Page 26 of When Summer Returns

Jessie nodded, recognizing the truth in this assessment. Even as a child, she’d been aware of the subtle distinction between multigeneration islanders like the Mallorys and relative newcomers like her father.

“How did you and Luke cross paths?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Maggie laughed. “He brought in old Mr. Pickford at three in the morning with a fishhook embedded in a location I’d rather not specify. The man had been night fishing after consuming what appeared to be a fifth of whiskey.”

“Sounds like Harlan.”

“Luke could have just dropped him off, but he stayed the whole time. Held the old man’s hand, distracted him with island stories while I worked. Never seen someone so gruff be so gentle at the same time.” She tilted her head, studying Jessie with an insightful gaze that likely served her well in medical diagnosis. “That’s why people follow him, you know. Not because he owns the most popular establishment on the island, but because he genuinely cares about this place and everyone in it.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Jessie admitted.

Mid-sentence, Maggie’s expression shifted dramatically. Her bright smile vanished, replaced by a tightness around her mouth that transformed her entire face. Her spine straightened, shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle. The sudden change was so pronounced that Jessie instinctively turned to follow her gaze.

Sheriff Reece Wells had just approached the coffee stand, his dark uniform and commanding presence drawing attention even among the colorful tourists. He moved with the confident stride of a man who knew his place in the world and expected others to acknowledge it, joining the short line at the counter a few feet from their table.

“Let me guess,” Jessie said, noting Maggie’s reaction. “Not a fan of our local law enforcement?”

“Let’s just say Sheriff Wells and I have different interpretations of what constitutes an emergency.” Maggie’s voice had taken on a clipped quality, her fingers drumming a rapid rhythm against her coffee cup.

“He and Luke are best friends,” Jessie observed. “Have been since kindergarten.”

“Further proof that Luke’s judgment isn’t perfect.” Maggie rolled her eyes, then added with grudging fairness, “Though I suppose someone has to keep order around here.

“Anyway,” Maggie continued, “that’s island life for you. Ancient history never stays buried for long, especially when the principal players are still around.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jessie murmured.

“Facing old ghosts?”

“Something like that.”

Maggie sipped her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “You know, when I first came here, I was running away from my past. Messy breakup, professional burnout, the works. Thought I could just start fresh, leave it all behind.”

“Did it work?”

“Not even a little bit.” She smiled ruefully. “Turns out you can change your zip code, but your baggage follows you on the ferry.”

“Not very encouraging.”

“Actually, it was the best thing that could have happened. Instead of escaping my past, I had to face it. Process it. And then—and this is the important part—I had to deliberately choose what to carry forward and what to leave behind.” She set her empty cup aside. “The island has a way of making you confront things, especially yourself.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“But it also has a way of healing what needs healing, once you stop fighting it.” Maggie set her empty cup aside. “I heard your father was quite different at the end. The cancer changed him, from what people say.”

Jessie’s hands stilled around her mug. “Different how?”

“Quieter. Less intimidating.” Maggie watched her carefully. “I only treated him twice before he refused further care, but even in that short time, I could see how he affected people. The nurses literally drew straws to avoid being assigned to him.”

“That sounds like him,” Jessie said with a humorless laugh.

“Old Mr. Pickford told me Jesse once ran his boat over a fisherman’s nets deliberately because the man had outbid him for dock space. And Dolores mentioned something about him threatening the school board when they tried to raise property taxes for education.”

“He believed rules were for other people,” Jessie confirmed.

“But something shifted near the end,” Maggie continued.

Jessie’s expression tightened. “A deathbed conversion?”

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