Liberty Lighthouse Road was one of those forgotten parts of Butterfly Harbor. A section of town that had gone beyond overgrown and now bordered on jungle status. The chain link fence the city had put up before Stella had been born was rusted and sagged in places, tipping over in others. Portions had been removed to allow for passage down a narrow road wide enough for a car. If the current resident had a car, which she didn’t.
She ducked under the low-hanging branches and wound her way through the thickets of bushes and weeds. The increasing volume of the ocean drew her closer until, finally, she stepped out into the perfect sunshine-laden grove. And there stood Liberty Lighthouse in all her glory.
“The perfect hideaway,” Calliope whispered into the gentle breeze. “No wonder Kendall rarely leaves.” Which was why Calliope had decided to come to her. In the few months since Kendall Davidson had arrived in Butterfly Harbor, the former soldier had been one of those people Calliope simply couldn’t get a good read on. She was a lot like Calliope’s butterflies, flitting and darting away as soon as someone got too close. The question was, why? That said, if there was one thing Calliope loved, it was a mystery.
Not that Calliope didn’t know the particulars. The new arrival was a whiz when it came to construction, remodeling and restoration. The Flutterby cottages were testament to that. Kendall had served in the military with Matt Knight, Lori’s husband, who was actually responsible for Kendall’s initial visit to town in the first place. She’d been injured during her service, severely if the scars she carried were any indication. But it was the scars Kendall concealed that called to Calliope whenever she gave a passing thought to the woman.
It was a call that had grown louder since her encounter with Alethea Costas. Maybe it was her experience of that young woman’s pain that had her focusing on Kendall. Not that she expected to fix her, or coax her into talking about something she wasn’t comfortable with. But sometimes just knowing someone was around and willing to listen was enough to break through those barriers.
That idea was what had brought Alethea all the way across the country to find her brother.
The least Calliope could do was take a short walk to Kendall.
But now, as she stood just inside Kendall Davidson’s sanctuary, Calliope began to realize just what a talented and amazing woman she really was.
The last time Calliope had ventured near the lighthouse was years ago. Seeing what had at one time been a source of town pride falling apart brick by brick, chunk by chunk, had been too much for Calliope to bear. The sea-stained white paint had cracked and peeled away, exposing boards and siding to the elements. At times the tower itself seemed to be lilting, as if calling for help—help Calliope had no hope of providing.
Kendall, on the other hand? It wasn’t often Calliope found herself robbed of breath, or of words. It wasn’t that a lot of work had been done, because as near as Calliope could tell, not much had. But there was a revived majesty about the structure now, as if it had been bolstered by Kendall’s attention. Or perhaps merely by her presence.
The towering piles of flooring, siding and crown molding, arranged on sawhorses that circled the base of the tower, seemed endless. Not much had been left on the lighthouse itself. Calliope shielded her eyes and looked up. The railing along the gallery had been ripped off, the glass from the lantern room removed, replaced with plywood. Even the old brass lightning rod at the tip-top was gone.
The guest cottage perched on the slight hill along the cliffs had been freshly painted, although, no doubt still needed work on the inside. But the bright red door brought a smile to Calliope’s lips. Above the roar of the ocean, she caught the buzz of power tools. Shaking off her daze, Calliope strode in the direction of the sound.
Kendall Davidson was running a large sander against the grain of an old piece of floorboard. Sawdust billowed up and around her and Calliope winced. She should be wearing a mask, but something told her advising Kendall to be cautious would be a mistake. Dust and paint caked the snug grey tank top she wore over jeans that sagged around the waist and bunched around her thighs. She’d lost weight again. As if she’d forgotten the importance of eating.