🔹 Part 9 – The Tide Brings Company
The next Sunday, Charlie was tightening Beacon’s new harness when he heard voices outside.
Kids.
Three of them.
They stood at the gate — a boy and two girls, maybe ten or eleven, each holding something small in their hands. A dog biscuit. A toy. A folded paper with crayon scribbles.
Beacon barked once and hid behind Charlie’s leg.
The boy stepped forward. “Um… is this where Scout used to live?”
Charlie nodded slowly.
The girl with freckles held up a pink tennis ball.
“We used to throw this to him. He gave it back every time.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Beacon doesn’t know how to catch yet.”
Another girl, shy and soft-spoken, held out a drawing. “Can we… say hi?”
Charlie looked down. Beacon was peeking out now, curious.
He opened the gate.
They didn’t stay long. Just a few minutes on the porch.
Charlie sat on the steps while Beacon crawled forward, tail wagging slow and steady. The kids giggled when he licked their fingers and pounced gently on the tennis ball.
The boy pointed at the collar tag.
“Beacon. That’s a good name.”
Charlie nodded. “Means light in the dark.”
The girl with the drawing handed it to him.
It showed a lighthouse — and beside it, two dogs. One old and wise. The other small and grinning.
Charlie folded it carefully, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat.
“You come by whenever you like,” he said quietly.
The kids beamed.
And as they left, Charlie noticed something strange in his chest.
Not pain.
Not grief.
Something else.
Weightless. Gentle.
Hope.
Later that week, Charlie walked Beacon past the harbor.
He hadn’t been there in months. Not since Scout’s last appointment.
The docks creaked underfoot. The smell of bait and diesel hung in the air.
At the end of the pier stood a woman with her back to him — red windbreaker, short brown hair, camera slung over one shoulder.
She turned.
It was Abby’s mother.
She smiled. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small wooden plaque.
SCOUT’S LEGACY
In honor of the quiet guardian of Cannon Beach. May his watch continue through the lives he touched.
Below it, a smaller brass plate had been engraved with:
Charlie Brennan & Beacon
Lighthouse Keepers, past and present.
Charlie stared at it, stunned.
“I… don’t know what to say.”
“You already said it,” she replied. “You said it every day you walked this shore. You just didn’t know we were listening.”
That night, Charlie hung the plaque above his fireplace.
Beacon curled up below it.
Charlie poured a small glass of bourbon, the one he only touched on holidays.
He sat back, the fire flickering, and whispered to the quiet:
“You were right, Scout. I wasn’t done yet.”