CHAPTER THREE
As the evening drew to a close and the guest began to gather up the blankets from the lawn, Emily’s phone vibrated in her pocket.
She took it out to see the screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number.
For a second, she debated ignoring it—she’d been strict about not checking messages after business hours unless it was on the emergency line—but her sense of unease won out.
She ducked into the garden, treading carefully among the haphazard rows of tomatoes and snap peas.
The old apple tree at the edge of the property provided a sort of natural sound booth, muffling the lingering music and the laughter as the party packed up.
She pressed the phone to her ear, wiping her palm against her dress.
“Hello?”
A half-second delay, then: “Is this Mrs. Morey?”
“Yes. This is Emily.”
Emily braced for spam, but the voice didn’t launch into a car’s-extended-warranty talk.
“Hi, Emily, it’s Jamie Marsh, from the town office. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday. I, uh, hear there’s quite the bash going on over there.” A low, nervous laugh. “So sorry I couldn’t make it.”
She smiled despite Jamie not being able to see it. “Next time.”
“Well, happy one-twenty-five. Listen, I wanted to catch you before this hit the listings or the paper. We got a call from the Coast Guard. They’re officially decommissioning the old lighthouse at Bluefin Point.”
Emily blinked, instantly picturing the battered white lighthouse. “Is that… official?”
“Pretty much. They’re offering it up for auction, but since you and your husband have done so much with the inn—and historic preservation—they told the city they’d prefer to see it stay in local hands. We’d like to give you first shot at the purchase before it goes public.”
Her breath caught. She fumbled, thumb pressed too hard to the phone’s “mute” bump. “They want us to buy the lighthouse?”
“If you want it, yes. Of course it’s a process—permits, transfer, all that. But you’d have first right of refusal.” Jamie’s voice softened, like he was trying to break good news to someone who might mishear it as bad. “You’re the first people I called.”
She looked up, past the apple tree, into the thin slice of moonlight above the house. For years, the lighthouse had been a detail in her father’s painting collection. She’d been there, once, with Daniel, and it was historical to say the least. Would they want it? To do what with?
Jamie said something, but Emily didn’t hear him.
Instead, she saw herself at age nine, sitting on the floor with her mother in front of one of those paintings.
Her mother’s voice, describing how she’d met Roy there.
The history wasn’t just there for Sunset Harbor, but for Emily’s family, too.
She wondered how to translate this news to them, this absurd, beautiful possibility, into something that wouldn’t sound insane.
Let’s buy a lighthouse!
Jamie waited. “Are you there?”
She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I’m here. Do you know the price?”
“Not yet, but I can send over the estimate Monday. It’s not much, frankly—nobody else wants the upkeep.”
She almost laughed. Upkeep was practically her area of expertise, now. “Thank you. This… means a lot.”
“You’re welcome, Emily. Give Daniel my best.”
She hung up and let her arm fall to her side; fingers numb.
For a minute she just stood, surrounded by the cricket-noisy garden.
Her mind ping-ponged between the practical—how would they pay, what would they do with it—and the poetic: a lighthouse, a real lighthouse, and a second chance at something that had never quite belonged to her family, but could now.
Her pulse thudded in her ears. She pressed her palm flat to her chest, just to check that her heart hadn’t flown out of her chest.
I need Daniel.
She found him breaking down the folding tables that had made up the game station. She made a beeline.
He caught her eye, the look unmistakable: Is everything okay?
She gestured to the side of the porch, and he extricated himself from his chore with a few backward steps.
“Something up?” he murmured when he met her at the side of the house, low enough that only she could hear.
“Walk with me,” she said. She could feel her pulse now thumping in her neck.
They skirted the side garden beds, past where the girls had strung solar lights in the lilacs. On the far side of the property, beyond the gazebo, Emily stopped at the edge of the bluff, where the lawn slipped away to darkness and only the faintest scrap of surf sounded in the distance.
“I got a call. From the town manager.”
He went still, instantly alert. “What’s wrong? The island improvements aren’t to code? I knew it. That grading on the far side of the cabin…”
“No, it’s—not bad, just—” She shook her head, trying to reset. “You know how we always talk about the lighthouse in Roy’s paintings?”
He nodded, a slight frown crossing his face. “Sure. Why?”
“They’re decommissioning it. They’re selling it off, and we—us, specifically—get first refusal. They want us to buy it.”
He stared at her, waiting for the catch. “The whole thing? The tower, the house, all of it?”
She nodded, unable to hold back the giddy edge to her voice. “Yes. Jamie Marsh said we could have it before it goes to auction.”
Daniel whistled, low and skeptical. “What would we do with a lighthouse? Run tours? Airbnb the place? Or just let it sit and rot like half the stuff in this county?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I just know I want it. I want to fix it up, make it something again. Maybe not even as part of the business. Just for us.”
He looked at her, head cocked, measuring. “What’s the price?”
“They don’t know yet. Probably not much, considering the repairs needed.
You remember when we went, and it’s been some time since.
But that’s not the point.” She grabbed his wrist, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin hairs, needing him to get it.
“Roy and Patricia met there. That’s where he asked her to move in with him, before any of our family drama ever happened.
Before their marriage troubles. Before my sister, Charlotte, died. They were young and happy.”
Daniel’s skepticism cracked, replaced by understanding. “So, it’s not just about the real estate, is it?”
“I want to put something back together that just needs one more push to be whole.”
He was quiet, turning the idea in his mind. “You want to take this on? I mean, you already run yourself ragged. We have the other properties…”
“Yes. I know I’m impulsive sometimes, but this is history. Like Margaret’s journal. It’s my mother. It’s Roy. It’s—” She stopped, overwhelmed.
“You’re shaking.” Daniel smiled and brushed a stray hair off her cheek.
She was. She hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out. “Sorry. I just want it so much I can taste it. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Not ridiculous,” he said, pulling her hand into his. “Big, sure. But not ridiculous.”
She watched his face, waiting for the telltale set of his jaw or the narrowing of his eyes—signs he was about to start troubleshooting, poking holes in the plan before it could sprout—but he just held her gaze, steady and unjudging.
He took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s figure out what it’ll take.” He grinned. “We might regret it tomorrow, but right now I think it’s perfect.”
Emily leaned into Daniel, her head against his shoulder, and let herself imagine the impossible: the two of them, old and gray, watching over a lighthouse that had survived the rest of the world’s slow forgetting.
Just like the inn. She could see it already, shining through the night, steadfast and wholly, perfectly theirs.
When they looped back toward the party, Emily slipped her hand into Daniel’s, halting him. Her mind spun outward in a widening gyre. Doubts crept in. She looked at Daniel, who, for all his stone-faced practicality, had never once said I told you so. “What if it is too much?”
He shrugged. “At least we’re in it together.” He meant it as comfort, and strangely, it worked.
“We need to see it. Tomorrow.”
He nodded, simple as that. “We will.”
They kept walking, and when she spoke next, her voice was low. “Did you see Roy tonight? I mean, pay attention to him.”
Daniel nodded. “He looked a little beat. Something up?”
“He didn’t drink tonight. Not even a sip at a single toast.”
“Maybe he’s being careful. Because of the cancer.”
“Maybe. He’s been so much better. Energy, appetite. But tonight he looked—” She swallowed. “Tired. Not just sick. Tired tired.”
Daniel was the one who stopped walking now and waited, letting her finish the thought.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every day I think, today is the day the hospital will call, or my mom will, and I’ll have to explain to the girls why their grandfather is gone. I mean, we have no idea how much time he has left. He won’t say.”
“He’s still here.”
She nodded. “It’s just—I know what it’s like to think you’re fine, and then you’re not.” She looked over at Daniel. “Last year, with the lump scare I had, I was sure I could tough it out. I almost didn’t even tell you.”
He drew in a breath, the old memory sharp between them. “But you did. And it was nothing. Remember?”
“Nothing that time. I want to drag him in for scans and bloodwork and get the details he’s holding back.”
Daniel smiled, then leaned in so his lips brushed the top of her head. “We can do that. If it’ll help. I have rope.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump it all on you.”
Daniel rolled his eyes and kissed her again, this time on her cheekbone, soft as moth wings. “That’s why I’m here, right? We worry together. We buy lighthouses together. We go bankrupt together.”
She laughed, but it caught in her throat. “You mean I spiral and you do damage control.”
He grinned, unoffended. “You’re not spiraling. Not tonight. You’re just tired. And maybe a little bit afraid. I can maybe ask Cassie if she’s noticed anything.”
“No,” she said, firmer than she intended. “I’ll call his doctor. I need to.”
Daniel frowned slightly. “Think that’ll get you anywhere? Privacy laws and all?”
Emily sighed. “I can try.”
As Emily and Daniel made their way back to the remaining guests, she heard Roy let out a weary sigh. His hand rested on Patricia's arm.
"I think I need to call it a night," he announced.
Patricia's worried gaze met Roy's tired eyes. "Let me drive you home," she offered. Emily didn’t miss the concern etched in the lines of her mother’s face.
"Yes, I'd appreciate that, dear."
The dear made Emily smile.
Emily hugged her mom and dad, and then watched as Patricia guided Roy toward her car. Daniel wrapped an arm around Emily's waist, offering silent support as they stood together, witnessing the quiet departure of her parents. Emily swallowed, trying to push down the worry about her dad.