SEVEN
Willa
The party got to me before I got to it. Music echoed down the beach, and people were laughing. Somebody threw another log on the bonfire, and a cloud of fire swirled toward the sky. Silver ash drifted over the water, disappearing into the dark.
Across the waves, Jackson’s Rock loomed in fog and shadow. Couldn’t even see the slender body of the lighthouse, just the beam as it swung over us. The pines were brushstrokes jutting from the mist; the cliffs seemed to rise from nothing.
When the foghorn sounded, its call rolled through the dark and the haze. Like it was alive; like it might draw me across that light bridge and into the secrets of the Rock. Harbor bells rang, like church bells on a wedding day.
I stood for a minute, staring like I’d never seen my own harbor before.
My head was so clear; I wasn’t thinking about anything. Aware, yeah, of the six-pack dangling from my fingers, and the steamy scent of hot rocks and boiling water. But I was alone in myself for a minute. No guilt, or anger, or fear.
Then something glittered on the island cliff. My imagination rushed up to name it the Grey Man. Fantasy tried to fill in the shape I’d seen on Jackson’s Rock—out there, fishing alone, and that reminded me. I was guilty. Afraid. Angry. That’s all that put me on the beach. I gritted my teeth; going to this party was like going to war.
I was going to drink and laugh and dance. Burn my fingers on littleneck clams and steamed corn. If somebody wanted money for a grocery run, I had it. If Seth wanted to disappear into the caves with just us and a blanket, I was up for it.
Circling the fire, I raised my hand when Cait Toombs looked up from a kiss. She was all soft and twined around Bailey. Her wispy hair floated around her face, shimmering from the heat. Instead of waving, she smiled. Her lips moved, and then Bailey looked back at me too.
“Well, look who graced us,” Bailey called.
I flipped her off and pressed my way through the crowd to get to her.
“Dad home yet?” she asked when I got closer.
“Uh huh, this morning sometime.”
“Is he okay?”
With a shrug, I said, “Fine. You know how he is.”
Cait tried to make room for me, which was sweet, but it wasn’t gonna happen. Since we used driftwood for benches around the fire, there was always a free one for the taking. Dragging a piece over, I arranged it so I could put my back to the fire and my face to them. And to the sea behind them, to the fog rolling in.
Sitting, I gestured at Bailey and said, “I’m pissed at you for messing with my head.”
Bailey read my tone better than Cait did. While Cait stiffened, Bailey kicked my boot. “Good. Which time?”
I lowered my voice. “I went out today by myself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, my gaze trailing past them, to the shadow of the island in the distance. The flick, the glitter, was gone. “So I’m getting ready to haul some traps, over on the far side of Jackson’s Rock. Minding my own business.”
Bailey smirked. “Uh huh.”
“I go and look up, and pow. There’s the Grey Man. Watching me.”
Dissolving into laughter, Bailey leaned into Cait. Lacing their fingers together, she settled. She managed to kick my boot again first, though. “Oh, kiss it, Dixon. If you’re seeing things, that’s your problem.”
Part of me was relieved. Legends weren’t real, and I was crazy to think I’d seen one. Hearing Bailey say so made me feel better. There was still a part left over, quietly urging me to look toward Jackson’s Rock. I thought as long as the fire burned and the music played, I could ignore it.
“I have an uncle who saw the Grey Lady,” Cait said.
Bailey looked at her, amused. “Is that crazy Uncle Jon?”
“No, crazy Uncle Jon swears that time-traveling Navy ship capsized his dory.”
Caught up in the absurdity, in the absolute normalcy, I laughed. “What the what?”
Cait shrugged. “I can’t remember, it’s a city and a worky word. The Manhattan Project? The Philadelphia Experiment? They were inventing invisibility and disappeared in time.”
“I’m pretty sure one of those is a movie.” Amused, I held up my hands and swore, “I’m not judging.”
Cait stuck out her lower lip and blew her bangs out of her face. “Anyway, that’s Uncle Jon. Great-Uncle Dalton’s the one who saw the Grey Lady.”
“Wait, the raisin?” Bailey asked. Then, incredulously, she informed me. “He’s a thousand years old.”
“He’s ninety-eight.”
“Same thing. He’s the mummy at Thanksgiving.”
“That’s my family, Bailey,” Cait said, but she rolled her eyes and smiled about it. In reply, Bailey crinkled her nose, and I looked away to give them some privacy. As much as they could get making out on a beach in the middle of everybody we knew, anyway.
Before they forgot I was there, I cleared my throat. “So was there more to this story?”
Cait smoothed her knit cap. “Not really. I mean, there is, but he mumbles—”
“And smells like rum,” Bailey added.
“Who doesn’t?” I asked, and hauled myself up. Dangling the six-pack near them, I waited until they waved me off to look into the crowd. “You guys seen Seth?”
“I don’t think he’s here,” Bailey said.
Then she frowned, and so did I. Seth loved a party, being in the middle of it. Choosing the music and getting people new drinks. Surrounding himself with people kept his light going. After a nor’easter, Seth was the first person out of the house, visiting everybody he knew. Not me; I was the last one to open the door. I liked the quiet. I liked wide-open space and sea around me.
I stood up, nodding toward the fire. “I’m gonna make the rounds.”
Leaving Bailey and Cait, I followed the sound of alt rock, lingering here and there to talk to people. Mostly “what’s up, how’re you doing?” stuff. Everybody in Broken Tooth was fine, it seemed, and none of them had seen Seth.
A waft of steam hit me, full of good smells. The canvas over the clambake pit was still tight. I wondered if I could get away with breaking into it early.
While I contemplated bake robbery, Nick loped toward me. His black hair gleamed in the firelight, long and cascading into his eyes. He slung an arm around my shoulder and took my beer. “Seth said you weren’t coming.”
“Guess he was wrong.”
Ripe with sweat and cologne, he banded his arms around me. Not because he was hitting on me, but because that was the only way to peel a can off the rings without letting me go. “How’s your dad?”
It was normal for Nick to be all up on me. He was like that, a big sheepdog who loved everybody. Especially up close. Most everybody loved him back. But even as I let him give me one of the beers I’d carried in, I felt uneasy. “Fine. Sat on his ass all day. Expect he’ll be out tomorrow.”
“Huh,” Nick said. “Miz Pomroy said the Jenn-a-Lo was out this morning. Surprised me and Seth both.”
I shrugged. “Musta been seeing things.”
“You know her. Probably got started early.” Nick held up his can and took a deep drink to demonstrate. Then his expression scrambled. Too fast, too loud, he went on, “I’m getting a student license.”
“’Bout time.”
Brightly, Nick nodded. One brown eye appeared from beneath his messy fringe. “Maybe if you get your own boat, you can hire me.”
My skin prickled, and I lifted Nick’s arm. Slipping under it, I backed toward the fire. Other people’s conversations were tangled in this one. It unnerved me, seeing my life from slanted angles. “Where’s Seth, anyway?”
Making a show of looking around, Nick finally shrugged. “Taking a leak, maybe.”
Amber Jewett glided by, then glided back when she realized Nick had beer. “Can I buy one off you?”
Already digging in her pocket, she was oblivious to me. A silver vine climbed her ear, seed pearls hanging from loops and catching the firelight. She was in my jewelry class too.
“They’re Willa’s,” Nick said.
“Just have it,” I told her, and kept walking.
Faint embers bobbed beneath the cliff on this shore, the other half of the party. If the cops or the Coast Guard rolled up on us, they’d probably figure out that the stoners by the caves were with the boozehounds by the fire. We always kept separate, though, just in case.
The rocky coast rolled beneath my boots. I shoved my hands into my coat, hunching my shoulders as I walked. Leaving the fire reminded me that it was almost winter. My breath added to the haze, and wind snuck down my collar. My back broke out in gooseflesh, the rest of my skin following.
Everything felt slightly sideways. Like the ground had shifted, but it didn’t roll like water. If it did, I would have found my balance easy. Instead, it was increments. A tilt beneath my feet; the wind coming from the wrong direction.
No matter what Bailey said, I felt that island. It was looking at me; it felt alive. And that was crazier than seeing things.
Tugging the red-yarn braid on Ashley Jewett’s hat, I melted into the huddle. I knew all these people, and they made room for me out of habit. But since I was the angel of death around these parts, it was up to me to keep the conversation rolling.
I held out my hand for the next pass and asked, “Anybody else starving?”
The night drifted on. Our buzzes faded, and there was nothing left in the bake. Slowly, we knotted back up by the fire. It was too cold to stay at the cliffs, even if you did have somebody to hang on. I didn’t; Seth never showed up.
Our parties on Garland Beach usually ended with music. Instead of pulling out his guitar, Nick plugged his laptop into an external battery and let GarageBand do the honors. Songs he’d written with Levi—Nick never stopped smiling, but it was a tell. Without my brother there to sing, it wouldn’t have been right to play.
“You’re quiet,” I said.
“Tired,” Nick said. He tossed his paper bowl into the fire and slid to sit on the rocks. That had to be all kinds of cold, I thought. He arched his back, stretching his arms, then slumping. “You drive?”
Picking out a piece of sausage, I shook my head. “Walked.”
The fire popped, full of mussel shells and sweetened with burning corncobs. Nick turned, resting his elbow next to my hip. His hair fell back when he looked up at me, a rare glimpse of his entire face. “I can take you home.”
“You finished my six-pack,” I replied. “I’ll walk you.”
“You should stop being a bitch to Seth.”
At first, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. My fingers stilled, no longer searching the bottom of my bowl for more scraps. Since everything was uneven, and I was buzzed, I blinked down at him. “What?”
With a sigh, Nick slumped against the driftwood. “He’s trying to help you, Willa.”
“Who asked you?”
“Nobody did,” he said. “I’m the only one who’s going to tell you. ’Cause I’m not your friend. You’re my friend’s sister. My best friend’s girlfriend. I like you, but they’re . . . Get past it.”
On my feet, I threw my trash into the fire and turned on him. “It’s not done, you dickwad. How am I supposed to get over it?”
Nick leaned back on his elbows. “Over it, that’s something else. I said get past it. It’s not July twenty-third anymore. I don’t think you noticed.”
Replies surged in my throat, hot like bile. Terry Coyne hadn’t even been indicted yet. There was a house payment my father wouldn’t let me make. A boat I wasn’t supposed to fish from, a whole life that wasn’t going to happen.
Whether I needed to get past it or not, he wasn’t the one who got to tell me to do it. He wasn’t from Broken Tooth. He didn’t get to judge me.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he said.
Zipping my jacket, I backed away from him. Maybe my voice broke. My throat was tight, my face hot, but I wasn’t going to cry for him. None of the things in my head came out.
Instead, I said, “You can’t make me feel anything.”
“Sorry I called you a bitch.” Knitting his brows, Nick draped his arms over his knees. He looked small, but not young. Not even a little; the dark eyes he kept hidden behind his hair were wells, endless and empty and deep. “It’s true, though.”
I left him there, staring into the fire, because he was right.
He wasn’t my friend.
SEVEN
Grey
I watch her move through the village. She’s distinct from the rest. Her light has shape now. It outlines the fall of her hair and the sway in her step. The others simply gleam, so many fireflies in the dark.
She’s seen me. Recognized me. But she doesn’t come.
Why doesn’t she come? Is there some trick I’ve never learned? Some secret that Susannah kept when she trapped me here? Standing on the cliff, I try to be a beacon. It’s foolish; wishful thinking. Even if she could make me out at this distance, I’d be a firefly, too.
If I were a siren, I could sing to her.
If this were a fairy tale, I could send a tainted apple.
But this is a curse, and curses come with torment. I’m supposed to suffer, and this is a brand-new agony. I spent so many years holding back the fog because no good man, no man with scruples, would buy his freedom with someone else’s blood.
Now I realize, I’m not a man anymore. And she’s a trick of the light, no more real than a daydream. In fact, she’s worse than a daydream. She’s a glimmering ring of promises, just out of reach. I can go round and round, forever reaching for it, forever missing it.
Hope is the thing that torments me.
So it doesn’t matter that she’s thinking of me. That she’s seen. That she knows. There will be no rescue. No salvation. And I will spend two thousand years in this lighthouse, twenty thousand, eternity.
Unless I do that thing. I wonder now, why shouldn’t I?