Chapter 7 - THE LESSON ON THE BOARDWALK
Two weeks later, Port Haven’s Saturday fish market was bustling under a bright, cloudless blue sky.
The smell of fresh ocean brine, fried clams, and sea salt hung in the warm summer air. Gulls swooped lazily over the blue water, and tourists crowded around the wooden stalls buying fresh lobster and clam chowder.
At stall number nine, Evelyn Pruitt was arranging fresh, shining wicker baskets filled with neatly sorted mahogany clams. Her gold bracelet—with its tiny anchor and the letter M—glinted brightly in the morning sun.
Standing right beside her, wearing a small apron over her green sweater, was eight-year-old Mara, carefully adjusting the price signs with an oversized black marker.
A shiny black SUV pulled up to the edge of the boardwalk—not discreetly hidden in the shadows, but parked openly in the visitor bay.
Roman Bellamy stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing an open-collared navy shirt, jeans, and leather boots—no heavy overcoat, no dark glasses, no visible weapons. He walked down the boardwalk toward stall nine with a slow, relaxed stride.
Behind him, Eli Cross walked at a respectful distance, wearing a simple polo shirt, carrying two large paper bags from the local bakery.
The market vendors no longer shrank back when Roman approached. They nodded politely, recognizing the man who had personally funded the repair of the storm-damaged pier and established the town’s new emergency healthcare clinic.
Roman stepped up to stall nine, resting his arms on the wooden counter.
“Morning, ladies,” Roman said, a rare, warm smile showing on his face.
“You’re late,” Mara said, putting her marker down and crossing her arms over her chest. “Grandma and I have been here since six o'clock. Real helpers show up before the sun gets hot.”
Roman chuckled, reaching over the counter and lightly pinching her nose. “I had to stop by the municipal clerk’s office to pick up a document.”
He pulled a small folded paper from his pocket and laid it beside the basket of clams.
Evelyn picked it up and opened it. Her eyes filled with soft tears as she read the official state seal at the top: CERTIFICATE OF ADOPTION AND LEGAL PATERNITY — MARA CLARA PRUITT-BELLAMY.
“It’s finalized?” Evelyn asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“It’s finalized,” Roman confirmed, looking over at Mara. “No more state investigations, no more anonymous complaints, no more secrets. She’s officially my daughter in the eyes of the world.”
Mara tilted her head, looking at the paper, then up at Roman. “Does this mean I have to move to Portland?”
“No,” Roman said softly, reaching out and gently tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. “It means I’m buying the white house on the hill right next door to your grandmother’s cottage. We’re staying right here in Port Haven.”
Mara thought about this for a long moment, evaluating the proposition with her usual serious expression.
“Will the new house have room for my puzzle boxes?” she asked.
“It has a whole library just for your puzzle boxes,” Roman promised.
Mara satisfied herself with a small, nod of approval. She reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a small piece of blue ribbon, and handed it to Roman.
“What’s this?” Roman asked, holding the ribbon in his palm.
“Your braid came loose,” Mara said, pointing at his thick, dark hair. “Or it would if you had long hair like mine. Grandma says everyone in this market needs to look neat.”
Roman laughed—a rich, full sound that drifted across the fish market, catching the attention of Mr. Daley at stall eight, who smiled and returned to gutting his cod.
May you like
Eli stepped forward, setting the paper bags from the bakery onto the stall counter. “I brought fresh blueberry scones, Ms. Evelyn. Still warm.”
“Thank you, Eli,” Evelyn said warmly, taking the bag. “Sit down, all of you. It’s time for tea.”
