Chapter 8
Winnie set the delicate teacup on its saucer and watched Sally arrange the scones on a porcelain plate. The lighthouse keeper’s quarters always felt smaller when Sally visited. Not in a bad way, but more like the walls leaned in to listen.
“Picked the scones up from the bakery.” Sally settled into the chair across from her and reached for her own tea. “I figured I could fill you in on the festival committee meeting disaster.”
Winnie raised an eyebrow. “A disaster?”
“Bryan stormed out of that meeting like a hurricane with a personal grudge.” Sally broke off a piece of scone and popped it in her mouth. “Linda called me last night. Said she’s never seen him that angry.”
The tea was too hot. She set it down and let it cool. Outside the window, the Gulf stretched toward the horizon in shades of gray and blue. A seagull swooped past.
She turned back to Sally. “Tell me what happened.”
Sally leaned forward. Her eyes had that gleam they always got when she had a good story to tell.
“Well, I’m not officially on the committee, but you know how I sit in sometimes to offer help.
So, Cassidy showed up with this whole presentation.
Slides and everything. Very professional. Very corporate.”
“That sounds like Cassidy.”
“Well, Bryan didn’t take it well.” Sally reached for another scone. “He accused her of trying to turn the festival into some kind of theme park attraction. Said she didn’t understand the town or what the festival meant to people who’d been here their whole lives.”
Winnie sighed. She’d worried something like this might happen.
“Then Cassidy fired back,” Sally continued. “Told him his restaurant was struggling and the town’s economy was dying. Said they needed fresh ideas, whether he liked it or not.”
“Oh dear.”
“It got worse.” Sally’s voice dropped like she was sharing classified information. “Bryan said he never agreed to having a co-chair. That Linda had gone behind his back and undermined him in front of the whole committee.”
Winnie picked up her tea again. It had cooled enough to drink. “Linda meant well.”
“Of course she did. But you know Bryan. That boy’s been shouldering the expectations of three generations since his daddy passed.” Sally shook her head. “He’s terrified of being the one who fails. And now here comes this fancy executive from the city telling him everything he’s done is wrong.”
“Is that what Cassidy said?”
“Not in those words. But that’s what Bryan heard.”
Winnie turned the teacup in her hands. The porcelain was thin and delicate. It had belonged to her grandmother. Generations of Lockhart women had drunk from these cups. She understood about legacy and the fear of failing it.
“You’re worried about them,” Sally said. It wasn’t a question.
“They’re both hurting. Bryan’s drowning in responsibility he never asked for, and Cassidy’s running from something she won’t name.”
Sally nodded. “I saw her the other day at the store. She was dressed like she was going to a board meeting. In Starlight Shores. On a weekday.”
“She doesn’t know how to stop moving. Doesn’t know who she is if she’s not working.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“I’m sure it is.”
They sat in comfortable silence. This was what sixty years of friendship looked like. No need to fill every moment with words.
“You think they can work it out?” Sally asked finally.
“Bryan needs to learn that asking for help doesn’t mean admitting defeat, and Cassidy needs to learn that community isn’t something you manage. It’s something you belong to.”
“That’s a tall order for both of them.”
“Yes.”
Sally reached across the table and squeezed Winnie’s hand. Her fingers were warm and slightly sticky from the scones. “You’ll help them figure it out. You always do.”
“I’m not sure they’ll listen to an old woman’s advice.”
“Old woman.” Sally snorted. “You’ve got more sense in your little finger than most people have in their whole body. And they know it. Why do you think everyone ends up on your porch eventually?”
She smiled. “Because I make good tea?”
“Because you see people.” Sally leaned back in her chair. “You see what they need before they know they need it. Always have.”
The compliment sat awkwardly in the room. She’d never been comfortable with praise. Easier to deflect and move on.
“Another scone?” she offered.
Sally laughed. “Nice try. But I’m serious, Win. Those two are lucky you’re watching out for them.”
“I’m just a landlord.”
“You’re family to half this town. Don’t pretend you’re not.”
She looked down at her tea. The surface rippled slightly. Her hand wasn’t as steady as it used to be. Getting old was a series of small betrayals. The body giving out in increments. Yet, some days she looked in the mirror, surprised the forty-year-old Winnie wasn’t looking back at her.
“Linda told me something else,” Sally said. Her voice had shifted, more careful now. “George Morton was in town again yesterday. He was asking questions about the festival. Wanted to know what the attendance numbers were like.”
Winnie’s spine straightened. “Really? Poking around town?”
“He seemed very interested in whether the festival was financially viable.” Sally’s eyes narrowed. “You know what that means.”
“It means Oceanside Development is still circling.”
“Like sharks.”
She set her teacup down. The china clinked against the saucer. “They’ve been after this property for years. The answer is still no.”
“I know that. You know that. But if they can prove the festival isn’t sustainable, they’ll use it as evidence that the whole waterfront needs to be redeveloped.
” Sally’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
“They’ll go after Bryan’s dock, then the other fishing families.
Before you know it, Starlight Shores will be nothing but resort hotels and yacht clubs. ”
“Not while I’m still breathing.”
“That’s my girl.” Sally grinned. “But it means Cassidy and Bryan need to make this festival work, for more reasons than they realize.”
She nodded slowly. The stakes were higher than a simple community celebration. This was about survival and keeping Starlight Shores authentic in the face of developers who saw only profit margins and property values.
“Does Bryan know?” Winnie asked.
“About Morton? Probably. Word has it Morton has already talked to Bryan. But he’s got so much on his plate already.” Sally sighed. “That boy needs to let someone help carry the load, even if it’s someone he doesn’t like very much.”
“Surely he doesn’t dislike Cassidy.”
“Could’ve fooled me after yesterday’s fireworks.”
“He’s afraid of her,” Winnie said. “She represents everything he thinks he’s failed at.”
Sally considered this. “And what’s she afraid of?”
“Herself. What she might become if she stops running.” Winnie reached for another scone. “She’s afraid that if she slows down long enough to feel, she’ll realize how empty she is.”
Sally shook her head. “You really think they can find their way through all that?”
“I think they don’t have a choice. The current’s already pulling them together. They can fight it, or they can learn to swim.”
“Poetic.”
“I’m old. I’m allowed to be poetic.”
Sally laughed. It was a good sound, rich and full of life. They’d laughed together through decades of joy and sorrow.
“Thank you for the scones,” she said. “And for the company.”
“Anytime. You know that.” Sally stood and gathered her things. “You going to talk to them? Bryan and Cassidy?”
“If they’ll listen.”
“They will. Eventually.” Sally paused at the door. “You’ve got a gift for seeing what people need, Win, but don’t forget to look at what you need too.”
The words hung in the air after Sally left. Winnie sat alone in the keeper’s quarters with the remnants of their tea. The house settled around her. The old wood creaked and pipes hummed. The lighthouse had its own language if you knew how to listen.
What did she need?
She carried the dishes to the sink and looked out at the Gulf. The water moved in eternal rhythms. Tide in. Tide out. Some patterns never changed.
She thought about a boy, so many years ago. About promises made and broken. About the life she’d chosen and the one she’d let slip away.
But she had no use for regrets. They didn’t change anything, and they didn’t get the dishes washed. She reached for a dishcloth.