Return of the Wild Son. Cynthia ThomasonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“It’s okay. I’ve got the croissants baking, and three dozen pastries are ready.” Marion wiped her hands on her apron. “Have you heard the news?”
News? Jenna had only been gone since yesterday, when she’d left for night class. “Guess not. Something going on?”
“I’ll say. Bill Hastings called last night to tell me someone had inquired about buying the lighthouse.”
Jenna froze, her hands wrapped around a stainless-steel bowl of dough. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just told me that a guy asked the Realtor a lot of questions about the building’s condition.”
Jenna grabbed a rolling pin and began pushing it furiously over the mound of dough she’d just slapped onto a floured cutting board. “What time is it?”
Marion glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes after six. Why?”
“I’ve got somewhere to be at eight-thirty when Shirley gets here.”
“Where?”
“Just out.”
Marion frowned. “I know what you’re doing. You’re going to the mayor’s office to see what Bill knows about the potential buyer.”
Three Bronx cheers for a mother’s radar. “Maybe I can get him to tell me who’s interested.”
“Let it go, Jenna. That old building isn’t worth your time or worry.”
“I know that, Mom. Nobody knows that better than you and me. But I have plans for that place.”
Jenna had to strain to hear her what her mother said next, but she thought she could make out “obsession.”
“I’m aware of your plans, honey,” Marion said, “but I just don’t want you drawing attention to our family by pressuring Bill Hastings. People will talk.”
Jenna couldn’t believe her mother’s bland reaction to this possible sale. “I want them to talk, Mom. It will take more money and more people on my side before I can buy that place and tear it down.” She stopped rolling out the dough, and stared at her mother. “That lighthouse represents a very sad period of this town’s history, not just our own past.”
“And how close are you to having a down payment on that eighty thousand?”
Jenna frowned, picked up a cookie cutter and layered perfectly round biscuit dough on a baking sheet. “I just need a few more months, maybe a year.”
“I wish you’d forget about this, Jenna,” Marion said. “A young woman like you should be looking to the future, thinking about marriage, a family.”
“I am thinking about those things. All the time.”
Marion sprinkled a row of crullers with cinnamon sugar. “If you’re talking about George, then I have to point out that you’ve been planning this so-called future with him for the past three years, and there’s still no ring on your finger.”
Jenna gave her a sharp glance. “Do you really want to go there, Mom? Because if we discuss the subject of who’s living in the past, I’ll point out that you haven’t had a date since Daddy died twenty years ago.” She immediately regretted she’d said it when she saw the familiar veil of sadness creep over her mother’s eyes. Jenna stopped working and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Marion shrugged. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I just don’t want to see you follow the path I’ve taken. You’re only thirty-three. You can still make a life outside of this bakery. You’ve made a good start by taking nursing classes at the college, but you’ve got to get over this… thing you have about the lighthouse.”
Jenna stepped back. “I won’t rest until it’s torn down and something positive stands in its place. Something that serves Daddy’s memory.”
Jenna shoved a baking sheet into the oven. “And I am making a life, Mom. I’m going to graduate soon. I’ll have my nursing degree. And I have George. Once I see a beautiful green park in place of that lighthouse, my life will be just about perfect!”
Marion sighed. Jenna walked by her, picked up a waxed bag and stuffed a half-dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts into it.
“Who are those for?” her mother asked.
“Who else? Bill Hastings.” Jenna rattled the bag in the air. “If I can’t reach him with gentle persuasion, I know he’ll accept a bribe.”
“What are you going to do if he does tell you who the interested party is? Are you going to accost the guy?”
Jenna closed the sack and set it aside. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll make a friend of him. I’ll tell him if he tears down the lighthouse, I’ll suggest my plan for something in its place and he can name it the Joseph Malloy—John Doe Park.”
T WO HOURS LATER , Jenna entered the reception area of the mayor’s office and nodded to Bill Hastings’s secretary.
“Morning, Jenna,” Lucinda said.
“Hi. Is he in?”
The secretary gave a furtive look over her shoulder. “Well, yeah, I think so. But maybe I should check.”
Jenna caught a glimpse of Bill skirting his desk. He’d just grabbed the bottom of the blind on his office door window and started to yank it down when Jenna said, “Never mind. I see him.”
She strode into his office. “Hello, Bill.”
“Did Marion tell you? I wanted her to break the news, smooth over the situation.”
“She told me. No smoothing it over, though.”
He raised a hand. “Now, Jenna, don’t fly off the handle.”
“Who’s the buyer, Bill?”
He shook his nearly bald head. “I don’t know. The Realtor called to tell me someone was looking at the place. That’s all I heard.”
“Don’t sell it to him. You know I’m planning to buy it.”
Bill walked around his desk and squeezed his plump frame between the arms of his chair. “Be reasonable, Jenna. What are you going to do? Have bake sales and car washes to come up with the down payment?”
“I’ve got a committee behind me. We’re slowly getting the money together. We’ve only had a little over six months. We need more time.”
Bill had the decency to look repentant. “I’m not waiting on your committee. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think we’d get any other interest. Don’t jump to conclusions, however. This is just a first step. The guy will probably back out.”
“I don’t like the way this whole listing has been handled,” Jenna said. “You never called a meeting of citizens to discuss putting the lighthouse up for sale.”
“No, but I didn’t have to. It’s up to my discretion if I feel the entire town needs to be consulted on an issue. And I believed we could handle this decision among council members.” He stared at her. “Check the town’s policies manual, Jenna.”
“The lighthouse belongs to everybody, Bill. You had no right—”
He held up one finger. “Correction. The U.S. Coast Guard sold the station to the town council in 1969. The five council members at the time were listed as co-owners. They were given a legal deed and power of attorney to maintain or sell the property as long as it’s in the best interest of the citizens of Finnegan Cove. And each time an election was held and new council members took over, the deed was passed down.”
He clasped his hands on top of his desk. “As town leaders, we can decide the future of the light station, Jenna, and that’s what we’re doing, with the best interest