Coert sighed.
“If you’re Coert, man,” Malc said low, “after it’s done, if you wanna salvage it, it won’t be hard to do.”
He’d seen the girl . . . no, woman . . . three times and she even made hangover eyes and a Sip and Save smock cute.
She could be shy.
She could be bold.
She could be clueless.
She could be sweet.
She was growing up the hard way, needed someone solid in her life to make sure she did it the right way, and she didn’t hide she was looking to let stuff she wasn’t big on, but felt tied to due to loyalty, slide out of her sphere so she could focus on that.
He couldn’t pretend to be in a drug dealer’s crew and be that person for her.
But he’d been ordered to.
And he wanted to be.
So he was going to.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Get out there, man,” Tom encouraged.
Coert gave him a look, Malc a look, then he gave them a wave, turned and walked away.
Even a Shadow
Present day . . .
I DROVE UP TO THE lighthouse, shocked that they’d been able to tear down and reinstall the fence in the period of time I’d been gone.
Sure, I’d been gone for five weeks, which was a long time, but it was a long fence.
And now it was all brand new.
After we’d agreed to accept an offer on Patrick’s house, before I’d left to go back to Denver I’d been able to settle on a contractor as well as find an interior designer in Augusta.
In order to assist the workers to be free to do what they had to do without being disturbed (too much), not to mention perform a quick hit to assist in the overall look of the place, we’d decided the fence would be first. We also decided on a pretty white picket fence that didn’t scream go away but did delineate the public space from private property.
Considering summer was coming on, my contractor had a bunch of jobs lined up, so he couldn’t even start for a couple of weeks after I’d signed on with him and it was going to be skeleton crews until he could hire some more workers to see the old girl to rights.
But it was clear they hadn’t messed about while I was away.
The single concave pickets rose from four feet up to five-foot, gothic pointed posts and was more solid than the old split rail, but it also seemed friendly and was amazingly attractive even if it clearly defined the boundary of the house versus the public tract.
And the post points were painted a glossy black that fit the color scheme of the buildings it outlined beautifully.
I loved it.
I loved the new gate even more.
Also a single, sweeping concave, even if it was a double-door gate, it was attached to substantial stone columns on either side and had huge black iron hinges with black iron spikes coming up through the wood rather than pickets.
Once I’d selected it, Walt, my contractor, said the gate probably wouldn’t come in for six to eight weeks as it was a custom order. He’d obviously gotten on that right away, ordered it before I even left Maine, because there it was.
And it was fabulous.
I parked outside it (since it was closed), got out and walked to it, feeling a chill of anticipation slide up my back, and not because there were seven different trucks parked on my property, which meant a goodly amount of people inside doing things that would make it my home.
No, because what I had ordered also obviously had been completed and delivered, and since I’d had it sent to Walt he’d had it put up.
It was a large sign on the stone column beside the gate, brass with a black background, the words standing out in shiny relief.
I walked up to it and read it, even though I’d drafted it myself, with the help of Jackie, who ran the Magdalene Historical Society (needless to say, once I’d witnessed the tulips, I’d gotten inspired and thrown myself headfirst into a variety of projects in the three weeks between tulip witnessing and Patrick’s house being sold).
The sign read:
Magdalene Lighthouse
Built 1832
Private Property
The lighthouse on Magdalene Point was designed and built by Abraham Thomson after the lighthouse that was built on this site in 1786 became unstable due to a fire. Mr. Thomson designed and constructed several lighthouses along the eastern seaboard of the United States, of which many still remain today.
Unlike many lighthouses, but a hallmark of Mr. Thomson’s lighthouse architecture, Magdalene Lighthouse is wide, not narrow, designed for the keeper to live within the structure, rather than outside in a detached home or the beacon rising from a homestead.
Distinct from any of Mr. Thomson’s other lighthouses, he included an extraordinary observation deck enclosed entirely by glass as the fourth story of Magdalene Lighthouse.
The lighthouse has always been manned but was automated in 1992.
This means the original structure prior to its demolition was the first lighthouse in Maine, however Magdalene Lighthouse was the last in Maine to be automated.
* * *
Magdalene’s lighthouse has been privately owned and operated since it was built. Limited tours of the site are available by appointment only. You can find a history of the building and its keepers, as well as book tours, at the Magdalene Historical Society. Please do not disturb the owner to request a tour.
Outside of guided tours, although you are invited to take photos outside the gates and fence, the owner asks that you be respectful of privacy.
The owner further requests no photography after sundown unless previously arranged through the Historical Society. The police will be notified of violators.
Please do not block the road, gate or drive. Those who do will unfortunately be towed at the vehicle owner’s expense.
I smiled to myself as I thought about the other signs I’d ordered, wondering if they’d arrived and were also put up.
Smaller, they’d be affixed (or perhaps already were) to the stone columns that supported the tall gates on either end of the property, where the coastal path led.
As drafted, they’d read:
Magdalene Lighthouse
Built 1832
Private Property
Please do not pass.
The owner asks with any photography that you’re respectful of privacy.
Tours are limited and can be booked through the Magdalene Historical Society. Please do not disturb the owner to request a tour.
The owner requests no photography after sundown unless previously arranged through the Historical Society. The police will be notified of violators.
Much friendlier than the last owner, and suffice it to say, Jackie was beside herself with glee that I was going to allow ticketed tours of the lighthouse one Saturday and one Sunday (not the same weekend) a month, no matter the season. She was delighted not only that it was a draw for tourists, something they’d never had and something she was certain would be popular, but that I was going to allow the society to keep the cost of the tour tickets.
As for me, I could absent myself from the house two days a month, and due to space and in order to keep track of everyone so they wouldn’t wander, tours would be no more than six people and only one guided tour would be in the house at a time.
Not to mention, if things turned out even half as beautifully as Walt and Paige (my interior designer) were planning, I’d be proud to show off just how much more magnificent it was going to be.
I noticed the wires coming out of the stone at the top of the sign where the sign (and gate) would be lit with gooseneck lights not only for curious tourists after dark but for me.
Studying the wires, I jumped as one side of the gate started to swing open and looked that way to see Walt was the person doing it.
“Elijah, one of my boys, clocked you, thought you were a tourist. Climbed up, saw it was you,” he stated, finishing, “You’re back.”
“I am,” I confirmed unnecessarily.
“How d’you like the gate?” he asked.
“I’d kiss it if I didn’t think that would concern you about my mental health.”
He laughed and gestured to the side he’d opened. “We got it wired but we haven’t put the keypad or remote on yet. Now that you’re back, I’ll get a boy on that.”
I shook my head and walked his way. “I won’t be bothering you much, Walt. There’s a lot to be done and you don’t need a nosy woman stopping you or your men from doing it.”