With a breeze that plastered my jacket to me on a sunny, early spring day, I did not doubt that.
“Garage has a loft space above it, which could be renovated as a studio rental if you’ve a mind to do that sort of thing. As for the property itself, it also has a building where the generators are stowed,” the realtor carried on. “Hook up for a washer and dryer and good space in there. Lots of it for storage. Which is good because there’s not a lot of storage in here for tools and Christmas decorations and whatnot.”
I glanced around seeing he was right. There wasn’t even enough cabinetry to house the things a decent cook would need in her kitchen. Though there was room for them. In fact, if you fought back the gloom, there was quite a bit of room.
“And there’s a place outside, could call it a studio, could call it a mother-in-law house,” he shared. “Whatever, it’s got goodly space, two bedrooms, big kitchen. Could be renovated to be a guest house. Or like I said, a studio if you’re artsy. Or you could rent it out like a B and B. I’ll show you all of that after we have a look at the lighthouse.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
“Now, since I mentioned full disclosure, you have to know it all,” the realtor continued.
Slowly, my eyes went to him.
When they did, he launched in. “Like I said, it’s automated. And like I said, you won’t really have to concern yourself with the functionality of that unless the electricity goes out, but then the generators automatically kick in. There are two. But you’ll need to keep fuel on hand to keep them going in case a blackout lasts awhile. And just to say, this is coastal Maine. We get weather. Blackouts can last awhile.”
When I nodded to share I took that in, he kept going.
“And if you’re, say, away on vacation, you need to make sure someone is playing backup in such a case.”
“Okay,” I replied when he stopped talking, thinking this probably wasn’t a good thing since I knew no one in Maine (or not anyone who wanted to know me) and thus couldn’t call on anyone to do something like that.
I also didn’t hold high hopes I’d make friends and win people. I hadn’t had a lot of success in that in my life.
And last, although Patrick believed it completely, I held no hope that the reason I was out there was going to come to fruition.
That being me having a happy ending.
That being what Patrick thought would be my happy ending.
Which might mean I’d have someone, a certain someone, or actually two (at least), even though I knew I never would.
However, if I bought that place and wanted to go back to Denver to visit the family, I could pay someone to look after it.
The realtor nodded, unaware of my bleak thoughts, and went on, “Some folks don’t put two and two together, but just to say, there’s a big honkin’ light on top of this building that flashes in a circle at night or during fog, going around every fifteen seconds. You’ll need blackout blinds everywhere if you’re like practically every other soul on this earth and will have trouble sleeping with a bright light flashing through the windows every fifteen seconds.”
“Blackout blinds probably aren’t hard to come by,” I guessed, and they probably could be made to look nice, or at least I hoped.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But anyone who wants to live here and not go insane or end up a crotchety old curmudgeon with a bad attitude, and that may seem like I’m laying it on thick, but it’s all warranted with our old keeper, they’ll want to put in all new windows. This brick is solid. Nothing coming through.” He jerked his head toward a wall. “But if the foghorn needs to blow, it’s gonna blow. So soundproof windows or sound-lock panels you can put in when you wanna drown out the noise will be the way to go to get some peace.”
“That probably won’t be hard either,” I noted.
“It won’t be, but they’ll need to be custom so it won’t be cheap.”
I nodded.
Price was not an issue.
Thanks to Patrick, I had all the money in the world.
“Then there’s the tourists,” he told me. “Reason those signs are out there isn’t only because the old guy was crotchety, it was because people think lighthouses are public places. They show and knock on the door wanting a tour, wanting to walk around, taking pictures. Doesn’t help matters the coastal path is public land, but this lighthouse stands on private land. Walkers and bikers are supposed to go around the fence, but sometimes they aren’t big on doing that. So you’ll either need to be real patient, real friendly or you’ll need to build a decent fence. My guess, though, is you’re still gonna have to put up with some of the more persistent ones.”
Now that . . .
That was going to be an issue.
People weren’t my favorite things.
In fact, the last seventeen years of my life, I’d had precisely fourteen people (not all fourteen all seventeen years, and now one of them was dead so I only had thirteen) that I actually liked and wanted to spend time with.
The rest, I tolerated.
No.
That wasn’t right.
The rest tolerated me.
“Your land, your fence,” the agent stated. “That said, this is a historic site so if you’re thinking of getting this place and then building a ten-foot wall around it topped with razor wire, the town council is gonna balk. They’re a good bunch of folks with the best interests of Magdalene and its citizens in mind, so if you do something that will help you to have privacy but isn’t unsightly, they won’t have an issue.”
“Do I have to get approval for any plans I might have from them?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not if it isn’t outlandish. Rider is relatively specific about a lot of stuff and mostly it’s to keep this place in keeping with the seascape, the coast, the town and its history. So if you buy the old girl, you’ll be legally bound by that rider to keep her within that purview. You build something outside of that scope, they’ll be within their rights to demand you tear it down and build something else. You stay inside that scope, you’ll be good.”
I nodded but remarked, “That seems rather loose for a historical site.”
“Like I said, town council is a good bunch of folks and they have been for a good while,” he shared, walking toward me. He stopped within three feet. “But they’re also pretty dogged about keeping Magdalene, Magdalene. Recently, the land west and south of this lighthouse was rezoned and is now unincorporated. But the coastal path leading up to it and the lighthouse remain under the town of Magdalene’s purview. This is because the town mostly exists on tourist trade and the lighthouse is an attraction. So if you push them, they’ll not hesitate to push back.”
I was surprised about that land being rezoned and wondered distractedly why that had come about. Everything for quite some distance around the lighthouse was undeveloped, making the lighthouse an undisturbed beacon not only from sea, but from every direction by land.
However, I was not surprised Magdalene existed on tourist trade. I’d found the day before when I’d arrived that it was huge, coastal postcard from the minute you saw the town limit sign (which could be on a postcard itself, it was so pretty) all the way down it’s meticulously preserved main street that traversed Magdalene Cove (containing wharf). Even the businesses and homes that dotted the sloping swell of land beyond fit the aesthetic.
“Wanna see the rest?” the realtor asked.
“Please,” I answered.
He led the way and I followed him up the spiraling, wood stairs that didn’t look rickety in the slightest.
Yes, this place had been built out of love.
We hit the second floor, which was one big room with one somewhat big window, another smaller fireplace and that was it. There was nothing else. Not a powder room. Nothing. Though there was an old, steel desk that whoever owned it surely bought it not actually wanting it.
Up we went to the third story and that was where things got interesting.
It was cut in half. There were two windows in what could only be the bedroom area (if the decaying mattresses and headboard where anything to go by), but these windows were half windows in a strange shape that looked like a shell and oddly set in the floor. Another window just like that in a dire bathroom that was rather small, no walk-in closet, no large bath big enough for two set in a platform. But the half circle space could be made pretty, and useful, should someone have the imagination to do it.