Can’t wear a light suit to court.” He groaned and rose from the table. “Anything else you need from me right now?”
“I have access to the account, right?”
“Of course you do.”
“Will you send me the balance after all the taxes are paid?”
“I’ll have my assistant email the balance sheet tomorrow. Does that work?” He moved toward the door.
I was thinking about all the plans Caleb, and I had brainstormed for the Blue Heron. There was still time before the end of the summer to try movie nights on the water. I could buy a working ice machine and maybe a vending machine. I could repair the broken boards and paint a new sign on the road, pointing tourists down the winding gravel road.
“Margot?”
I looked up. “Huh?”
“Does it work to send the balance sheet to you tomorrow?”
“Oh yes.” I nodded. “That’s great. Thank you, Dean.”
He tapped the doorframe. “I’m glad I finally got to bring you some good news. You were due for some, kid.” He smiled as he left the cottage.
I took out a sheet of paper and started making a list of what to prioritize first. It was clear I needed to make the repairs before I invited more customers onto the property. One lawsuit would destroy all plans I had.
Ever since Ethan had gone back to New York last week, I had been slowly healing my scars again. It was a different kind of pain than I had experienced the first time. It was a different kind of repair too. I didn’t hide under the quilt. I didn’t shut the blinds. I didn’t shut Caleb out. I took my time to tell him stories about my parents. I took my time to move through the day.
I spent more time on the beach, adding to my shell collection. I set aside hours for my journals. I watched the boats sail in the harbor. I went for swims. I dropped by Reel Time for biscuits each morning.
I’d learned the locals’ names. I knew all the roads and even the back pathways to get to the coves. I could list off the family businesses and had finally memorized the ferry schedule. The social media accounts for the Blue Heron were up and running.
For the first time, I had found my footing on Marshoak. I hadn’t realized how it had all come together until now. I smiled. I didn’t want to admit it, but all this time I was plagued with fear. Scared of the taxes. Terrified of the building and the piers falling in around me. The anonymous donor had given me hope. They had given me a gift I’d never be able to repay.
I had enough money to stay. I wouldn’t leave him again. I knew now what my purpose had been. Why the book had failed. Why Uncle Walt had given me the Blue Heron.
I had the answers I’d been seeking for seven years.
Caleb was the first person I was going to call.