Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
It was the first time Celia’s heart had ever been broken, at least in a romantic sense.
At seventeen, she was old enough to know that it was a big deal to have your heart broken.
That it was a canon event. This was something she would look back at as an adult sort of fondly, achingly.
She’d tell her children something like, “This is what I learned from my first heartbreak. These were the songs I played on my boombox.” She wanted to make something of it.
So after it was clear that she and Hanson were over, that he had no plans to speak to her again, she allowed herself a single week of “a pity party” like women in romantic comedies.
She ate ice cream and faked an illness to stay home from school.
She wept into her pillow, wrote poetry, and promised herself she would never love anyone again.
She knew that Ivy had caught wind of something going on; you couldn’t live across the room from someone and not see that their heart was breaking.
But Celia wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened between her and Hanson, nor how embarrassing that night at the Smith house had been. It had changed her life.
Many times, she imagined what her mother might have said if she were still alive, how she would have helped Celia through this difficult time.
Would she have bought the ice cream for Celia instead of Celia stealing it from the kitchen of the inn?
Would she have told Celia the perfect antidote for heartache?
Late January, Celia was at a burger joint called Ralph’s with Landon, Bethany, and a few others from the high school paper, drinking milkshakes and talking about their upcoming edition.
Together, they ran through the list of newspaper issues they’d put out, discussing which angles had worked best, their “white whale” ideas that they’d still love to put out there, and how much they wanted to make a difference in the world.
Eventually, the staff members turned their attention to Celia, asking her what the next issue would be about.
But Celia was already on her feet, flicking through albums on the jukebox and spying out the window, where, through the dark, she could see Hanson and one of the Bluebell Cove High cheerleaders, making out beneath a starry sky.
Her stomach felt like a crater. When she turned to look at her newspaper staff and dearest friends, she cleared her throat and said, “I think I have an idea for an issue. But I have to do some research first.” Landon locked eyes with her and said he would be happy to help, no matter what it was.
She thanked him. But she said it would remain a secret from everyone for now. She could tell that it hurt Landon’s ego. But it couldn’t be helped.
What Celia couldn’t get out of her mind was what Hanson had mentioned to her early on in their relationship—whatever his father was up to wasn’t exactly legal, it wasn’t exactly good for the town.
She had a hunch that getting to the bottom of that would bring her the very best in journalism.
It would reveal the evils lurking beneath Bluebell Cove.
She imagined writing and releasing the article with her very last issue of the Bluebell Cove High School newspaper.
Immediately afterward, she would pack her things, get on a bus, and flee.
She would be the talk of the town. More than that, she would have that article to show off at Georgetown. It would be a perfect jumping-off place, proof of how brave she was. Proof of how stellar her future career would be.
Over the next few weeks, Celia threw herself into learning as much as she could about Hanson Smith’s father’s company and everything he owned in the town of Bluebell Cove and its surrounding areas.
She discovered that the Smith Company itself had been around since before Bluebell Cove Inn was built, that it had gotten its start during the years immediately after the whaling boom had collapsed.
The town's economic fortunes had faltered. Hanson’s great-great-great-grandfather had seen an opportunity for monetary growth.
He’d seen a town flailing, and he’d opened up a fishing company alongside an import/export business to allow the people of Bluebell to sell their fish elsewhere.
For the first sixty or so years of the company’s existence, they grew and grew without pause. They seemed unstoppable.
But according to newspaper records, Celia learned that other companies tried to pop up alongside the Smith Company.
They made the mistake of trying to compete.
She read about the Harrison Group, the Gregor Company, the Import Exchange, and the Wethertons.
Each company had tried to take a portion of what the Smith family had claimed for themselves.
And each, within a few months, had been convicted of some form of fraud and forced to close.
Meanwhile, the Smith family had grown stronger and stronger.
It felt like a strange pattern—one that indicated a power within the Smith family, potentially linked to the Bluebell Cove government, or even the higher-ups who ran all of Maine. How deep did this go? Celia wondered, salivating at the thought.
She told herself that she wasn’t doing this to destroy Hanson’s family because of her own broken heart. But it felt like the cherry on top.
In mid-March, Celia got her big break in the case.
For most of that Saturday, Celia was needed at the Bluebell Cove Inn and couldn’t think of an excuse to get herself out of it.
Ivy was working in the dining room, serving lunch to guests who’d come to a frigid Maine, hoping to bask in the last of the snow before it fully melted.
This left Celia at the front desk, toiling, casting her father horrible looks when he strode past. He never looked at her, not once, as though he wanted her to think that she was invisible to him.
It’s just like he treated Mom, Celia thought darkly, remembering how lonely her mother had seemed.
The only escape she had was in death. But as soon as she thought it, she let out a strangled sob.
I’m sorry, Mom, she thought, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling.
It was then that Landon came through the door.
He wore a silly red windbreaker, one he’d had since they were children, and his cheeks were the same hue, as though he’d spent hours outdoors.
“Come on,” he said, delivering that mischievous grin.
“Nobody needs you right now. They’re all, like, bird-watching. ”
Celia giggled, glanced back at Ivy through the dining room door, put up a sign that said “Be right back!” and hurried after Landon, putting on her coat as they ran.
“I’ve had a crazy day,” Landon told her, moving faster than he normally did, his feet blurry beneath them.
“I was researching this article about the first whalers in Bluebell Cove? And my mom told me about the records’ office at city hall.
I went down there, but the lady wouldn’t give me anything.
She told me I was too young to handle ‘delicate files.’”
Celia stopped short on the sidewalk. A frigid wind blasted her face.
“There’s a records office?” Why hadn’t she ever heard about this?
She wondered if they had files about the Smith Company and everything it had been up to over the years.
Her proof regarding its illegality was flimsy at best. “We have to get in there.”
Landon chased her, following her into the city hall and down the stairs. Down there was a plump and stoic-looking twentysomething named Melody, who cast them a cruel stare and said, “You again?”
Celia resented that Landon had come with her. She wasn’t sure how to explain herself to Melody without alerting Landon to what she was up to. Maybe she could be imprecise.
She had to put on her very best and most adult voice. She had to manipulate.
“My name is Celia, and I’m a journalist with the Bluebell Cove Gazette,” she said, naming the adult-run newspaper rather than the high school one.
Lying was key. “I’m currently researching the long and storied happenings at the Smith Company.
It’s an article requested by Mr. Gavin Smith himself, the current CEO. ”
Melody blinked twice at Celia. “Mr. Smith himself sent you?”
“That’s right.”
Melody cut her gaze back toward Landon, then said, “He can’t come in with you.”
Celia breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s fine,” she said.
She didn’t look back at Landon as she followed Melody deeper into the aisles, eager to get her hands on something to penetrate the black cloud that was the Smith Company.
When she was sure that Melody wasn’t watching her, she turned and mouthed to Landon, “Let’s catch up later?
I’ll tell you everything.” But she had no plans to tell Landon everything, at least not till the article was perfect.
He shrugged, pretending he wasn’t hurt, although she knew he was.
She still didn’t want him to get the hint that she and Hanson had ever been in love.
She didn’t want the shame that brought.
She wanted him always to think what he currently thought—that she was the coolest, prettiest, and smartest girl in town.
The files for the Smith Company extended five feet wide and three feet tall, making up most of the records’ office in that dark and strange basement.
Celia thanked Melody and dove in immediately, reading ancient contracts that her high school brain couldn’t make complete sense of.
She perused photographs of Hanson’s great-great-grandfather standing next to the then mayors of Bluebell Cove.
She perused bills of sale, proof that the Smith family’s reach grew wider with each passing decade.
But still, she couldn’t find anything that indicated they were doing anything “wrong.” At least, her novice eyes couldn’t see it.