The Time in Between

by Kristen Ashley

  “I’m talkin’ about you getting behind the wheel of a vehicle and driving in the state you were in,” he bit out impatiently.

  He was?

  He was more worried about me getting behind the wheel of a car while I was upset?

  Really?

  I didn’t ask for confirmation of that.

  “I won’t do that again either,” I offered quietly.

  “Good,” he rapped at me. “Make sure you don’t.”

  I nodded swiftly.

  He glowered at me.

  I stood there taking it.

  He continued doing it.

  I continued taking it.

  He didn’t end it and he didn’t leave.

  And for some reason, I didn’t end it either nor did I ask him to leave.

  Instead, I stupidly blurted, “She has your eyes.”

  “She’d have yours if shit didn’t get fucked,” he fired at me.

  I took a step back, winded, like he’d punched me in the stomach.

  He watched and I saw him flinch, the color draining from his handsome face.

  “Cady—” he started softly.

  I interrupted him. “I think all that needed to be said here has been said.”

  “Too much seein’ as I shouldn’t have said that last.”

  I accepted that version of an apology with a terse lifting of my chin.

  “Honestly, I just came to see you were all right,” he told me.

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  He stared into my eyes and was back to talking soft when he shared, “She’s a good kid.”

  “She’s adorable,” I replied.

  “She makes terrible cupcakes.”

  It almost made me smile but instead I turned my head away and fought back new tears because in that moment I wanted with everything I had to taste his daughter’s cupcakes, and deeper, somewhere I could never go, I wished I’d had the opportunity to taste our daughter’s cupcakes.

  “Cady—” he started again.

  I looked back to him, sniffing through my nose before I guessed, “I bet you eat them anyway.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured.

  “You shouldn’t come back here,” I told him.

  “Don’t give me a reason to,” he retorted.

  “If I get home safe or not is not your responsibility,” I shot back.

  “Normal case, no. But I’m the sheriff, Cady,” he returned.

  This was true. It was also a stretch. He probably didn’t make house calls to every upset woman to berate them for driving while upset.

  It was still true.

  Stymied.

  It was then curiosity got the better of me.

  Curiosity, and if I was honest with myself (something I would not be until much later, when I had a glass of wine in my hand), an effort to keep him standing right there inside my door, I asked, “How do you get in here anyway? I’ve got a gate.”

  “And your gate is the gate to the town’s lighthouse so it has a keypad and the emergency code to it is sent to local agencies in case fire and rescue or the police need access to your property.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled, thinking that was probably good should the unlikely and awful event happen that I had a heart attack or something caught on fire or the lens stopped revolving, they wouldn’t have to barrel through my beautiful gates.

  “Your friend leave?”

  I stopped thinking about heart attacks and fires and focused on Coert again.

  “Yes.”

  “Right.”

  He stood there.

  I stood there.

  He didn’t leave.

  I didn’t ask him to leave.

  I opened my mouth to say something (and it was not to ask him to leave) when he glanced around and queried, “You got a dog?”

  I shook my head. “No pets.”

  He looked again at me. “You should get a dog, Cady.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly all settled in yet, Coert. The lighthouse won’t be done for several more weeks. After that, I’ll think about getting a pup.”

  “You’re out here all alone, lotsa land around you, you should have an animal. Best early warning system you can have.”

  “I’ll look into that.”

  “A shepherd or a rottie, retrievers and labs are too friendly,” he advised (though it sounded more like a boss).

  “Good advice.”

  “None of those accessory dogs. They won’t help for shit.”

  Definitely a boss.

  “They’re cute and they are able to bark, Coert,” I informed him.

  “They wouldn’t put the fear of God into even my daughter.”

  “This is probably true,” I murmured.

  He looked out the screen door then back at me.

  “I need to get back to my girl,” he declared.

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Get a dog,” he ordered.

  I nodded again but said nothing.

  In a low voice, but not a nasty one, he said, “You made the decision to be here, Cady, you know the lay of the land. I’ve been clear on that. You need to keep it together.”

  “You’re right,” I whispered in agreement. “It was . . .” I gave my head a slight shake. “You’re right.”

  He hesitated, it looked like he was going to say something but instead he just gave a single nod of his head and turned to the door, saying, “Take care of yourself, Cady.”

  “You too, Coert.”

  He had the screen door open, his hand on it, and I thought he’d do what Coert always did, just walk away.

  But he stopped in the door, looked to his feet then twisted at the waist and looked at me.

  “You shouldn’t have done this to us.”

  I stood where I was and just stared into his eyes.

  “I can’t begin to fathom what was in your head when you came out here and did this to us.”

  “Coert—”

  “I was good. You were good. It was a memory.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  “What you’re feelin’, on that sidewalk, what you showed me when you looked into my eyes with tears in yours, what do you think I feel?”

  Oh God.

  “I—”

  “Please, for the love of God, steer clear.”

  I didn’t exactly plan to run into him and his daughter at the ice cream parlor and then fall apart.

  But I did move to his town and buy the lighthouse, not some sweet cottage hidden in a forest twenty miles away, but instead a beacon that couldn’t be missed from practically everywhere in town.

  As these thoughts ran through my head, I noted he still hadn’t done what Coert always did and resumed walking away.

  He was standing there, mostly out of my door but not completely out of my door, torso twisted, eyes locked to mine, waiting.

  Waiting.

  For what?

  What was he waiting for?

  “I’ll steer clear,” I said quietly, thinking I was giving him what he was waiting for.

  An expression passed his face I couldn’t exactly read (but I thought I could) before he closed his eyes a scant second, opened them and nodded.

  And it was then Coert turned and walked away.

  “So what do you think he was waiting for?” I asked Kath several hours later after my bathroom was cleaned, I’d gone back to town on the errand of creating a very large liquor cupboard, put a chicken in the oven and was sitting on my veranda with a glass of wine in my hand.

  “Hmm?” she asked back.

  “Coert, when he stood there, what do you think he was waiting for me to say? Because, Kath, what I said, I mean, I can’t say, I don’t know, it’s been years and honestly, I barely knew him when I actually knew him, obviously. But he looked . . . he looked . . .” I couldn’t believe I was going to say what I was going to say but it was what it was so I said it. “Well, he looked disappointed.”

  “Babe, I’m sorry, I know you want an answer to that but I’ve never met the guy. I real
ly can’t say.”

  “I should come home,” I muttered.

  “No!” Kath nearly shouted, and this was such a surprise, I jerked in my chair.

  “What?” I asked.

  “No, uh . . . no, you know, I mean, that place is gorgeous, right?” she said very fast, strangely like she was backpedaling.

  “It is but I’m thinking what happened today, I didn’t make the right decision. For him. For his little girl. For me. If I can’t keep it together like I didn’t keep it together on that sidewalk today, I shouldn’t be anywhere near either of them. I fell apart, upset her. It was terrible, Kath. I mean,” here it was and this was the biggie, “what am I doing?”

  “You’re restoring a lighthouse.”

  “I didn’t move across the country to restore a lighthouse, Kath.”

  “Well, that’s what happened in the end.”

  “To what cost?” I asked. “I think I’m actually . . . actually . . .” Could what I was going to say next be right? “Hurting him.”

  “Well, you know, whatever. He’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds.”

  “Kath, seventeen years have passed.”

  “Some wounds take longer,” she mumbled.

  I stared at the view wondering who I was talking to.

  Before, she was finding ways to get me to come home.

  Now, she was finding ways to keep me here.

  She’d been here, of course, she saw how lovely it was.

  But I had the sneaking suspicion that wasn’t it.

  “Right, I think it’s safe to say out loud that you went back there because you’re still in love with him and you wanted to see if that could be salvaged,” Kath said baldly.

  I drew in a sharp breath and kept staring at the view.

  “Right?” she pushed. “Is that safe to say?”

  “Yes,” I whispered my admission.

  “And that didn’t work out. In the meantime, you found that lighthouse and you feel right there, yeah?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “And those two don’t fit together. I get that. I get how that’d be super confusing. It’s still the way it is. I also get that today really had to stink. I feel for you, honey. That sucks. But you’re right. It was a coincidence, an ugly coincidence, but better to get something like that out of the way fast than have it blindside you further on down the line. Am I right?”

  She was, actually.

  “You are.”

  “And, I mean, maybe he isn’t totally a jerk, you know, coming out to check you were okay, doing it being kind of a jerk but still doing it. So, you know, he’s a jerk. But only mostly a jerk so that’s good to know, right?”

  “I guess,” I murmured, though he was somewhat of a jerk, the bottom line was he came all the way out here, admitted he was worried about me and told me to get a dog.

  What did I do with all of that?

  “What he said, he’s clearly a good dad and a good dad doesn’t take his daughter to the ice cream parlor every day. And anyway, fall is coming so she’ll be wanting hot chocolate or something, not ice cream. So you can go buy a book whenever because it’s unlikely you’ll slam into them after they grab a cone.”

  She was just as lovely as she was irritating, at the same time.

  “Stop making me want to laugh when I’m undecided about the entirety of my future and all the money I’m investing in a place I might pack up and leave tomorrow,” I demanded.

  “Something’s holding you there.”

  Her change in tone made me brace, which was good because she wasn’t done.

  “Whatever it is, something drew you there, something made you make the decision to buy that place, and something is holding you there. You’ve had every opportunity to change your mind and leave. You know you can come home at any time. We’ll deal with the lighthouse. But you told me that was home. When you did that, you meant it. You went all in, Cady. That’s you. You know what you like. You know what you want. You want to be there. So you went there for him and he made it clear that’s not an option. But after that, you also went back. There’s a reason you did. Don’t let something like today, as difficult as today has been, make you make a decision that you’re going to regret. Ride this out. There’s a reason you’re there. Stick with it. Don’t give up so easily.”

  Stick with it.

  I wished she hadn’t put it like that.

  And part of me was glad she did.

  “You’re right,” I told her.

  “I know,” she replied.

  “You’re also annoying,” I told her.

  “I know,” she replied.

  I felt my lips curve up.

  Then I felt them stop doing that.

  “What was he waiting for me to say, Kath?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” she answered gently.

  “I need to steer clear of him,” I told her distractedly, my eyes unfocused on the view, thinking I needed to do just that, for him, for his little girl.

  For me.

  “Mm,” she replied noncommittally, my distraction not taking in the mumble or vague way she uttered it.

  I came back to the moment and said, “I need to check my chicken.”

  “And I need to check my daughter is packing or she’ll go back to Yale without underwear and the Victoria Secret line item on her credit card will give her father an aneurysm.”

  I grinned.

  “Okay, honey, I’ll let you go,” I said.

  “And I’ll let you go.”

  “Right. Speak tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” she answered.

  I got up and started toward the door. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Always.”

  Yes, that was Kath.

  Always wise, always sweet, always loving, always funny, always loyal.

  Always there.

  “’Bye, Kathy.”

  “’Bye, babe.”

  We rang off.

  I checked my chicken.

  I ate it and some peas and wild rice in front of the television then put on a cardigan and went back out to the veranda with a cup of herbal tea.

  When I did, I had my answer for what was holding me there as the light from the lighthouse rounded around, again and again—not annoying, not distracting—the steadiness of it, the sure rhythm was relaxing as I watched it tirelessly share its warning and keep the untold, unknown, unseen safe.

  Alone and doing nothing, I sat with my lighthouse until a gentle lethargy overtook me.

  And then I went in and went to bed.

  Long Live Magdalene Lighthouse

  Cady

  Present day . . .

  THE DOOR OPENED TO THE studio and we all turned to it.

  Paige had her head stuck through and she was smiling madly.

  “Ready,” she announced.

  “Oh my God, this is so exciting,” Amanda, Walt’s wife, breathed excitedly.

  “I so agree,” Jackie, the head of the Historical Society, replied.

  “I got these, let’s get going,” Rob, my real estate agent/new friend, declared, holding two bottles of chilled Perrier Jouët, one in each hand.

  I drew in breath, looked around and saw they were all waiting expectantly for me to make a move.

  I made that move, going to an armchair to grab my cardigan because autumn had settled heavily on Maine, and now October, it barely got over fifty degrees during the day and it wasn’t a dry fifty degrees. It was wet. Not nippy. Chilly.

  But now it wasn’t during the day and it would be downright cold.

  In my boots and with my cardigan on, I headed out and walked the fifty yards through the dark to the lighthouse.

  I saw a big delivery van trundling down the lane toward the gates but I only glanced at its movement.

  Mostly, my eyes were to the lighthouse, the light rotating around, illuminating the space rhythmically, all the windows having warm light pouring out of them.

  I hit the covered walkway from garage to house, put my ha
nd on the handle of the door and turned to see Walt, Amanda, Jackie, Rob, Paige and Rob’s wife, Trish, behind me.

  I gave them an excited smile, faced the door, turned the handle and pushed inside.

  A fire was crackling in the fireplace, which was the first thing I saw.

  The rest . . .

  Oh . . .

  The rest . . .

  I wandered the floor and then the next and the next and saw how beautifully Paige fit the circular rooms and brick walls and unusual windows and maritime history into an overall welcoming, warm, cozy space. It was all things classic and contemporary, feminine but with masculine appeal, nautical but not kitschy, charming without being precious, all of this in every nook and cranny.

  And I couldn’t believe the mastery with which she’d separated the bedroom space, both sides tiny, but she’d fit a queen size bed in (not a lot of floor space, but who cared) and a bathroom with small shower and small, round soaking tub, which would mean I couldn’t stretch out but I could luxuriate in the bath. She and Walt had also fashioned amazing cabinetry all around the bathroom that had some mirrored panels in it, with the creamy, eggshell-painted horizontal wainscoting from floor to ceiling, making the space seem much larger than it was and afforded a lot of storage space.

  I stopped in the observation deck, at first seeing the built-in curved seating around the edge, a couple of wicker pieces facing it in front of the railing to the stairwell.

  And I saw Magdalene spread along the cove, lights dotting the sweeping hills beyond, and the inky dark of the sea that stretched for eternity, the rounding of the light just above us sending out its signal steady and true, again and again and again.

  “Cady?”

  I heard Walt’s voice call me but I was stuck on the ink of the sea and the rounding of the beam and the understanding, finally, of why this was where I needed to be.

  Patrick had been my beam. Patrick had come into my life, and for the first time, at twenty-three, given me something steady and true.

  And now Patrick had given me a new beam that would see me through.

  “Cady, are you good?” Walt asked from right beside me.

  Abruptly, I turned my head his way and tilted it back.

  “Yes, Walt. I’m better than good. I’m home.”

  His face split into a huge smile two seconds before I heard a cork pop and Trish shouted, “Hurrah!”