Cynthia Thomason - Return of the Wild Son

Jenna couldn’t believe her mother’s bland reaction to this possible sale. “I want them to talk, Mom. It will take more money and more people on my side before I can buy that place and tear it down.” She stopped rolling out the dough, and stared at her mother. “That lighthouse represents a very sad period of this town’s history, not just our own past.”

“And how close are you to having a down payment on that eighty thousand?”

Jenna frowned, picked up a cookie cutter and layered perfectly round biscuit dough on a baking sheet. “I just need a few more months, maybe a year.”

“I wish you’d forget about this, Jenna,” Marion said. “A young woman like you should be looking to the future, thinking about marriage, a family.”

“I am thinking about those things. All the time.”

Marion sprinkled a row of crullers with cinnamon sugar. “If you’re talking about George, then I have to point out that you’ve been planning this so-called future with him for the past three years, and there’s still no ring on your finger.”

Jenna gave her a sharp glance. “Do you really want to go there, Mom? Because if we discuss the subject of who’s living in the past, I’ll point out that you haven’t had a date since Daddy died twenty years ago.” She immediately regretted she’d said it when she saw the familiar veil of sadness creep over her mother’s eyes. Jenna stopped working and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Marion shrugged. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I just don’t want to see you follow the path I’ve taken. You’re only thirty-three. You can still make a life outside of this bakery. You’ve made a good start by taking nursing classes at the college, but you’ve got to get over this… thing you have about the lighthouse.”

Jenna stepped back. “I won’t rest until it’s torn down and something positive stands in its place. Something that serves Daddy’s memory.”

Jenna shoved a baking sheet into the oven. “And I am making a life, Mom. I’m going to graduate soon. I’ll have my nursing degree. And I have George. Once I see a beautiful green park in place of that lighthouse, my life will be just about perfect!”

Marion sighed. Jenna walked by her, picked up a waxed bag and stuffed a half-dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts into it.

“Who are those for?” her mother asked.

“Who else? Bill Hastings.” Jenna rattled the bag in the air. “If I can’t reach him with gentle persuasion, I know he’ll accept a bribe.”

“What are you going to do if he does tell you who the interested party is? Are you going to accost the guy?”

Jenna closed the sack and set it aside. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll make a friend of him. I’ll tell him if he tears down the lighthouse, I’ll suggest my plan for something in its place and he can name it the Joseph Malloy—John Doe Park.”

T WO HOURS LATER , Jenna entered the reception area of the mayor’s office and nodded to Bill Hastings’s secretary.

“Morning, Jenna,” Lucinda said.

“Hi. Is he in?”

The secretary gave a furtive look over her shoulder. “Well, yeah, I think so. But maybe I should check.”

Jenna caught a glimpse of Bill skirting his desk. He’d just grabbed the bottom of the blind on his office door window and started to yank it down when Jenna said, “Never mind. I see him.”

She strode into his office. “Hello, Bill.”

“Did Marion tell you? I wanted her to break the news, smooth over the situation.”

“She told me. No smoothing it over, though.”

He raised a hand. “Now, Jenna, don’t fly off the handle.”

“Who’s the buyer, Bill?”

He shook his nearly bald head. “I don’t know. The Realtor called to tell me someone was looking at the place. That’s all I heard.”

“Don’t sell it to him. You know I’m planning to buy it.”

Bill walked around his desk and squeezed his plump frame between the arms of his chair. “Be reasonable, Jenna. What are you going to do? Have bake sales and car washes to come up with the down payment?”

“I’ve got a committee behind me. We’re slowly getting the money together. We’ve only had a little over six months. We need more time.”

Bill had the decency to look repentant. “I’m not waiting on your committee. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think we’d get any other interest. Don’t jump to conclusions, however. This is just a first step. The guy will probably back out.”

“I don’t like the way this whole listing has been handled,” Jenna said. “You never called a meeting of citizens to discuss putting the lighthouse up for sale.”

“No, but I didn’t have to. It’s up to my discretion if I feel the entire town needs to be consulted on an issue. And I believed we could handle this decision among council members.” He stared at her. “Check the town’s policies manual, Jenna.”

“The lighthouse belongs to everybody, Bill. You had no right—”

He held up one finger. “Correction. The U.S. Coast Guard sold the station to the town council in 1969. The five council members at the time were listed as co-owners. They were given a legal deed and power of attorney to maintain or sell the property as long as it’s in the best interest of the citizens of Finnegan Cove. And each time an election was held and new council members took over, the deed was passed down.”

He clasped his hands on top of his desk. “As town leaders, we can decide the future of the light station, Jenna, and that’s what we’re doing, with the best interest of the town in mind.”

She set the bag of doughnuts on his desk and saw his gaze connect with Cove Bakery’s trademark steaming cup of coffee. “I’ve brought doughnuts.”

“That was mighty nice of you, Jenna.”

“You stop the sale of the lighthouse and I’ll bring you a half dozen every morning for the next six months.”

He stared longingly at the sack. “As much as I’d like the doughnuts, and you know I’m a big fan of your mama’s baking, the matter’s out of my hands. The council has voted.” He gave her a placating smile. “Besides, all you and your rabble-rousers want to do is tear the place down. The Michigan Beacon Society would be all over my butt if I let you do that. They want every lighthouse in the state saved if possible.”

Jenna fumed. He was so missing the point. “It’s a decaying old building, Bill. It’s unsafe. No one’s allowed inside. I want to tear it down and reopen Lighthouse Park. Put in a playground, picnic areas, make it even better than it was before…”

“Jenna, we both know why you want that building gone,” Bill said sympathetically, “and I can understand. I liked Joe.”

“Forget about my father. That’s my issue, but the Lighthouse Park Committee has a broader goal than just eliminating a tragic eyesore from our shoreline.”

Bill shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know why you didn’t just set a match to the lighthouse long ago.”

“Great idea, Bill. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But everyone would know exactly who torched the place, and I’d end up rotting away in prison just like Harley Shelton. The difference is, he deserves what he got!” She snatched up the bag of pastries. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re not taking the doughnuts, are you?”

She stared down at the bag. “You didn’t give me any information.”

“There isn’t any to give yet. The potential buyer probably won’t even show up. And if he does…”

Lucinda stuck her head in the office. “Excuse me. Bill?”

“What is it, Lucinda?”

“Mark Blayne is on the phone from Sutter’s Point Realty.” She cast a sideways look at Jenna. “The fella who’s interested in the lighthouse is coming to town this morning.”