Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
1
Chapter One
A second chance.That’s what the lighthouse on the bluff meant to Diane
Spencer. At least, that’s what she hoped it would mean.She stood beside her car in the gravel viewpoint, gazing
across the cliff and down at the lighthouse. Tall and white, classic and majestic, it stood securely anchored to the rocks. A testament to strength and protection. The sea wind rocked her backward as if the gust had been thrown at her by the sea that crashed on the rocks below her in a muted roar. The cry of the seagulls and the musky scent of the ocean took her back to her childhood. Back to before she needed a second chance.
With a sigh and a private promise to return here before the day was over, Diane got back into her car and drove toward town.
Marble Cove. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The buildings, the church, the wharf glimpsed down narrow streets—it all looked the same as she remembered. She half-expected to hear her mother’s laugh from the passenger seat.
Or Eric’s. The thought dampened her joy. But as she parked on a quiet
side street, it resurfaced, and she had to resist the urge to pinch herself. She could hardly believe she was really here. This was it!
As always, the old iron lampposts along the street were adorned with hanging flower pots. The pretty baskets—filled with geraniums, lobelia, pansies, and ivy—swayed gently in a soft sea breeze. This breeze also carried to her the pungent aroma of coffee beans being roasted nearby. Diane smiled. The Cove on Main Street must still be in business. How many morn-ings she and Eric had gone there to…
She sighed. Whoever invented the word bittersweet knew what she was talking about.
2
Diane looked down the familiar street, watching an elderly couple peer into the window of the shoe shop. They looked like regulars. Was it possible—was she really about to join them as a fulltime resident of Marble Cove?
She locked her car, placed the strap of her oversized bag over her shoulder, and walked toward Main Street, taking in the friendly cobblestones and old-fashioned storefronts. She spotted a quaint bookstore she recognized. The Crow’s Nest sat on the street corner. Its exterior had been designed to resemble a ship. The windows were portholes and the rounded doors were appointed with brass trim. Diane paused outside of The Mercantile, admiring the variety of flags displayed in the front window. Part of its charm was that some of the merchandise didn’t exactly change very often.
Then she found herself standing outside the plate-glass door of the real estate office. Could she do this? Should she? It wasn’t at all how she had imagined this moment. But…that’s how things were. Nothing to do but move forward. Diane took in a deep breath, pushed open the door, and went inside.
A massive wooden beam crossed the ceiling of the office from left to right. Wooden slats, as if from the deck of an old sailing vessel, comprised the ceiling itself. Red brick walls were on two sides and white plaster walls on the others. Patricia Finley, who still reminded Diane of a college coed more than a real estate agent, sat at a wide white desk cluttered with an array of vertical files in metal racks. Behind her chair stood a tall white plastic bookshelf clogged with wide three-ring binders. If she had any lights on, Diane couldn’t see them. The space was flooded with lovely morning light through the doors and tall windows.
“Hello, Diane!” Patricia stood and vigorously shook her hand. “So wonderful to see you again. Did you have a good drive over?”
Diane took a seat on the other side of the desk. “Yes, it was lovely as always.”
Patricia smiled as she picked up a manila envelope from a desk. She flipped through, looking at photos. “Let’s see. Oh, yes. Your wonderful new home. So are you excited about taking occupancy today?”
“I could hardly sleep last night,” Diane said. “The keys and everything are in here.” Patricia handed her
the envelope. “I can go over there with you for a final walk-through if you like.”
“No, that’s okay.” Diane waved her hand. “I feel like I know the cottage by heart.” She chuckled. “I actually drew out a floor plan based on the measurements you e-mailed me to figure out furniture placement. I had to decide what would fit and what to get rid of.” Diane shook her head. “Going from 2,700 square feet to about a third of that is a real challenge.”
“It’s an adorable cottage. Even after your sale officially closed, I had several more inquiries. So consider yourself lucky to have jumped on it as quickly as you did.”
“Thank you.” Diane tucked the envelope into her bag. “I feel very fortunate.” She shook Patricia’s hand. “I so appreciate your help with everything. And I hope you’ll drop by and see me after I get settled in.”
“I’d love to.” Just then the phone rang. “Have a great day!” Patricia waved and Diane called out goodbye.
Then, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, Diane went back outside and looked up and down the cobblestone street. It was official—she was a citizen of Marble Cove!
Diane opted to get something to eat at The Cove, a delight-ful coffee shop with the best poppy-seed muffins she’d ever tasted. On her stroll there, she stopped in front of what used to be the five and dime store—a cheesy little shop that Diane had often brought Justin and Jessica to as children. But now the sign was gone, and as she peered in the window, she realized the space was completely cleared out.
“Hello?” A short gray-haired woman emerged from the
3
building with a package in her arms. She peered curiously at Diane. “Something I can help you with?”
“Oh, no…” Diane smiled at her. “I just thought the five and dime was here.”
“This is going to become an art gallery one of these days, although it seems to be taking forever. I’m calling it The Shearwater.”
“Shearwater? Like the bird?”She smiled. “That’s right. And I’m the owner.” She slipped
her package beneath her elbow and stuck out her hand. “I’m Margaret Hoskins. Welcome to Marble Cove.”
“Thank you. I’m Diane Spencer, and I’m pleased to meet you.”
“If you like art—primarily nature subjects—I hope you’ll stop by The Shearwater. Not today, of course, but when we’re open, hopefully in time for tourist season.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.” Diane tipped her head toward the coffee shop next door. “Right now I’m heading to The Cove.”
“Well, so am I,” Margaret told her. “Care for some company?”“I’d love it.”Inside, The Cove was dark. Diane knew it had once been
a fisherman’s pub, and she thought the worn pine floors and wood-paneled walls probably hadn’t changed much over the years.
With their orders in hand, Diane followed Margaret through the dimly lit room. Margaret waved, calling out cheery greet-ings to the other patrons sitting around the small wooden tables. Margaret had a youthful energy about her, and, despite her sturdy stout stature, there was a definite spring in her step.
Margaret guided them to an available table. “Now, tell me, Diane, what brings you to Marble Cove?”
“I wanted to shake things up, try something new, reinvent myself.” She chuckled. “I know it will sound cliché, but I decided
4
that I want to write a novel.”Margaret’s eyebrows went up. “A fellow artist! That’s wonder-
ful!”“At my age?” Diane grimaced. “You don’t think it’s too late?”Margaret laughed. “I don’t know how old you are, but
I’d guess you’re in your forties—that hardly seems too old to become a novelist.”
“Thank you, but I’m fifty-four.”Margaret waved her hand in a dismissive way. “Women
nowadays—everyone knows they aren’t aging like they used to. But, even so, I scarcely think fifty-four is too old to write a book. In fact, I believe I was about your age when I took up painting.”
“And you’re already opening a gallery?”“I try.” Margaret sighed. “Some people might not agree with
my assessment that I’m an artist. I’ve only been at it for a dozen years, and I’ve still got lots to learn. But I also feel that I’m just hitting my stride. Thus came the idea of the gallery. Actually, it was Allan’s idea—he’s my better half. Anyway, my point is that if I, at my age, can take on something like opening an art gallery to display my own works, surely you can take on the writing of a book.”
“I really appreciate your optimism. There were a number of acquaintances who questioned my sanity. Even some well-meaning friends thought it would be impossible to make this transition—to quit my job, sell my home, move to Marble Cove, and write a novel.”
“Some people are intimidated by dreams.”“Maybe so. It sounds silly, but as a child, when I came here
with my parents, I would imagine myself living here. I would pen these hokey mystery stories in my little notebook. Every single one was set in or near the lighthouse.” She chuckled. “I think I was in love with it.”
Margaret’s brows arched high. “The Orlean Point Lighthouse?”
5
Diane laughed. “Yes, I suppose I was a hopeless romantic. But it always seemed so mysterious and wonderful to me. I feel the lighthouse has some secrets to tell.”
“That’s very interesting.” “Why’s that?”“I have a similar feeling about the Orlean Point.”“Really?” Diane studied her new friend. “Allan thinks I’m obsessed with it. I’ve painted dozens of pic-
tures of it. Finally, Allan talked me into painting more wildlife, and I’ve tried to move on, but I’m still drawn to it.”
“That is interesting.”The people at the table beside Diane and Margaret got up
and headed for the door. Diane noticed several parties waiting for a table by the hostess stand. Over the pervasive aroma of coffee, she detected what smelled like a new batch of chocolate cookies. She thought she could come here every day and be happy. Well, now she could!
“So now you’re going to be a real novelist and write stories about the lighthouse?”
Diane grinned. “Does that sound terribly foolish?”“Not at all.”Margaret popped the last chunk of her muffin into her
mouth, stood, and picked up her package. “Now, I need to get this over to the post office, and you need to get on your merry way. So let’s not waste another minute. It’s been such a pleasure to meet you. I expect we’ll have plenty of opportunities to get better acquainted.”
“Yes!” Diane wanted to give her new neighbor a hug, but wasn’t sure about Maine manners and decided to restrain her-self…for now. “I’ll see you later,” she called as they parted ways.
Hurrying back to her car, she felt decidedly giddy as she started the engine. She had done it, after all those years of dreaming and planning and hoping, she had finally made it to Marble Cove!
6
That evening, Diane walked up the path leading to the lighthouse. Feeling slightly awed and tremendously happy, she paused and looked up. Here she was—just her and the Orlean Point light.
What was it about this structure that made it feel like more than just a lighthouse? Whether it was symbolic of hope or faith or second chances was unclear, but she always felt encouraged to see the dignified tower—rock solid and unchanging. She ran her hand along the smooth, hard, white surface and looked up to the glass-windowed area that had once housed the giant lamp. Although no light had flashed from it in decades—it had been decommissioned for years—she liked to imagine what it would look like to see a long golden beam cutting through the fog or the dark of night. It must’ve been quite a sight back in its day.
With the sky getting darker and fog rolling in, Diane was about to turn when a flash caught her eye. She paused and squinted, peering up at the lighthouse through the dusky light. Was it possible? Had she really just seen a light coming from the top of its tower? What did it mean? She stood for several minutes staring, willing the flash of light to come again, more convinced than ever of the accuracy of her words to Margaret: the lighthouse
has some secrets to tell.
