Page 42 of Forever Full Circle
They rose together, chairs whispering against polished wood. Jamie lingered at the door as Emily and Daniel bundled up theircopies, the box with the key nestled carefully in Emily’s purse, as if it might bruise.
“You should walk by the harbor on your way out,” Jamie suggested. “The light’s perfect this time of day. You can see the tower from the footpath.”
They took his advice.
As they stepped out into the corridor and down the front steps, the late afternoon air wrapped around them—cool, edged with salt. Emily leaned on Daniel. Down the hill, the lighthouse was just visible, its white cylinder cutting a clean line against the blue of the sky. The sun angled low enough to gild its edges, turning the windows into small flashes of fire.
They stood there for a while, not talking, just looking at it. A gull wheeled overhead. Somewhere, a buoy clanged in the distance.
“I can see why my parents fell in love here,” she said, the words thick.
Daniel leaned in, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “And now it’s part of our story too.”
They watched the sun sink lower in its arc, watched the boats ghost across the water, watched the world go by, unaware of the momentous day that had just happened to them. The lighthouse didn’t look abandoned from this distance. It looked patient. Waiting for them, now.
Daniel checked his phone. “We should get you home before you run out of energy.”
Emily agreed, though reluctantly. As they turned back toward the car, she looked up at the lighthouse again, at the walls and rooms waiting to be filled.
“I want to open it to everyone,” she said, abrupt, the idea blooming fully formed. “Not just music. Not just the kids. Workshops. Weddings. Story nights. Community dinners. All of it. For everyone.”
Daniel smiled, that steady, unflappable smile she’d come to rely on. “We can do that.”
“We’ll need help,” she replied, already thinking of volunteers, neighbors, old friends who might say yes.
He grinned even wider at that. “Yes, we will.” Then, squinting, he jostled her gently, reading her face the way he always could. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I was just thinking… this place has been standing here for over a century. Storms, wars, recessions. And now it’s ours to protect. Ours to add to.”
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “We won’t just protect it,” he said. “We’ll give it back it’s light.”
Emily smiled at that.
They walked back to the car, not in a rush, just being. The lighthouse stood behind them, a pale phantom of its former glory. But to Emily it no longer looked fragile or forgotten. It looked sturdy, monumental, and as bright as the promise she felt rising in her chest—like a light that had been waiting, all this time, to be turned back on.
As they drove away, the harbor curved behind them, and the lighthouse remained in the rearview mirror for a long stretch of road. Emily kept her eyes on it until it disappeared.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Roman Westbrook could have chosen any night to post the video, but somehow, as though the universe were lining up blessings, he waited until the sun had set on the day that Roy’s remission news came, the day that Emily and Daniel officially became owners of the lighthouse.
At exactly 7:05 p.m., he posted it. Not to his personal feed—he wanted it to feel like a professional endorsement—so he uploaded it to his official YouTube, with a caption:Raw talent from a young voice in Maine. Remember her name: Chantelle Morey. #HomeInTheHarbor.”
By morning, the video had cracked half a million views. There were comments from Brazil, Latvia, the Philippines. By afternoon, it was trending on Reddit, sandwiched between a video of a raccoon stealing pizza and a debate thread about the best cheap microphones for beginner musicians.
Emily was in the family suite kitchen, nursing a mug of decaf with a ton of milk in it and a truly epic case of morning sickness, when Cassie came in waving her phone.
“You seen this?” she asked, brandishing the screen.
Emily’s brain was still half in the haze of sleep. “What am I looking at?”
Cassie plopped into the seat across from her, phone between them, and tapped play. The familiar sight of Chantelle’s guitar appeared, the faceless angle from the video she’d shown Emily, fingers working the strings. Emily watched, transfixed, as the video rolled through the first verse. The audio was tinny, the camera wobbled when Chantelle shifted, but the feeling was all there.
Cassie scrolled to the comments, reading aloud.
Is this kid for real???
Sounds better than anything on the radio.
