“You going to give it to her?”
“I’m trying.”
He chuckles. “You always did confuse patience with weakness.”
“Maybe I’m learning.”
“Maybe you’re finally listening,” he says, and hangs up before I can argue.
Afternoon brings a strange peace. The lighthouse inspection required by the grant passes without a single note. The inspector shakes Bailey’s hand and calls the place “a marvel of responsible preservation.” She nearly cries, and I nearly tackle him in gratitude.
We celebrate with sandwiches on the porch. The wind’s warm, the bay glittering. For five whole minutes, we pretend this is what normal looks like.
Then her phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
Unknown:Nice inspection yesterday. Shame about what’s coming.
She shows me the screen. My stomach knots.
“Laramie?” I ask.
“She’d call you, not text me.”
I grab the phone, take a screenshot, and forward it.
Me:You seeing this?
Not five minutes later, I get a response.
Laramie:Already have a PI tracing. Stay put.
Bailey bites her lip. “You think it’s just Harris?”
“Could be anyone connected to him.”
She shakes her head. “They won’t stop, will they?”
“Not until we stop them.”
Her eyes find mine—steady, unflinching. “Then let’s finish it.”
We decide to go public, but on our terms. A live town-hall stream from the porch, just like the Read-In, except this time the story’s not children’s books, it’s the truth. Ivy sets up cameras, Dean drafts the statement, and Rowan offers goats for background ambience (“optics,” he says).
While they plan, Bailey disappears upstairs. I find her in the lantern room, staring at the water.
“You sure about this?” I ask.
She nods. “I’m tired of waiting for permission to exist.”
I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “Then we’ll tell it loud.”
She leans back against me. “You’re not scared?”
“I’m terrified,” I say. “But you taught me fear doesn’t mean retreat.”
We stand there until the sun drops low, our reflections merging in the glass.
The broadcast goes live on my social media page at dusk. The town gathers again—kids on blankets, adults on folding chairs, half the coast watching online. Bailey sits beside me, her hand steady in mine.
