Chapter 15
B rent didn’t actually sneak out of the B&B the next morning, but he did stealthily go downstairs and slip out the door, careful not to catch the attention of anyone having—or serving—breakfast. He headed to Coastal Coffee for breakfast instead. He wasn’t quite up to friendly chatting with Felicity.
The morning sun was just beginning to warm the air, and sunbeams flickered through the palm fronds. Walking these streets had become a familiar routine to him, a comforting routine he enjoyed. He reached Coastal Coffee and slipped inside. Beverly waved to him and called out, “Sit anywhere you like. Be with you in a sec.”
He took a seat near the back of the cafe. No use sitting in the window where he could be seen if Felicity happened to walk by. Okay, now he was just being ridiculous.
Beverly came over and placed a mug on the table. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
“Darlene run out of breakfast this morning?” Beverly grinned.
He laughed. “I just had some work to do in town this morning and thought I’d stop by here and grab a quick breakfast for a change.” He figured that was a better answer than admitting he was hiding out.
Beverly nodded toward the chalkboard. “We have cinnamon rolls today. And Sal—that’s our cook—made some spinach quiche.”
“I’ll have the quiche with a side of hash browns.”
“Good choice. Won’t be long.” Beverly headed the kitchen, and he opened a folder he brought with him. He leafed through the printouts until he came to the photo of his mother.
He stared at it, tracing the outline of her with his finger. The lighthouse rose behind her, gleaming in the sunlight. His mother’s smile was soft, almost shy, as she gazed at the camera. She couldn’t have been more than a teenager in the picture.
He wondered what she had been like back then. Was she outgoing or reserved? Did she love the beach as much as he did? What dreams did she have for her future?
He tried to remember her voice, her laugh, but those memories were long faded. What would it have been like to know her back then, as a young woman, full of life and possibility?
His eyes drifted to her dress in the photo. The colors were faded. He realized with a twinge of regret that he didn’t even know her favorite color. Such a simple thing, and yet it was lost to him forever.
What foods did she love? Did she have a sweet tooth like him? He remembered her making pot roast on Sundays, but was that her favorite, or just something she knew he and his dad enjoyed?
His chest tightened as he thought about how young she was when she died. There were so many conversations they never got to have, so many experiences they’d missed out on sharing.
He imagined what life might have been like if she’d lived. Would she have encouraged his interest in history? Would she have shared stories about her time on Magnolia Key? Maybe she would have come with him on this research trip, pointing out places she remembered from her youth.
He sighed. His entire life would have been different if she had lived. He might have chosen a different career path, lived in a different city. He might have been a different person entirely.
But then, he realized, he might never have come to Magnolia Key. Never met Felicity. Never uncovered this mystery that seemed to tie his family to this place.
Beverly came over, interrupting his thoughts. She placed his food on the table and nodded toward the photo in his hand. “Who’s that? Part of your research?”
“It’s my mother.” He handed the photo to her.
“She’s pretty.”
“That’s taken right here on the island.”
Beverly looked at the photo closely. “Oh, it is. With the old lighthouse before it got rebuilt. And we’ve recently had some restoration work done on it too. Looks very different now from what it looks like in this photo.”
“Dale pointed out to me that the photo was taken here. He recognized the old version of the lighthouse.”
“So your mom visited here too? Or lived here?”
“I’m not sure. I did a little research online last night, but can’t find any record of her family here on Magnolia Key.”
Beverly pursed her lips, her brow creasing. “You know. You should show that to Miss Eleanor. She might know. The Whitmores know everyone on the island. Their family has been here for generations.” Beverly tilted her head to a table further back in the cafe. “She’s over there having her breakfast if you want to show it to her.”
He glanced over. “I’ll eat and let her finish her meal, then I’ll pop over there and show it to her.” He had to admit he was a bit intimidated by the idea. She’d been very vague about Prince Lawrence, though he was sure she’d recognized the name. But maybe she would know something about his mother? He couldn’t let the opportunity to ask her pass by.
He ate his meal, keeping an eye on Miss Eleanor. He wanted to catch her before she left. As she appeared to be finishing her coffee, he rose and crossed over to her table.
She looked up at him pointedly. “Yes?”
“Good morning, Miss Eleanor. Brent Dunn, remember me?”
“Yes, of course.” She nodded brusquely.
“I wanted to show you this photograph and see if you recognized the woman in it.”
Miss Eleanor just sat there, not extending a hand nor agreeing to look at it. He held the photo out to her. “Please? Can you just see if you recognize her?”
She slowly took the photo, and the color drained out of her features. A small gasp escaped her lips. “Joanie,” she said softly, almost as if she didn’t know she said the word out loud.
He steadied himself against the table. “Yes. Joan. Her maiden name was?—”
“Burton.” She looked up at him, her eyes darkening. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in my mother’s things. It’s… my mother.”
He swore she got even paler. “Your mother?”
He nodded.
She traced her finger along the edge of the photo, almost as if she were remembering the exact moment it was taken, before looking back up at him. “And is she—alive?”
He shook his head. “No, she died when I was a child.”
“I see.”
“Did you know her?” he asked as he took the seat across from her.
“I did. I knew… her brother.”
“My mother had a brother?” Why had no one ever said that to him? Of course, his father’s family had raised him and didn’t talk about his mother. Maybe they didn’t even know much about her.
“Yes. Jonah.”
Miss Eleanor’s voice cracked.
“I never heard anything about Mom having a brother.”
Miss Eleanor looked at him, and he knew what he was seeing in her eyes was raw pain. “Jonah… he died. During a hurricane that came through. He was working on securing boats at the marina and was swept away. I never saw Joanie again after the hurricane. After Jonah was… gone.”
He felt a stab of pain for the loss of an uncle he never even knew existed. “Did they live here on the island?” He struggled to process all the information Miss Eleanor was giving him.
“No, they lived on the mainland. But Jonah worked here on the island. Came over on his boat every day. He often brought Joanie with him. She adored him. She was about four years younger, I believe. But every summer, she came over with him while he worked and hung out at the marina with him.” She tapped her finger on the photo. “I was there that day the photo was taken. One of Joanie. One of Jonah.”
“I only found the one of my mother.” He frowned. “What about their parents? Do you know anything about them?”
Miss Eleanor gave a small smile. “They were hardworking people. Your grandfather worked as a carpenter. Mostly on the mainland, but sometimes over here on the island. I believe your grandmother was a seamstress.”
“Well, that gives me a little more to go on. I’m trying to learn more about my mother’s side of the family. You’ve been a big help.”
She nodded slowly, a sadness clinging to her features. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He rose. “I hope so too.”
Felicity cleared up the last of the breakfast dishes and brought a tray full of them into the kitchen. She’d been sorry that Brent hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning. But then, she’d been a little relieved too.
“Here you go, Gran. Last of the dishes.” She set the tray on the counter. “Why don’t you let me finish cleaning up here?”
“Nonsense. I can get these. Don’t you want to find Brent and help him with his research?”
“I thought I’d work on the storage shed today. Go through the boxes and clean up in there. I’m sure there are things we don’t need anymore. If I get it cleaned up, you’ll have more storage space for things we do need.”
“You don’t have to do that. That’s quite a project.”
“Gran, I’m here to help, remember?”
“Okay, okay. But don’t overdo it. You don’t have to tackle it all today.”
Felicity crossed the yard and pulled open the door to the storage shed, a musty scent greeting her. Dust danced in the beams of morning light that slipped through the windows, adding an otherworldly quality to the cluttered interior.
She glanced over to the corner where she used to play as a young girl. Believing this was her castle, and the world outside, her kingdom. The memories brought a smile to her lips.
She stepped farther inside, eyeing the stacks of boxes piled against the walls. Some sat haphazardly, while others were neatly labeled in Gran’s careful handwriting.
She’d always found it fascinating how a single shed could hold so many memories. She explored every corner of the space as a child, building imaginary worlds out of forgotten treasures. Now, as an adult, the shed represented a different kind of adventure—one rooted in practicality and the desire to assist Gran.
After clearing space on the floor, she set to work, rifling through the first box of red, white, and blue decorations—remnants of Fourth of July celebrations. The next box held odd kitchenware. Each box told a story of the guests who’d once stayed at Bayside, of summer flings and lazy afternoons spent on the porch. She fondly remembered one particular family who returned every summer while their children were young, and she always shared her special place here in the shed with their daughters.
Enough of the memories. She had a job to do. She divided the contents into two sections. Items to keep and items to discard. A stray glass vase, pretty but with a small chip at the rim, joined the pile meant for charitable donation. The Christmas lights with frayed cords went into the trash pile. An antique lamp that didn’t work, but look liked it might be of some value, was set aside to show to Dale. Maybe he could fix it.
Despite the physical exertion, she found comfort in the repetitive task. Her mind wandered to other simpler times, before the complications of adulthood overtook her dreams. As she worked, she thought about Brent and his recent findings—his mother’s connection to Magnolia Key, the tangled history and secrets they’d uncovered about the prince, and the whirlwind it had stirred within her.
After sorting through what must have been the twentieth box, she hauled it to the porch, setting it down with a gratifying thump.
And there he was—Brent—sauntering down the path leading back to the B&B. He was backlit by the sun and looking as if he belonged to the landscape itself. His steps were even, yet there was something about his unhurried gait that highlighted his growing connection with the island.
She hesitated for a moment, caught between impulse and indecision. Should she call out to him? Part of her wanted to, eager to pick up their conversation where they’d left off, to hear more about what he’d discovered. Perhaps he’d made progress on his mother’s history, or located another piece in the puzzle of Prince Lawrence. Yet another part of her balked, wary of tangling further with emotions she’d carefully compartmentalized.
So there she stood, gripping the box, with invisible strings pulling her in conflicting directions.
He seemed unaware of her presence, absorbed in his own thoughts. She watched him for a moment longer, admiring his relaxed presence while she stood there as tense as a fiddle string.
A fragile balance settled on her, warring between wanting to reach out and allowing things to remain unsaid. The presence of her uncertainty felt like a physical weight. She knew it wasn’t just about speaking to him right now. It was about everything she’d been feeling. Her desire for change, the pull back toward the island—a familiar place of comfort and security—and her indecision about her future.
Seconds ticked by, yet it felt like an eternity.
Then the decision was taken out of her hands. He spied her and waved, turning to cross the distance to the shed.
Her heartbeat quickened as Brent approached, his tentative smile disarming her defenses. She busied herself with the box, attempting to appear nonchalant.
“Hey there. What are you up to?” He said it normally. Just like their conversation last night had never happened. Like he fully grasped the whole let’s-just-be-friends-thing and was fine with it. And she didn’t know if that made her happy—or not.
She gestured to the shed. “Just cleaning out some of the old stuff. Trying to make more space for Gran.” She refused to admit she was hiding out…
“Well, I have some news.” He stepped up on the porch and leaned against the railing, a mere foot or so away from her.
“Oh?” She forced her gaze away from the few inches of railing between them.
“I went to Coastal Coffee this morning and ran into Miss Eleanor. She recognized my mother in the photo I showed her.”
Surprise swept through her. “Really? What did she say?”
“Apparently, my mother didn’t live on the island, but on the mainland. But Miss Eleanor knew her. And her brother, Jonah. But Jonah died in a hurricane.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He gave her a small smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t even know he existed. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s also another piece of the puzzle, you know? I have more to go on now, to research my mom’s family.”
She was a tiny bit disappointed she hadn’t been there with him when he found out this new information. She ignored that feeling and smiled at him. “That’s great that you have more to go on now. It must be kind of exciting to uncover these new pieces of your family history.”
“It really is. I feel like I’m getting closer to understanding my mom’s connection to this place.”
She was genuinely happy for him. “So, what’s your next step?”
“I’m going to do some digging into records about Jonah and see if I can find any information about the hurricane he died in. Maybe that will lead me to more about my mom’s time here.”
She felt a familiar tug of curiosity, wanting to offer her help, but she held back. They’d agreed to just be friends, and she didn’t want to complicate things further.
“Well, good luck with your research,” she said, lifting a box and moving it to a different pile—the wrong pile—she’d just have to move it back when he left. “I should probably get back to this.”
He straightened up from the railing. “Right, of course. I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for listening.”
He turned and started walking back toward the B&B. A mix of emotions swirled inside her as she watched him go—relief that their interaction had been friendly and uncomplicated, but also a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t asked for her help with his research.
As he climbed onto the porch of the B&B, she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away.
She stood there a moment longer, then turned and picked up the box to move it back to the correct pile. The weight of the box in her arms served as an anchor to reality while her thoughts drifted between what could be and what should be. The gentle island breeze rustled the leaves of the magnolia beside the shed, seeming to whisper about the lost possibilities she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge were gone for good.
Eleanor sat at her dressing table, the same one she’d had since childhood. The antique wood was worn smooth from decades of use, its surface laden with an array of brushes, lotions, and face creams. She picked up her silver-handled hairbrush and began to stroke her hair, the rhythmic motion soothing her troubled thoughts.
At her feet, Winston snoozed contentedly. His soft snores provided a reassuring background noise as she continued her nightly ritual.
She set down her hairbrush and stared at the side drawer, trying to make up her mind. The drawer called to her, and she slowly opened it, not sure if she was making the right decision. Her fingers searched the back until she felt the edge of the envelope. She hesitated for a moment before pulling it out.
Opening the worn, wrinkled envelope, she slipped out a photograph. It was a picture of Jonah, standing in front of the old Magnolia Key lighthouse. The same lighthouse that appeared in the photograph Brent had found of his mother, Joanie.
Jonah stood there, a wide smile on his face. He’d had such a wonderful smile that never failed to warm her every time she saw it. Back then, all those years ago… and now, to this day. Though now, it brought with it a sadness that seeped through her.
The two photographs—the one of Joanie and the one of Jonah—had been taken on the same day, a day etched in her memory. She’d kept Jonah’s photograph hidden away all these years, rarely allowing herself the luxury—and pain—of taking it out and looking at it.
Her eyes traced the familiar lines of Jonah’s face, a face she had once known so well. The years had passed, but the memories remained as vivid as ever.
Along with the regrets.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the photograph, a reminder of the secrets she’d carried for so long. The secrets wrapped around her, like the heavy fog that sometimes covered the island, surrounding it in a blanket of impenetrable mist.
But now, she glanced away from the smiling man, so full of life and vitality. She just couldn’t afford to remember the good times, and the pain was too searing to remember the bad times, some of the darkest days of her life. Days she had to hide her pain from everyone. Her family. Her friends.
No one knew about Jonah, not even Darlene. So this secret, at least, could remain in the past. With a long sigh, she slipped the photograph back into the envelope and returned it to its hiding place. She closed the drawer, sealing away the memories once more.
Winston stirred at her feet, sensing her distress. She reached down and patted his head, finding comfort in his warm, soft fur.
She picked up the face cream and spread it on her face with rote motions as thoughts bounced around her mind. If only Brent wasn’t so intent on stirring up the past. But truth be told, she liked Brent in spite of herself. She liked his thoughtfulness. His intelligence. His curiosity. His determination to find out what happened to his mother. She could see little glimpses of Joanie in him.
Maybe his whole quest to find out more about Joanie and his family would lessen his desire to find out more about Prince Lawrence. But she doubted it. Brent didn’t seem to be the type to let his research slide.
She could only hope that if the truth about the prince finally came to light, it would not destroy her family’s reputation. For now, she would continue to guard the secrets, just as the lighthouse guarded the island’s shores.