The Lighthouse Chapter 25

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE:

Kristen tiptoed past Alice sleeping on the couch, the memory of the one and only time the girl had done so before. Both Alice and her mother, Denise, had stayed the night at the lighthouse once, when a storm had blown through Five Island Cove, and they’d been stuck on Diamond Island.

Alice had been thirteen then, and Kristen hadn’t even suspected Joel of stepping out on her. Could it have been that night when he’d first started feeling things for Denise Williams?

She shook herself as she unlocked the front door and went outside. She didn’t want to think about Denise Williams. She didn’t want to remember how she’d mourned the woman’s death, how she’d gone to talk to Connor about taking better care of his children, how often she’d discussed Alice with Joel after the funeral.

Pure foolishness filled her, and she’d really rather not wallow in that. She had never seen him act strangely about Denise’s death, though surely he’d mourned her too. Didn’t he?

Kristen did not want to believe that her husband was so past feeling and so cruel that he didn’t. At the same time, he’d left behind enough secrets to destroy her without the luxury of being around to provide answers and reasons and explanations as to why.

That was all Kristen wanted to know. Why?

Why doctor Eloise’s scores? Why was he so unhappy with her that he had to find another woman? Why had he focused so much on other kids instead of his own? Why had he deceived Guy Watkins and watched the man crash and burn?

Why? Why? Why?

The word screamed through her head as she walked, and she didn’t specifically pick a direction to go. So when she realized the path ended in one more step, she looked up from the bumpy concrete she’d been walking on. The lighthouse stood to her right, about half of it visible above the tops of the trees separating her from it.

She felt separated from everything and everyone in her life right now, and she reached out to hold onto the railing marking the overlook of Sea Lion Point. Hardly anyone knew this gem existed, but Kristen had been here many times before. When she’d lost her third pregnancy, she’d fled to this point. When Joel had been diagnosed with cancer, she’d come here. It seemed like every time Kristen needed to find herself, discover a new path for her life, she ended up at Sea Lion Point.

The best time to actually see sea lions on the long strip of beach below was in September and October, but Kristen took a few minutes to search the sand anyway. The only way to get to the sand below was by boat, and only tour groups did it in the peak of summer tourism. Kristen herself had never actually been on the beach, though she’d imagined herself down there many times.

Alone, where no one would bother her.

When her kids had been small children, and they were driving her nuts, she’d lock herself in the bathroom, close her eyes, and transport herself to the beach with the sea lions. Then, there were no crying children. No one who just needed to “ask her something real quick.” No paperwork, and no seafaring lessons, and no worry about bills she and Joel didn’t have the money to pay.

Just miles of sun, sea, and sand.

She sighed, but she didn’t cry. She felt like she’d shed more tears in the past week and a half than any human should have to. Her tear ducts felt dry, and she was glad she didn’t have anything left to give.

“A few more days,” she told herself. The funeral was on Saturday, and once it was over, Kristen’s life was nothing but a blank slate. Because of Robin’s excellent organizational skills and absolute determination to get the five of them back to the cove to help, the cottage was cleaned out. The lighthouse was nearly there. Kristen wouldn’t have to lift a finger once Joel went into the ground.

She also had nothing else to occupy her time. So much of the last five years had been spent taking him to the doctor or the hospital, getting his medications, making sure he took them, monitoring his health, making and bringing him food. And Kristen had been happy to do it, because she loved him.

She’d thought he loved her.

Now, as she thought about how stressful his care had been and how much of herself she’d given him, a new kind of anger simmered in her veins. This dangerous, dark feeling had been creeping up on her for days now, and Kristen pushed it away. She did not want to think the last fifty years of her life had been a lie.

She’d had plenty of happy times. Plenty of learning and growth. She’d felt plenty of love from Joel, and she didn’t want those memories and times to be tainted by the secrets she’d discovered over the past week.

Maybe the fact that Joel hadn’t told her was actually a blessing. Maybe he’d wanted to preserve her happy life. Her thoughts went round and round, because she eventually landed on, Then why didn’t he destroy all the evidence of his indiscretions?

Perhaps he’d meant to, and then been too sick.

Kristen straightened away from the railing, because she did not want to make excuses for him.

She faced the path she’d already trod, feeling like she had a very long road ahead of her. Her phone rang in her pocket as she left the overlook behind, and she pulled it out to see the funeral home’s number on the screen.

“Hello?” she asked, slowing to a stop. She normally liked to watch the ground while she walked, as this path wasn’t well-maintained, and she was seventy-six-years-old.

“Kristen,” a man said. “It’s Sydney Martin at Martin Mortuary. How are you?” He spoke in a smooth, professional voice, and Kristen appreciated that.

“I’m doing fine,” Kristen said. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m just looking over this final plan you submitted via the portal.” He paused, and Kristen wondered what she’d done wrong. “And I’m afraid I had you pick out the wrong casket. You get a gold level casket, and you chose a silver.”

The thought of going back to the funeral home and picking a different casket made her ill. “Joel picked the casket,” she said. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“I’m afraid I can’t refund any money.”

“That’s fine,” Kristen said. “I’m not asking for a refund.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively.”

Sydney let a couple moments go by, as if he expected her to change her mind. She wouldn’t. “All right,” he said. “Other than that, I think we’re ready for Saturday morning.”

“Sounds great,” Kristen said. The call ended, and she wished Saturday morning had already come and gone. She started walking again, her thoughts revolving around the funeral arrangements now. She’d meant to call Patricia back about the food for the family luncheon too, and she hadn’t.

The woman ran the community outreach arm of the church Joel and Kristen had attended for many years, and she wanted to host a luncheon for everyone after the funeral and the burial, and Kristen had agreed to it.

Why she’d agreed to it, she wasn’t sure. Patricia had probably caught her in a weak moment. She’d heard nothing from the woman for a while, so maybe the luncheon wasn’t happening. But Kristen knew Patricia better than that, and she’d probably planned a three-course meal.

Kristen thought perhaps she could get more involved in her church once the funeral was over, once her girls left the cove again. She detoured down the path toward the picnic table, and sat down, intending to make a few phone calls and tie things up with the loose ends still hanging down as they related to the funeral.

She first called Patricia, and the woman answered on the first ring. “Kristen, hello.”

“Hello.”

“You must be calling about the luncheon,” she said. “I didn’t want to bother you, because I know you’ve had so much going on, but I want you to know that it’s going to be great. We’ll have a full lunch ready for when you’re finished at the cemetery, and I even got LisaAnne to make her steamed mussels.”

“Wow,” Kristen said, feeling her spirits start to lift. “That’s amazing, Patricia. Thank you.”

“I only need one thing from you, and that’s an estimate of how many people you think you’ll have at the luncheon.”

Kristen wasn’t sure how to count. “Well, Joel was the only member of his family left. We’ve got our kids, their spouses, a few of my really close friends.” Even as Kristen spoke, she didn’t even know if Clara would be there, or Jean, Reuben’s wife. But she wanted Alice and her twins there. Robin’s family. The other girls.

She had a couple of friends at the community center, from her years working in the Seafaring Girls program.

“I would say there won’t be more than twenty-five,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Totally okay,” Patricia chirped. “Thank you for letting us serve you this way.”

“Of course,” Kristen said, trying to be as proper as Patricia. As soon as the call ended, she deflated. Talking to people was too hard, and her idea to do more volunteer work with the church fled.

But she had one more call to make, and she stayed seated, because she needed all the strength she had to talk to Clara.

“Hey, Mom.” At least her daughter had answered this time.

“Hello, dear.” Kristen wasn’t sure what else to say. She didn’t want to ask Clara if she was coming to the funeral or not. Her daughter knew Kristen wanted her there. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Clara sighed, and Kristen just waited. Clara needed some time to put her words in the right order, and Kristen had learned that if she just waited long enough, she’d start talking.

“Did you know Joel asked me to read his eulogy at the funeral?” Clara asked.

“Yes.” Kristen bristled when Clara called her father Joel, but she’d given up on correcting her. “He told me.”

“Did he tell you he wrote the eulogy?”

“He planned everything,” Kristen said.

“I hate it,” Clara said, the words bursting from her in a rush. “It’s not the man I knew at all, Mom, and I just thought if I didn’t come, then I wouldn’t have to read it.”

“Is that what’s keeping you from coming?”

“Mom, I’m on Pearl. I’ve been staying with Ebony.”

Kristen’s chest simultaneously stung and collapsed. She struggled to breathe against the fact that her own daughter didn’t want to stay with her. Kristen thought they could’ve had some real opportunities to bond over the past week and a half, the way she’d seen her Seafaring Girls do.

“Don’t read it, then,” Kristen said, glad her voice stayed somewhat steady.

“I don’t want to disrespect his wishes.”

“What?” Kristen asked, because Clara wasn’t making sense. “You call him Joel, Clara. I think that’s more disrespectful than not reading the eulogy.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could suck the words right back down her throat.

But Clara said, “I know, Mom.”

Kristen had no energy left for this conversation. It was amazing how quickly she drained these days, and she leaned her head in her hand not holding the phone. “Clara,” she said. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice. Listen, honey, I love you. I want you here. Change the eulogy if you want to. He’s not here, and he’s not going to know.”

“You think I can?”

“Yes,” Kristen said. “Do what you need to do so that you can come. Please…just come if you can.”

Clara sniffled, and she said, “Okay, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you too.” She put her phone down on the table, relying on Clara to end the call. She didn’t like it when her daughter cried, because it squeezed her heart so tightly. She didn’t think she had any tears left—and for herself and her situation, she didn’t.

But for her daughter, she had plenty of tears to cry.

By the time she composed herself and made it back to her cottage, she found a hash brown casserole sitting on the stovetop, with a note on the counter beside it.

I had to run, Alice had said. Thank you for showing me how to be strong and how to forgive. I love you, and I’ll check on you later.

Alice

Kristen wanted more notes like this. Why couldn’t Joel have left notes like this for her to find after he’d gone?

She pressed the paper to her heart, almost able to smell Alice’s expensive perfume embedded in the fibers. Oh, how she loved Alice, no matter how much money she had or what kind of house or what her last name was. She hoped Alice knew that, and Kristen determined that, once this was all over, she’d make sure she told all of her girls what amazing women they were and how much she loved them more often.