They were almost newlyweds?
Ouch.
“Tough break to be hit with a big challenge so early in a marriage.”
“It wasn’t what we planned, that’s for sure.” He stared into the black depths of his coffee.
“Are you both from Hope Harbor?” It would be helpful if they had a support system . . . but the lack of visitors to the house suggested otherwise.
“I am. Rachel’s from Texas.”
“So you have family in town?”
“Not anymore. My mom and dad are gone, and my brother lives in Florence. I have some friends here . . . but I haven’t been in the mood to socialize.”
Meaning the two of them were trying to muscle through on their own.
Not the best idea.
“How’s your wife settling in?”
“Okay, I guess.” He took a slow sip of his brew. “But it isn’t the life we expected. After I got out of the service, she was going to finish her degree and I was going to be a firefighter. You know what they say, though. If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” A thread of bitterness curdled his words.
His neighbor may have corralled his anger to some degree since the day in the garden, but it continued to lurk, as insidious as a staph infection.
And potentially as lethal.
Ben debated his next move.
He could tell the man it was better to lose his leg than his life, that he was fortunate to have a supportive wife, that there might be opportunities out there he’d have missed if he’d stuck with his original plan.
But platitudes or pep talks weren’t going to pull him out of his funk.
Ben swigged his coffee.
Too bad he hadn’t opted for a bit of psychiatric training in med school.
As it was, he’d be safer to sympathize with the man’s plight and offer a few open-ended comments to get the guy talking rather than attempt any armchair counseling.
“Life can definitely throw curves.”
“Yeah.” Greg set his mug on the table and gave him an intent look. “I heard you got hit with one yourself when you arrived in town. Inheriting a lighthouse had to be a shock.”
He tried to mask his surprise.
That had come out of the blue.
Given the active local grapevine, he wasn’t surprised his neighbor had heard about the lighthouse—but why bring it up?
“That’s putting it mildly.” He took a slow sip of his joe, trying to figure out how to play this. “I can’t believe my grandfather never told me he bought it, given how close we were.”
“Maybe he was afraid you’d think it was an impractical purchase.”
“It was.”
“Yeah—but it meant the world to him. I didn’t know him well, but after Rachel and I moved in next door, he’d stop in on occasion with a bag of donuts or some cinnamon rolls from Sweet Dreams to shoot the breeze.”
That sounded like Skip. Always tuned in to the needs of others, always willing to lend a hand to help a lonely person.
Or an abandoned lighthouse.
“My grandfather did have a touch of Don Quixote in him.”
“There are worse things, I suppose. My wife told me last night that you’re planning to sell the property to someone who intends to knock down the light.”
Uh-oh.
Unless his listening skills were failing him, there was a very slight undercurrent of censure in that comment.
Was this guy going to reward him for his hospitality by jumping all over him too?
And how did he and his wife know about that brand-new development? Hope Harbor might have a warp-speed grapevine, but you had to mingle to tap into it, and they didn’t seem to socialize.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Rachel’s boss told her yesterday afternoon.”
That made sense. His wife did come and go on a regular basis, suggesting she had some kind of job.
“It’s not easy to keep anything private in this town, is it?”
Greg’s lips quirked again. “Welcome to small-town America. Rachel’s not nosy, but when you work for a newspaper editor, you hear stuff.”
Newspaper editor?
Greg’s wife worked for Marci?
No wonder this guy and his wife were both in the loop about town happenings.
“I assume you’re talking about the Herald?”
“That’s the only paper we have. I heard you met Marci Weber.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s a firecracker.”
No kidding.
“Do you know her well?” Keep it conversational, Garrison.
“No, but Rachel told me how passionate she can be about causes she believes in. Like the lighthouse.”
Had Marci told Greg’s wife details about their volatile encounter on Monday—or was the man’s comment more generic?
A proceed-with-caution warning began to beep in his mind.
It might be best to tiptoe around this and approach from the side rather than head-on.
“What does your wife do at the Herald?”
“Whatever needs to be done. She’s only been there eight weeks.”
“She like it?”
“Yeah. She’s just a year short of her journalism degree, so the work is right up her alley. Having a great boss helps too.”
Marci the firecracker was a great boss?
“I take it the editor hasn’t blown up at your wife.”
“No. Rachel’s pretty easy to get along with. She has to be, to put up with me.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “So is it true about the buyer tearing down the light?”
“I think that’s his plan.”
“Bummer.”
“I agree. But no one else has come forward, and I can’t afford to turn down the offer. I want all the loose ends tied up before I leave in four or five weeks.”
The man traced a finger around the rim of his mug. “Would you consider putting off your buyer until then if there was a chance the town could come up with a way to buy the lighthouse?”
This guy was as pie-in-the-sky as Marci.
“Yes—but as I told your wife’s boss, I don’t see that happening.”
“I agree the odds are long, but Marci is putting together some sort of think tank to tackle the issue. They might come up with a plan that could be feasible.”
A think tank spearheaded by Marci.
Why was he not surprised?
“I don’t know how agreeable the buyer would be to me deferring my decision.”
“Would you be willing to
