Page 190 of Secrets Along the Shore
Now it was mine.
I hesitated, fingers grazing the cold doorknob. When I pushed the door open, a wave of cedar and mothballs rushed out. But beneath that, the scent of old metal and ancient books took hold of my senses.
The bed was made—tight military corners, white sheets faded to yellow with age. The oak desk was pristine. No clutter or any sign of life.
The room was untouched.
It reminded me of him.
Headmaster Scanlon had always been stern but never unkind. At least not to me. He spoke with precision, corrected gently, but smiled rarely. He gave me space but not warmth. Structure but not affection. Still, in his own way, he’d made me feel like I mattered.
Chosen.
To the other students, he wasn’t the same man. I knew that then, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it. I enjoyed being invited here but never missed how there was a hardness in his movements when he spoke to the boys in my class. A strictness in how he punished mistakes. Some days, when a student cried in the hallway or came back from a closed-door conversation with him red-faced and silent, I pretended not to notice.
Maybe I hadn’t wanted to lose the only person who made me feel like I had a place.
Evan entered the room behind me, but I barely registered him as I approached the desk. An old wooden chair pushed neatly under it had clawed feet and a cracked leather seat. I stepped closer, fingertips trailing across the smooth surface of the desk until I stopped at the drawer. I pulled it open.
Empty.
Of course it was. I was sure his family had gone through the place years ago, taking what they wanted.
But standing there, a memory arose—July 28th,my birthday. I’d been thirteen. No one at the school had ever celebrated my birthday before, but summer meant I was at the lodge, and Headmaster Scanlondidn’t allow parties. He’d said nothing that morning, only gave me extra time to read on the dock.
But that evening, he brought out a cake to the dining room. It had three layers and too much frosting. It was chocolate. My favorite. There were no candles, nor were there any words scrawled on the top, but I knew it was a gift for me. The other students enjoyed the treat with no thought to the reason behind the dessert, but I caught Headmaster Scanlon’s slight wink in my direction and, for a split second, I felt like I had a family. For the first time, something belonged to me. Now, at his desk, I felt the same feeling again.
This whole place, including this desk, belonged to me.
“Hey,” Evan said, catching my gaze and cutting through the realization of Scanlon’s surprising gift. “These books…”
I turned to the bookcase that ran along the far wall. Evan stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling shelves. It was an imposing sight—dark walnut, dusty, filled with old medical journals and religious texts and one cracked leather-bound Bible with gold-edged pages.
“What about them?” I asked, crossing the room.
“Watch this.” Evan pulled one out—a thick red volume with gold lettering for the title I didn’t catch. Instantly, the shelf moved, vibrating the floorboards beneath my bare feet. And then…widened, moving toward me.
We both froze.
He looked at me, eyes bulging. “Did you know about this?”
My heart thudded.
“No,” I whispered.
He tugged at the bookcase, and it shifted, swinging outward with a soft rumble feel of wood against wood. Dust spilled from the edges as stale air hissed from the hidden space beyond.
A passageway, dark and narrow.
My breath caught in my throat. I stepped forward, peering inside.
Wooden walls and flooring. Wooden beams along the top. The smallest beam of light filtered from across the room, angling down through a small hexagonal window.
“Scanlon always had so many secrets,” Evan said, more to himself than me, but I read his lips.
I turned sharply toward him. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated, then shrugged, too casually. “People talk. You know how small towns are.”
