Page 6 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Six

CALLUM

E rrol stares at me like the enemy I am from his table at the café. I return the glare tenfold but lose it as his granddaughter delivers my breakfast.

She beams at me. With pretty brown eyes, a splatter of freckles over her cheeks, and wavy brown hair, she’s the much prettier spitting image of her grandfather. Or at least, the version of him thirty years ago.

“Thanks,” I grunt before shoveling a hearty helping of scrambled eggs into my mouth. Better the eggs stuff my mouth full before something I’ll regret slips out.

“See you tip, you lousy ingrate,” Errol says from behind the paper he now holds up like a goddamn shield.

Chicken shit. Come over here and say that.

“I tip everyone the same. Knock it off, asshole.”

A gruff sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt slips around the paper in his hands.

Ignoring him, I continue my breakfast. Iris makes a mean plate of eggs, bacon, and hash, and I am going to take my damn time savoring it.

Regardless of Grandpa Grump across the room.

He’s probably here to make sure no McCreary treats his kin badly.

Lord knows that’s what the entire town expects now.

Some grudges never die.

“How’s the eggs?” a sweet voice says from my side.

I look up to the brown eyes and freckles, back again.

“Good,” I say, pushing another mouthful in.

“Great!” She spins on her heel and wanders around, checking in on the other patrons.

About time Irry has someone to help out. Paige seems to enjoy the work, and if the response she’s getting from other diners is anything to go by, she’s good at it. One of those people-person types. How the hell someone as sweet as her spawned from the descendants of Errol’s loins beats me.

“Finish up. We have to get to Rockland for a meeting with the Restoration folks.” Iris stands on the opposite side of my table, arms crossed.

“We?” I scrape the last of my breakfast onto my fork, shoving it into my mouth.

“Yes, we. Hurry up, being late is not the impression I want to make after they turned us down last time.”

The shortest meeting in the history of meetings, that one was. We walked in, stated our case for the island, for the lighthouse, and they said no further permission would be granted.

Just like that.

I don’t know what going a second time will do that the first didn’t. But I’m not one to argue with my sister. Hell, if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t, either.

Iris has a quick word with Paige before grabbing her bag from behind the counter, picking up her phone from by the register, and sliding her sunglasses onto her face.

The woman means business.

The old croaks at the Restoration Society should be scared.

I wander to the counter and grab a coffee to go before Iris ushers me out the door.

“You sure Paige will be okay without you?” I ask.

Iris stalks down the sidewalk to her permanent parking spot, where her Jeep Wrangler waits.

The small white vehicle has been hers since she was old enough to have a license and make her first down payment.

To say my little sister had her life in order long before I did is the understatement of the century.

I open the door and squeeze my large frame into the small passenger seat. She tosses her bag on my lap and drops into the driver’s seat.

“The meeting is with the Restoration Society and the mayor. If anyone has a little sway with those useless haggards past their expiration date, it’s the mayor.” Iris pays me a glance, the same pitiful smile I saw back at the hospital stuck over her face again.

“Sure, Irry. Whatever.”

The Jeep pulls away from the curb and she frowns. “Whatever?”

I stare out the window. I haven’t felt this helpless since Ava. And this pity party Iris is throwing me is grating on my damn nerves. “If they decommission her, I’ll start again somewhere else.”

“Like hell you will. When are you going to fight for this, Cal?”

“I did. They said no.” The small, quaint homes of Bay Shore sail past as I stare out the window.

“When’s the last time you fought for something you wanted—I mean, really wanted?”

Now, I turn to look at her.

“What’d you mean?”

There’s some underlying issue here. I’m certain there is. The look of disbelief on my little sister’s face takes me by surprise.

“You let her go, just like that?” Iris’s face flattens like she’s holding back something upsetting.

“ She is a hunk of cement in the middle of the Atlantic, Irry. I’m not happy about losing my home, either, or my way of life, but recent events have kind of put things into perspective.”

Iris snaps her focus to the road ahead, her hands tightening around the steering wheel. She shakes her head, resetting her composure.

Four hours later, we arrive in Rockland. Iris has been stewing beside me the entire way, and after her statement about me letting things go, she hasn’t said a damn word.

Now I’m worried.

Not talking is not my sister’s style.

Something is eating her, big time.

“Spill it, Irry. Now, or I’m calling Em.”

She shifts the car into park and sighs, letting her head thump backward on the head rest. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. We don’t have secrets, remember?”

She huffs a laugh and turns her head to look at me. “Maybe later. Let’s get inside before they think we’re not coming.”

She gathers her things and is out of the car before I can object.

We enter the large, overstated grand building housing the Rockland Restoration Society. Iris leads the way to the reception desk.

“Iris and Callum McCreary for Mr. Mullins, please.”

The receptionist looks up. “Of course, Mrs. McCreary, have a seat. He won’t be long. The mayor is already inside.”

“It’s Miss McCreary, and since when were they starting without us?” Iris snaps back.

“I—Oh. Please . . . Take a seat?”

Iris growls, turning her back on the woman. I sit on the long, cold bench seat, and she drops by my side.

“Don’t slaughter the messenger, Irry. First impressions and all.”

She pulls a face and settles in, bag in her lap, pushing her sunglasses up into her fiery hair.

“I know this is close to home for you, but don’t burn any bridges on my account.” I shove her shoulder with mine. She forces a smile. This whole situation is taking a toll on her. She’s usually much more composed than this.

Her bag vibrates.

She dives a hand inside and tugs out her cell.

The screen is lit up with an incoming call.

Livvy.

Odd. We haven’t spoken to her for months. Or, at least in 2022 we hadn’t... Maybe they talk more now?

Iris glances at me and rejects the call.

“Why’d you do that for?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’ll call her back after.”

She bounces a leg, her red flat shoe scuffing the old tile with every harried movement. A door down the hallway opens, and the large man we spoke to last time waves us in.

My sister takes off like a shot, and I amble after her.

“Iris. Lovely to see you again,” Mullins says, a hand on his oversized gut and a radiant smile on his face.

“Sure. Hi,” she replies, disappearing inside.

“McCreary. Good to see you in one piece, lad.”

Sweet Jesus.

The man must be barely ten years older than me. “Lad” is a bit on the nose.

“Mullins, living the life, I see.”

With a rough chuckle, he follows me into the office and closes the door before rounding the desk and dropping into an enormous plush leather office chair.

“You had some further concerns regarding the Fire Island services?” he says to Iris.

“Yes, we would like to appeal the last decision regarding the lighthouse.”

The mayor, who has stayed silent until now, raises a hand. “Before we get into the logistics and finances one more time,” he glances to Iris, “I want to commend Callum on a brave attempted rescue. How are you holding up, son?”

God, another one.

Attempted . That’s a low blow.

“Fine,” I say.

This small office is starting to feel like a trap. The mayor, the bait. The McCrearys, the prey. The fallout, my lighthouse. The predator sits behind his shiny desk with his big gut and cushy damn chair.

Less lighthouse means more budget for other projects he wants to back.

Hell, Irry was right, these assholes are playing us.

“The lighthouse not only saves lives and is a part of our heritage, it’s a permanent feature of the coastline, drawn into maps, waypoints for vessels. It is also my brother’s home. Surely you can understand that?” Iris leans forward, talking to Mullins.

Who responds by steepling his hands over his stomach. “I understand you have a sentimental attachment to the island and the lighthouse, but that doesn’t justify the expense of keeping it operational. Let alone the maintenance it desperately needs to remain active.”

“I understand it costs money to run and maintain, I’m not arguing that. But it’s a required coastline feature. Not a static communal installation like a memorial or such. You must see this?” Iris says.

“It’s outdated. It’s practically redundant, Miss McCreary.”

Iris sighs.

I have nothing useful to add that would appeal to Mullins, so I keep quiet.

The mayor leans forward. “Bay Shore would like to thank you for years of service on Fire Island, Callum.”

“No!” Iris stands. She moves toward the door, stalking away before pacing in a circle. “Cal, out. Now.”

“Iris,” I growl.

She implores me with fiery eyes I can’t refuse. With a sigh, I rise and leave the room. She closes the door and turns back to the men, the door slipping open an inch.

“You don’t get it. You are not simply decommissioning an old hunk of concrete and windows, not even a shitty old lamp.

You are decommissioning a man and his purpose.

Aft—” She hauls in air, the inhale so rough I hear it from the hallway.

“You are kicking a man when he’s down, after all he’s done for the seafaring people of this coast.”

Murmurs hum for a moment before Mullins clears his throat. “We can suspend the shutdown for another few years. But the lamp that’s currently in use will have to do. There is no budget for a new Fresnel, nor would the board approve a replacement this late in the game.”

“You’ve got to be—” Iris starts.

“Iris, this is a good deal,” the mayor says calmly. “Please talk it over with Callum.”

I swear I hear my little sister curse them out under her breath before the office door flies open and she strides out.

She slams it, storming down the hall and throws me a glance that tells me all I need to know.

I feel like the bad kid outside the principal’s office whose mother went ten rounds to save their ass.

Or something pretty damn close.

“Irry, wait up!” I take off after her.

She slows down and I take her elbow. “Thanks, I think?”

She stops now and lays her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cal.” Her chin wobbles. She’s out of sorts over this. I know our family has lived on and worked that island for decades, but it’s just that—an island.

Her bag—no, her phone—buzzes again.

With a sigh, she slides it out.

“I better take this, wait for me outside?” She offers a small, sad smile.

“Take your time.” I walk through the front doors and drop onto the seat outside.

Iris taps the screen and accepts the call, turning away from me. I make out a few phrases before letting my attention wander to my surroundings.

“...I tried, Em. Nothing, again. She’s not answering.” Iris’s voice ratchets up a notch.

I still, listening when I know I shouldn’t.

She’s nodding, but a hand rises to cover her mouth.

“Livvy tried her, too. She got the same as me. No answer. I have a bad feeling about this, Em. Nobody knows where she is.”

Iris turns, and her gaze meets mine. Surprise floods her face before something like regret sinks over her features.

“Shit. I gotta go.”

She pushes through the door, scanning my face as she stops in front of me. I look up and notice—for the first time since we left this morning—the dark circles under her eyes. The fatigue weighing her pretty face down.

“Who’s missing, Irry?”