The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter
Chapter 26 : The Biologist’s Daughter
The victory at the town meeting should have been a relief. Fiona had expected to feel lighter, freer, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Instead, she felt a strange emptiness — the letdown after a long fight, the question of what came next.
The lighthouse was safe, for now. Drake had been defeated, but he hadn’t disappeared. His lawyers were already threatening an appeal, and his allies in the state capital were working to block the historic preservation grant. The battle was far from over.
But there was another battle looming, one that had nothing to do with developers or town councils.
Cole’s ex‑wife was getting out of prison.
The news had come in a letter, delivered by Silas along with the usual supplies. Cole had read it on the dock, his face pale, his hands trembling. Then he had folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket.
Fiona had watched from the cottage window, her heart aching.
She didn’t ask. She waited.
That night, he told her.
They were sitting on the porch, the stars bright above them, the sea dark below. Cole had been quiet all evening, his answers short, his eyes distant. Fiona had given him space, but now, as the hour grew late, she reached for his hand.
“Talk to me,” she said.
He was silent for a long moment.
“Miranda is getting out in six weeks. Parole. She’s been in prison for five years, and now they’re letting her go.”
“Do you know where she’ll go?”
“Back to Portland. She has family there. And she wants to see Lily.”
Fiona’s chest tightened. “Is that allowed?”
“The court says yes. Supervised visitation at first. If she behaves, she could eventually get joint custody.” He looked at the sky. “I don’t want her anywhere near my daughter.”
“Can you stop it?”
“I can try. But the system is designed to reunite families. The courts believe in second chances.”
“Do you?”
He turned to look at her. “I believe in some people’s second chances. Not hers. Not after what she did.”
Fiona squeezed his hand. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. This is my fight.”
“Your fights are my fights now.”
He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You keep saying that. I keep not caring.”
The next morning, Cole made a phone call.
His lawyer, a woman named Sarah Chen who specialized in family law, had been representing him for years. She was tough, smart, and fiercely protective of Cole’s rights as a father.
Fiona listened from the kitchen as Cole spoke, his voice low and tense.
“She’s getting out in six weeks. Parole. She wants visitation.”
A pause.
“I know. But she shot me, Sarah. She almost killed me. How can the court think she’s safe to be around a child?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Fine. I’ll come to Portland. But I’m not bringing Lily. Not until I know what kind of person Miranda is now.”
He hung up and stood by the window, his back to Fiona.
“I have to go to Portland,” he said.
“For how long?”
“A few days. A week. I don’t know.”
“Can I come with you?”
He turned. “You want to?”
“I want to be with you. And I want to meet Lily.”
He walked to her, took her hands. “Lily is shy. She doesn’t trust easily.”
“Neither do I.”
“She’ll like you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I like you. And she has good taste.”
Fiona smiled, but her heart was heavy.
They left for Portland on a Monday, taking the ferry to Port Ellis and then driving south in Cole’s truck. The landscape changed as they drove — from rocky coastline to pine forests to the sprawling suburbs of the city.
Portland was not Boston. It was smaller, quieter, more human. But it was still a city, with traffic and noise and crowds, and Fiona felt the old anxiety creeping back.
Cole’s lawyer had an office in the Old Port, a brick building with a view of the harbor. Sarah Chen was a small woman with sharp eyes and a firm handshake. She looked at Fiona with curiosity but didn’t ask questions.
“Miranda’s parole hearing is next week,” Sarah said. “She’s asking for supervised visitation, two hours a week, at a neutral location.”
“And if she behaves?”
“Then she can petition for unsupervised visitation. And eventually, joint custody.”
Cole’s jaw tightened. “She shot me.”
“The court knows that. But she’s served her time, and she’s completed anger management and substance abuse counseling. The parole board is inclined to give her a chance.”
“A chance to hurt my daughter?”
“A chance to prove she’s changed.” Sarah leaned forward. “I’m not saying I agree with it. I’m telling you what we’re up against.”
Cole looked at Fiona. She squeezed his hand.
“Then we fight,” he said.
“We fight,” Sarah agreed.
After the meeting, Cole took Fiona to meet Lily.
His daughter lived with her grandmother — Cole’s ex‑mother‑in‑law — in a small house on the outskirts of Portland. The grandmother, Margaret, was a kind woman with gray hair and sad eyes. She welcomed Cole with a hug, and looked at Fiona with cautious curiosity.
“She’s shy,” Margaret said. “Don’t take it personally.”
Lily was sitting on the living room floor, coloring. She was eight years old, with dark hair and Cole’s sea‑gray eyes. She looked up when they entered, her expression wary.
“Dad,” she said.
“Hey, Lilybug.” Cole knelt beside her. “I brought someone to meet you. This is Fiona.”
Lily looked at Fiona. “Are you Dad’s girlfriend?”
Fiona knelt too, bringing herself to Lily’s level. “Yes. Is that okay?”
Lily considered the question. “Do you like whales?”
“I do. Your dad taught me about them.”
“Did he teach you about the right whales?”
“He did. He told me about Hope, the pregnant one.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “You saw Hope?”
“I saw her. She breached right in front of our boat.”
Lily looked at Cole. “Dad, you took her to see the whales?”
“I took her to see the whales.”
Lily turned back to Fiona. “Okay. You can be Dad’s girlfriend.”
Fiona smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
They spent the afternoon together.
Cole and Lily played board games while Fiona helped Margaret in the kitchen. Margaret was a good cook, her hands moving with the ease of long practice.
“Cole talks about you,” Margaret said.
“He talks about Lily.”
“He loves that girl more than anything. More than himself.” She looked at Fiona. “Be good to him. He’s been through enough.”
“I intend to.”
Margaret nodded. “Good.”
They drove back to the island that night, the truck quiet, the road dark.
“Lily liked you,” Cole said.
“I liked her.”
“She doesn’t like anyone.”
“Then I’m honored.”
He reached over and took her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
They drove in silence, the lighthouse waiting on the horizon.