Free The Cottage at Glass Beach by Heather Barbieri

and my wife eventually had had enough. Can’t say I blame her, thinking back on it now, thanks to my dear friend, hindsight. She took my daughter and son and left the island for good. They’ve lived on the mainland ever since. She remarried, went on with her life, as she should have done, given the circumstances. Heard I have granddaughters your ages . . .” His voice trailed off.
    â€œYou haven’t met them?” Ella asked.
    He shook his head.
    â€œYou should write to them,” Annie said.
    â€œI did.”
    â€œWhen it’s something important, you should never give up,” Ella said, perhaps thinking of their parents.
    Reilly took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, a pale strip above the weathered skin of his face, white hair ruffled by the wind. “When they talk about living the life of Reilly, they weren’t talking about mine, that’s for certain. I guess some of us are destined to navigate difficult seas.”
    â€œMaybe you should get a better boat to ride them out,” Annie suggested. “The waves, I mean.”
    â€œYou two have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Reilly grunted. “Well then, maybe I’ll give that a try.”
    N ora called to the girls, her voice borne away by the wind. To the east of the cottage stood the copse of spruce and fir. To the west, there were waves ragged as torn paper, as far as the eye could see, the mainland little more than a flat line beyond. Seals bobbed in the surf near the rocks, skin black, glistening, more of them now than when Nora and the girls first arrived, the silvery one too, ever present, barking orders, sunning herself on the ledges of the outer rocks. No sign of Annie or Ella anywhere. They’d taken off in such a hurry that morning, she didn’t know which direction they’d gone.
    The scene was deserted except for the cats, Flotsam and Jetsam, nearly identical gray tabbies (Flotsam was missing part of her tail; Jetsam had a nick in his left ear) that lolled on the deck.
    â€œI don’t suppose you know where they are.” She squatted down and scratched Jetsam’s ears, eliciting a motorcycle-engine purr. They weren’t lap cats, but they tolerated demonstrations of affection on their own, decidedly feline terms. “I thought you two were supposed to be working. You eat your wages and laze about.”
    Jetsam winked and stretched with a contented sigh, aware, perhaps, that he’d already achieved tenure and didn’t need to exert himself.
    â€œThey’re down on the beach.” Maire came up behind her.
    â€œOh, I didn’t hear you—”
    â€œI came through the trees. You don’t need to worry about the girls here. It’s not like the city. They can have some freedom to roam. Let out the lines a bit, so to speak.” Maire was wearing white coveralls.
    Nora couldn’t think what she might be up to. “Has there been a toxic spill?” She smiled.
    Maire laughed. “Oh, no. It’s the bees. I left my hat and gloves at the house.”
    â€œBees? Are you an exterminator too?”
    â€œHeavens, no. I meant honeybees. I started keeping them after my husband and son died. At first, it was a way to pass the time, a hobby, but it’s grown into something of a side business. I sell the jars at the farmers’ market and by special order. I thought you might like to lend a hand today. It’s time to check the hives. I’d ask Polly, but she’s too much of a chatterbox. She sets the bees on edge.”
    â€œI’d love to help. But the girls—”
    â€œOur houses are so close together, they’ll figure it out. Or leave a note on the door, and they can find us when they’re ready, though we’ll probably be done before they are. You know children and their schemes. They could be busy for hours. Play is good for them. There’s not enough play in