Return of the Wild Son

How could a lighthouse be for sale? Weren’t they public domain? Nate pictured the wooden structure. Nearly everyone in Finnegan Cove was connected to the lighthouse, some in a good way, some in a bad, and in the case of two families, connected tragically.

But for Nate, the building had been a refuge, one he’d eventually come to think of as his personal space. Almost as if the abandoned structure had needed him as much as he needed it.

Until that night in 1988.

Harley cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Nate tried to keep his voice calm. “The lighthouse is absolutely the worst place you could go. I can’t believe you’re even considering it.”

Harley hesitated. “You have to trust me on this, Nate.”

“But it doesn’t make sense, Dad.”

“I checked into it. The price is right. Eighty thousand dollars.”

As if price was the only concern. But Nate followed this thread of thought. “That’s all? There can’t be much value to the building if that’s what they’re asking. Who’s selling it, anyway?”

“The town council. They’ve owned it since the Coast Guard deeded it to them in the sixties.”

All at once time stood still for Nate. He pictured the six-story beacon tower protruding from the roof of the small cottage flanked by oak trees. He and his father had guided their commercial fishing boat into the channel by its light many times. The closer they got to the lighthouse, the closer they were to home. Those, at least, were good memories, because that was when they’d had a home.

The wheels began to turn in Nate’s head as he struggled to come up with a positive aspect to his father’s decision. Harley was right about one thing. The Finnegan Cove Lighthouse was remote, sheltered, private. As long as he was set on going back there, maybe this was the perfect spot for him.

Nate sat forward, rested his arms on the steering wheel. “Do you know what condition the place is in?” he asked. He wondered when the light station had been built, and seemed to recall a date from the late eighteen hundreds. “It could be falling down.”

“I suppose,” Harley conceded. “But I saw a picture of it. Doesn’t look too bad. And I could fix it up. I’d enjoy doing that.”

“We should have somebody look at it, someone who knows about architectural structure,” Nate said, hoping this logical step would put an end to his father’s irrational plan.

“Fine.” He paused. “Maybe I should try to call—”

Sensing what his father was about to say, and knowing how his brother would react to a call from Harley, Nate stopped him. “Let me handle it,” he said. He had been gone for two decades, only traveling to Michigan once or twice a year to visit his father at the Foggy Creek Correctional Facility. And he’d never been back to Finnegan Cove. But he did know that Mike, a contractor who lived in Sutter’s Point about twenty miles away, was a stranger to both of them now. That was how Mike wanted it. “Let me make the phone call,” he said, and then realized, because of his current schedule, there was nothing to keep him in Los Angeles. “Maybe I’ll fly out and take a look at the place myself.”

“That’d be great, son,” his father said, clearly pleased. “I might be seeing you soon, eh?”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to you.”

He disconnected, shook his head and got out of his car. This was a crazy idea. If that lighthouse hadn’t washed into Lake Michigan, it had to be pretty damn close. But all at once the thought of buying that old place, fixing it up…well, maybe his father had hit on an interesting idea. A project like that, both of them working with their hands, as they had in the old days, when they used to pull in nets loaded with the catch of the day, might be exactly what he and Harley needed.

Of course, the first step in evaluating the practicality of this plan wasn’t going to be easy. Nate hadn’t spoken to his brother in years.

He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, went inside his condo and got his address book from the desk. He poured himself a gin and tonic and sat at the bar. Then he punched in the phone number of Mike Shelton. Maybe his brother wouldn’t be too busy on a Friday evening to talk to him. If he’d talk to him at all.

A kid answered the phone. Nate’s nephew. He’d be ten now. “Is Mike there?” Nate asked.

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

The boy didn’t react to hearing Nate’s name, just said he’d get his dad. A few seconds later, his brother came on the line. “Nate?” He didn’t even try to hide his surprise. Or the mistrust.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What do you want?”

He pictured his older brother, brawny, muscles bulging from hard work, eyes tired from reading blueprints. The perpetual scowl on his face that Nate hadn’t seen in years, but figured was still there. “I have news.” Nate waited for a reaction, received none. “Dad’s being paroled.”

He heard Mike grunt. “They’re letting him out?”

“It’s been twenty years, Mike. He was due to have a parole hearing.”

“Whoopee. And this affects me how?”

Nate thought about suggesting that Mike make an effort to see their father, but he knew the futility of that. Mike lived only two hours away from the penitentiary. He’d never once made the trip to Foggy Creek. He’d never even put a stamp on a Christmas card.

“I could use your help,” Nate said.

“Hey, if this involves Harley, count me out. You know how I feel.”

“Yes, I do, but I’m asking for me.”

Nate held his breath, knowing a favor between two estranged brothers wasn’t likely to get a more favorable reaction than one between an estranged father and son.

Surprisingly, Mike said, “What do you need me to do?”

“Dad’s moving back to Finnegan Cove when he gets out in a few weeks.”

“He’s what?” The question was a bark of disbelief.

“I know. I thought it was a bad idea, too. But he’s determined.”

“He’s a mental case, Nathaniel.”

Nate shook his head, not bothering to argue. The Harley Shelton Nate knew today was as calm and rational as anyone he’d ever met. At least that’s what Nate had believed until Harley said he was moving back to the Cove.

“Nevertheless,” Nate continued, “he’s decided to buy the old lighthouse. That’s where he wants to live.”

“Now I know he’s gone off the deep end,” Mike said. “Have you seen that place?”

“No. You have?”

“I’ve been to the Cove a time or two on projects. Drove by it.”

“Oh.” Nate calmly explained the situation, giving Mike time to criticize between sentences.

“I don’t want anything to do with this,” Mike said when he’d finished.

“Just look at the place for me,” Nate said. “I need a professional opinion on how bad the building is, what it would take to fix it up. Can’t you at least meet me down there? You won’t have to see Dad.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched into long seconds. “All right,” Mike finally said. “When are you getting here?”