Chapter 3

“Once you’re a parent, you’re the ghost of your children’s future.”

Cooper, Interstellar

There wasn’t a single thing in the specs, the photos, or any of the video Hope had seen that did the Buoys justice. Sure, it was on the small size, and, no, it would probably never make the cover of Architectural Digest, but that was part of what made it so charming. What it lacked in size and flash, it made up for in spades with its cozy warmth and personal touches.

“Hand-hewn by Jimmy himself,” Jessie said, running her hand over the well-marked surface of the lobby desk. “Same with the bar in the restaurant.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hope murmured, her brain whipping through the scant details she’d learned about the late patriarch of the O’Donnell family. He’d moved from Dublin to the West Coast of Canada over thirty-five years ago and built his fishing lodge piece by piece with nothing more than a strong back and stronger determination.

“Every once in a while I think about sanding out all the marks and gouges, but…” A softness washed through Jessie’s brown eyes as she spoke, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hope said. “I bet there’s a lot of history in those scratches.”

“Yeah.” Jessie slid her middle finger along the edge of the desk slowly, then exhaled a quiet laugh and pointed toward the center beam in the ceiling. “You can’t read it from here, but if you look closely, you can see where Jimmy carved all their names.”

It took Hope a second to see it, but sure enough, right up at the top were five different words cut into the wood. From that distance, she couldn’t make out which name was which, but one of them had to be Maggie, the wife and mother whose only mention in the notes Hope read was a scrawled Maggie O’D—wife in the margin of one of the pages.

Before Hope could ask anything about Maggie, though, Jessie was already walking away.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you the tour.” She started toward the other side of the room, where two large brown leather sofas sat positioned around a giant stump of a table with a circular glass top.

“Great table,” Hope said. “Did he make that, too?”

“The base, yeah, and then he traded a forty-pounder of Jameson for the glass; that was usually how Jimmy did business.”

“Nice.” Hope grinned as she toed the edge of the burgundy braided rug the table sat on. “Did someone make this, too?”

“Oh hell no,” Jessie said, laughing. “We got that at Costco, but Jimmy and the boys hauled in and set every one of the rocks in the fireplace.”

Hope already knew that from her notes, but standing next to it and being able to see the size of some of those rocks was—wow. It must have taken them forever, especially since the boys had all been so little when they’d built it. The back side of the fireplace opened up into what Jessie called the great room, and what a room it was.

With no apparent rhyme or reason, the chairs and sofas sat at odd angles, some pushed close together, a few off by themselves, and not a single one of them matching another. A huge flat-screen hung on the far wall, a large card table sat under the west window with an unfinished game of Risk covering it (red was kicking ass, by the looks of it), and along the adjacent wall hung an enormous laminated map of the coast. A tall wooden bookcase stood against the east wall, all but sagging under the weight of the books, board games, and movies.

“It looks like someone’s family room,” Hope said.

“Yeah.” Jessie’s smile grew wider as she gazed around the room. “Great, isn’t it?”

They made their way slowly through the rest of the main lodge, upstairs to the guest rooms, which were each named after a different county in Ireland, through the restaurant again, then into the kitchen and tiny back office. And even though Jessie must have had a bunch of other things to do, she gave Hope as much time as she needed to look around, take notes, and ask as many questions as she wanted.

They’d already toured the four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the lower floor, which used to be for family only but were now where Hope and her crew would also be staying, so they headed out back to the five small A-frame cabins. The A-frames had once housed the Buoys’ employees; the O’Donnells had since converted the middle one into a workout area, Kate and Liam now lived in the one to its left, and the chef, Olivia, would move back into hers in a few days. The other two would be rented out to guests when needed.

As the two women headed over the lawn, the radio on Jessie’s hip crackled to life.

“Hey, Jess,” Finn said. “You got a second?”

Jessie was already smiling before she even keyed the mic. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got Sal Calegari on the phone, and he needs to change his res—”

“Oh crap.”

Finn continued to talk, but Jessie wasn’t listening.

“Sorry, Hope,” she said, walking backward toward the lodge. “But if I don’t stop Finn right now, he’ll do something stupid like lock me out of my computer again.”

“Okay, yeah, go ahead.”

“Um…take your time, go have a look at the cabins, the dock—whatever. I’ll…uh…I’ll catch up with you.”

Turning, Jessie sprinted toward the door, yelling as she pulled it open and dashed inside. “Don’t touch anything, Finn! I’m here! I’m…Oh my God, what the hell have you done now?”

Smirking, Hope made her way around the side of the lodge and wandered down to the three guest cabins near the water. In a matter of days they’d be full of guests and all manner of fishing gear, but today they were empty, waiting. Leaving her wet boots on the porch of the first one, she pushed open the orange door and stepped inside a room she would gladly trade her city apartment for.

She wandered through the cabin slowly, taking in the simple warmth of it, from the orange theme to the comfortable-looking furniture to the framed photos on the walls: a black bear and her two cubs grazing on what appeared to be some kind of berry bush, a stunning shot of a breaching orca with its entire body arched over the water, and one of an enormous moose peering out from a stand of trees with a clump of grass dangling from its velvety antlers.

Funny, Hope mused. In everything she’d read about the Buoys, there’d been no mention of any of them being a photographer, but clearly one of them knew what he was doing. Might be a story there.

The other two cabins were laid out pretty much the same as Orange, the only differences being the color schemes, types of chairs, and the photos hanging on the walls. It was all about the beauty of Ireland’s County Wicklow in Green, but in White the wall was covered with a collage of pictures of the Buoys and the O’Donnell family. She skimmed over each one, smiling as she connected each of the O’Donnells she’d just met with one of their younger versions. She stopped smiling, though, when her gaze landed on the picture of a woman in a large bibbed apron with her long red hair pulled back into a loose knot.

Who else could that be except Maggie O’D—wife?

Hope leaned in closer, fascinated by the fact that Maggie was the only person in any of the photos not smiling. In fact, unless Hope was misreading it, Maggie looked downright miserable. How could that be? How could anyone be miserable living in a place like this?

Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch outside, but before Hope could step back from the photo, Ronan’s body filled the open doorway, his left hand wrapped around the handle of an old beaten-up wooden toolbox. His unblinking gaze immediately shot to the picture, and even though he didn’t say a word, his expression hardened, sending a wave of guilt crashing through Hope, making her feel as though she’d been caught rifling through his underwear drawer instead of looking at a picture on the wall.

“Hey,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the way her voice wavered. “I was just…Jessie told me to come and have a look around, so I…Is that your mom?”

It took a couple of seconds for Ronan to finally blink away from the picture, but a quick nod was all he offered before lifting the toolbox a little and changing the subject.

“Need to fix the chain in the toilet.”

“Oh. Okay.” Not sure what to do, she waited until he’d crossed the room, then cleared her throat. “I’ll, uh…I’ll get out of your way, then.”

“You’re not in my way,” he said, his voice low. “Unless you need to…”

He stopped outside the bathroom and waved his finger between her and the toilet.

“What? Oh…no. No, I’m fine.” Why was she blushing? “But thank you.”

With one of those brief chin lifts men do, Ronan set the toolbox on the floor, then snapped on a pair of latex gloves and set to work inside the tank. Should she leave? If she did, it’d seem like she was trying to get away from him, wouldn’t it? Maybe, but she couldn’t very well just keep standing there, could she?

Well…maybe she could. It was a great way to renew her appreciation for the wonder that was a well-fitting pair of Levi’s. Sure, there had to be millions of guys wandering around the planet in 501s like those, but watching Ronan move in that pair right there, Hope would have sworn they’d been tailored specifically for him. Maybe it was the way they curved around his butt so perfectly, or maybe it was the way the denim hugged his thighs, not too tight but…whew. Hell’s bells, even that fraying bottom corner of his back pocket fascinated her.

Forcing herself to look away, she blinked hard and muttered a quiet curse.

“What’s that?” Ronan’s voice made her jump. “Did you say something?”

“Hmm? No. No, I was…” How the hell was she supposed to finish that sentence? By telling him she’d been staring at his ass? Yeah, brilliant idea. “Did you know the toilet gets flushed more times during the halftime show of the Super Bowl than at any other time of year?”

“Is that right?” He laughed quietly, then bent over at the waist (have mercy!) to get something out of his toolbox. “Guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah. Not for me, though. I only watch for the halftime show, so I have to make sure the ol’ bladder’s good and empty before—”

Hope clamped her mouth shut so hard her teeth creaked. What the hell was wrong with her? No one wanted to know about her bathroom habits, least of all some guy who’d be happier if she’d get herself and crew on the first plane back to the mainland.

“Okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I think I’ll just take me and my verbal diarrhea down to the dock to check things out down there.”

For a second, after he straightened and turned to look at her, she thought he might say something, but his only response was a slow smirk and a barely there nod. That was enough.

Back outside, she tugged on her boots, turned her collar up against the dampness, and started down the gravel path that curved around the cove toward the dock.

Combined scents of fish, salt water, and lemon greeted her when she stepped inside the fish shack. A long, deep countertop, complete with two side-by-side sinks, ran the length of the south wall. Half a dozen cutting boards stood stacked at the end next to four leather-encased knives, each a different length and width, and above the sinks hung a sign that read GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO BAIT.

Cupboards lined the other walls and there was an old metal chair over by the door, but that was basically it. Like the rest of the Buoys, it was functional, not fancy.

Hope eyeballed the corners of the ceiling, estimating distances and camera angles, then headed outside again to have a look at the exterior of the building and the rest of the dock. With only one light standard, it was going to be tricky to set up cameras, but they’d promised the O’Donnells they wouldn’t change anything, so she’d just have to get creative.

After measuring everything twice, she went back up to the lodge. Jessie met her midway through the lobby, but as soon as she started talking, the phone rang.

“Hi—oh…sorry, I have to grab that, but come with me, I have the rest of the paperwork for you.”

Hope followed her into the office, where Jessie answered the phone and reached for the papers at the same time. When she’d finished with the call, she moved a few things over on the credenza and motioned for Hope to sit.

Jessie had just dropped onto her chair when Kate walked in. She had a clipboard in one hand and her mouth was open, as if she was about to say something but had stopped when she saw Hope sitting there.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

Jessie and Hope shook their heads in unison.

“Actually,” Hope said, digging her notebook out of her bag, “I’m glad you’re here. I have a couple questions and I think one might be a touchy subject, so I’m not sure who to ask.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Kate hugged the clipboard to her chest as Jessie shrugged.

“Ask away.”

Hope never enjoyed this part of her job—trying to maneuver through the unknown waters of what was okay to talk about, what wasn’t, and what she could push a little on—but it was better to get those lines drawn early so there wasn’t any misunderstanding later. She flipped her notebook open and poised her pen above the marked page.

“It’s about Maggie.”

Without a word, Jessie’s gaze shot to Kate, who pulled the pocket door out of the wall and slid it closed, shutting the three of them inside the confined space of Jessie’s office.

“Ooo-kay,” Hope said, lifting her hands. “I’m guessing that’s a line we don’t cross. Did she pass away?”

After chewing her cheek for a couple of seconds, Jessie pulled a tube of ChapStick out of her pocket and began rolling it between her palms.

“She left when the boys were young,” she said. “And that’s a hard line for all of us.”

“Fair enough.” Hope probably should have left it there, but curiosity got the better of her as she crossed Maggie’s name off her list of questions. “I’m sorry, but if nobody wants to talk about her, why is there a picture of her in the white cabin?”

Again, Jessie hesitated. “Because regardless of what happened or why, she’s still their mother, she was a huge part of getting the Buoys started, and if it weren’t for those two things, it’s unlikely any of us would be here now, so we can’t just pretend she never existed.”

“But…um…that picture…” Hope didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Kate grunted. “And what’s worse is that it’s the best picture they have of her.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay. So Maggie’s out. Um, I have a few other questions, if you don’t mind.” But no matter how hard Hope stared at her notes, the only questions she wanted to ask now had to do with Maggie O’Donnell.

Why did she leave and not take the boys with her? Where did she go, and how often did they see her? Clearly Hope wasn’t going to make any friends by asking those questions, though, and thank God she hadn’t pushed Ronan about the picture when he’d walked into the cabin. She forced Maggie to the back of her mind and moved on.

“Tell me about the fish shack.”

“What about it?” Jessie asked, her brow furrowed.

“The specs we have say that it was built around the same time as the lodge, but it doesn’t look that old.” The more words she spoke, the more Jessie’s expression tightened. “Did you guys renovate it or something?”

Through widened eyes and tiny tips of their heads, Kate and Jessie seemed to be trying to communicate telepathically, but somehow in the five or six feet that separated them the connection kept getting lost.

“You know what,” Hope said, “forget it. I was just—”

She started to cross it off but stopped when Jessie spoke.

“We rebuilt it early last spring.”

Neither she nor Kate looked terribly happy about having offered up that bit of information, but why? It wasn’t as if they were giving away national secrets or anything—it was a shack, for crying out loud. Hope had known right from the get-go that she was going to come up against obstacles and knew they wouldn’t be keen to share all their secrets with her, but this?

Holy crap on a cracker, if they had so much trouble answering questions about a ten-by-twenty shack that didn’t mean anything at all, how the hell was she supposed to get them to open up about the things that did?

“Okay, look.” Hope leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Forget I asked. But for the purposes of filming, is there anything about it I’m going to need to know?”

“No.” Jessie’s answer was immediate and firm right up until she faltered. “It was just…”

She glanced at Kate, who nodded. “A personal decision.”

“Right. A personal decision.”

“Okay.” Hope wasn’t stupid; there was more to it than just a simple personal decision, but as curious as she was, if it didn’t affect filming, it wasn’t any of her business. “Is there anything else off-limits? Or anything I need to tread lightly around?”

With shrugs and quirked brows, they both shook their heads.

“I don’t think so,” Kate said. “We’re not all that exciting around here, so I don’t know how you’re going to get six good episodes out of us, never mind a whole dozen to complete the season. Your writers must be incredibly creative.”

She had to be kidding, right? Hope had only been there a few hours and already she’d learned that they didn’t talk about Maggie and that something had happened that made them rebuild the fish shack. Granted, she might not be able to use either of those things, but if that’s what she’d uncovered in the first few hours, she could only imagine what she’d find in the coming days.

“You might not think so, but to the average Joe or Jane trying to eke out a living in a concrete jungle, you guys are exotic and dazzling. You’re living the dream of so many people.”

That made them both snort.

“And if that doesn’t work…” Hope shrugged slowly and grinned. “Remember, we have the lineup of special guests coming in, too. They’ll help take some of the pressure off you guys feeling the need to be ‘on’ all the time, and they’ll give our story producers fresh stuff every week.”

Jessie lifted a well-used copy of tidal charts and pulled a sheet of paper from under it.

“We have the list of guests for the first six episodes,” she said. “But what about after that?”

“Luka’s tentatively booked all but the last two spots, but we can’t confirm anything until we know for sure that there’ll be a show after the first six episodes.”

They both nodded.

“Okay, I just have one more question, then. The pictures in the orange cabin—the wildlife shots—who took them?”

The last of Hope’s words were drowned out by the phone ringing.

Lifting her index finger to put Hope on hold, Jessie reached her other hand over and took the phone from its cradle.

“Thank you for calling the Buoys; this is Jessie.” A second later she sat up straight, her expression changed, tightened. “Dawn?…Hold on, what?”

Kate immediately moved closer, frowning, as Jessie turned her face up and stared wide-eyed at her. She pressed her hand over the mouthpiece and mouthed, “Olivia,” which made Kate’s face lose most of its color.

“Oh my God,” Jessie said, her voice barely a croak. “What part?…Holy shit. Is she okay?…Is she going to be okay?…They’re sure? Is she awake?…No, I guess that’s for the best. What about you—are you okay?…No, of course. I won’t keep you, but if you need anything or if there’s anything we can do for her…What?…No, don’t give it another thought. We’ll manage….Yes, of course. Okay…Okay. You’ll let us know?…Okay, give her our love. Bye.”

She didn’t even put the phone down, just pushed the off button and pressed it against her chest.

“What?” Kate cried. “Jessie!”

Jessie blinked slowly. “They were in a car accident the night before last; Olivia broke her back.”

“Oh my God! Is she okay? What part of her back? Is she—”

Hope was already off the credenza. “I’m…I’m gonna leave you guys alone, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”

Jessie nodded haltingly as she unclipped the radio from her hip and keyed the mic. “Guys, you need to get up here.”

Hope slid the door open and headed out of the room to give them some privacy. She hadn’t planned on going anywhere in particular and yet her feet took her back to the lobby desk, where, as Jessie had done earlier, Hope ran her fingers slowly over the blemished surface.

She couldn’t have been there more than a minute when the front door burst open and, almost like in a cartoon, the three O’Donnells all but fell through.

As one they looked at Hope, who simply pointed toward the office. By that time, Kate and Jessie were already on their way out. The last thing Hope heard as she closed the front door behind her was Jessie’s voice cracking.

“Olivia’s been in an accident.”