by Liz Johnson
Some had changed.
But Harrison … she’d counted on the man who had snuck her a plate of food when she’d only ordered a glass of water. And somehow, this was still him. And maybe more. Definitely different.
“I thought since … well, you don’t live in the Crick anymore, so I figured you’d want something more …”
She watched as he struggled to find his words, hands clasped in front of him and head bowed. His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. It never had been booming, but there was a hesitancy in it just now that tugged at her heart, had her leaning into him.
It was a fear of rejection, fear of being turned down.
She knew it well.
Resting her hand on his forearm, she said, “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve made?”
He went down the row of plates, listing each entrée and their sides. Game hens and steak. Tuna and lobster rolls. “Because it’s not an island wedding without lobster.”
She laughed. Marie had suggested lobster traps as decorations for the wedding. Certainly PEI thrived on the fishing industry. She just wasn’t sure it belonged at a wedding.
“But won’t the lobsters get expensive?” Her practical side reared its head, surely looking for an excuse to keep the whole ordeal from becoming too “island.” After all, the location hadn’t been her choice. But she could do a thing or two to keep it from being a full-on celebration of red cliffs and lighthouses and lobsters.
“Oh, Captain Mark said he’d sell them to me for a better-than-fair price. Give it a taste.”
She did, savoring the sweet meat soaked in melted butter inside a soft bun. Its flavor exploded on her tongue, somehow well-known and brand-new.
This was why everyone wanted to have lobster at their wedding. It was divine.
Then again, so were the tuna and steak and game hen. All of it was perfection. How was she supposed to choose? This was what Russell was supposed to be here for. He was the foodie, the wannabe chef. He’d take a bite of each of these, close his eyes, and moan with pleasure as he experienced every intricate flavor. And then he’d make a decision.
But he wasn’t here, and she was alone. Because no one was going to persuade her to call in Justin for help with something as simple as choosing the menu for the reception.
“I guess … the … Well, what do you do think?”
Harrison looked like no one had ever asked his opinion on anything before. “What do you mean?”
“Which one do you like? Which is your favorite?”
His eyebrows formed a deep ravine as they pulled together, the patch over his eye bunching as his face shifted. “They’re all my favorites. That’s why I chose them for you.”
Such a simple phrase, but it struck her like a softball to the chest. Suddenly the air in the kitchen vanished, and she wheezed, leaning against the cool metal counter for support.
Confusion remained on Harrison’s face, but she guessed that he had no idea what he’d just said. Or what it meant.
That’s why I chose them for you.
He’d picked his favorites. Not the easiest. Not the biggest crowd pleasers. Not the cheapest or the most famous. He’d picked what he loved. And he’d done it for her.
She’d walked away from this town, but he hadn’t given up on her.
Harrison. Mama Kane. Aretha. Even Justin. Maybe she had more friends here than she remembered.
That realization was enough to squeeze whatever air was left in her lungs all the way out. She gasped and stumbled, but his firm grip on her arm kept her upright. The squint of his eye never wavered from her.
“You okay, Natalie?”
Yes. No.
There were too many memories, the ones she’d hung on to and the ones she’d forgotten.
“Can I get back to you?” She just managed to squeak out the question, but Harrison quickly nodded.
“Sure. Anytime. And if you want to go with someone else to cater, no hard feelings.”
She waved and rushed for the door, not even stopping to see if Stella was still holding court at her table. Her gaze zeroed in on the restaurant’s glass door, and she charged toward it, bumping into a chair that hadn’t been tucked into place. She apologized to the piece of furniture but didn’t slow down.
Until she came to a hard stop.
It wasn’t the jingling bell or the sudden breeze that accompanied the open door that drew her up short. Neither was it the low whistle that could only have come from Harrison himself.
She came up temporarily lame because of the figure standing in the entryway. He held on to the metal handle, and his posture was relaxed, at ease.
Strangely enough, his nonchalance had the opposite effect on her as every muscle from her toes to her neck pulled tight. But his eyes were bright, lucid, maybe for the first time since she’d been born.
“Hello, Natalie Joy. I heard you were back in town and hoped I’d find you.”
His voice hadn’t changed much. Still gravelly and deep enough to rattle the windows. But there was a softness to it now. A quiet calm that had always been missing during her childhood.
He held her gaze but kept his distance, like a hunter eyeing a deer. And she was just as skittish as a newborn fawn. But he blocked her only escape route, so she waited. And she watched.
When the silence had hung in the air for what felt like hours, he finally said, “It’s good to see you.”
She couldn’t say the same, so she settled for an old standard. “Hello, D-D-Dad.”
11
Justin couldn’t look away from the path of the beacon. As the sun sank toward the horizon in the west, the lighthouse’s beam stretched across the dark waters to the east. Each wave shone as it rippled toward the shoreline. The light reached and pulled, calling all ships and vessels to find a safe harbor, because beyond where the light reached, a storm brewed. Its dark clouds unfurled in the wind, their long fingers reaching for the land.
But it wasn’t the way the tops of the trees bent beneath the power of the wind that kept him so riveted. It was the way the light illuminated one cove where the land seemed to reach into the sea. The cliffs were gentler there, the sea closer to the land. All around it was only darkness.
And then the light swept over it, illuminating a magical moment.
For an instant he imagined that he could see the glowing twin eyes of a lonely fox. But then the light moved on, and he was left to only his meandering mind, which had a terrible habit of dwelling in the past lately.
As though she was sitting right next to him at the top of the lighthouse, he could hear Natalie’s tale of pirates and fairies. They had been about twelve and reading Treasure Island in school. As he did most nights, he found her in the lighthouse, a book covering her face and giggles escaping past the pages.
“Don’t you think there might be pirates out there?”
As always, he’d stepped on the squeaky stair on his way up, and she didn’t bother to look up at him before she began her story.
“What if Mr. Grady is one of them? What if he escaped but there are fairies out there looking for him? They live in the trees right there.” She pointed at the cove just as the light reached it. “And they only come out at night. They wait for us to see them.”
Justin nodded, because what was he supposed to say to something so ridiculous? But she didn’t really need him. Her eyes glazed over, and she set the book down, staring through the windowpane and into the night, seeing things no one else saw.
“Maybe they want us to help them bring him in. Maybe they hide until we’re here, and then they’re calling to us to come out there.”
“Why would they want our help?”
She looked at him like he had lost his mind, the freckles on her nose disappearing amid the wrinkles there. “Because the pirates are after the gold, of course.”
“Of course.” Except there hadn’t been pirates near the island for a hundred years or more. At least he thought that’s what their teacher had said. He might have been thinki
ng about a melody he couldn’t get out of his head while Mrs. Abbott was talking.
Natalie rambled on about the pirates and the treasure the fairies guarded and how Harrison Grady fit into the whole thing. It was well past midnight when they took off for their own homes. But the next day Natalie wasn’t at the lighthouse or at school. For a minute he wondered if she’d run off to find the fairies.
The next Monday she was back in class and back at the light.
It wasn’t until later—many years later—that he learned her mother had locked her in her room for three days that weekend. When Natalie had finally told him the truth, she’d blamed her late-night lighthouse excursions for her mother’s anger.
But if the town gossips were to be believed, her mom’s anger had a whole lot more to do with Mr. O’Ryan’s extracurricular escapades.
Justin couldn’t imagine the pain of a spouse’s betrayal like that. He prayed he’d never know it. He thanked God, too, that despite the relative short length of their marriage, his parents had remained true.
But the timeline was never quite clear to him. Maybe Mrs. O’Ryan had lost touch with reality, and then her husband turned his back on his vows. Or maybe she’d snapped because he began openly seeing other women.
From what Justin could tell, Mrs. O’Ryan had been a deeply disturbed woman, haunted by voices no one else could hear and battling wars no one else could see.
It didn’t mean the whole situation hadn’t made him so angry he could punch a wall. So angry he actually had put his fist through drywall. But knowing even a fraction of the poor woman’s struggles helped now. If he couldn’t ever truly understand, at least he could find some compassion for a family in shreds and a little girl in agony.
Whatever the true reason for that three-day hole, nothing her mother did could keep Natalie away from the lighthouse. Sometimes she’d disappear for a day or two, but she always found her way back. Like perhaps the lighthouse called to her as much as it did to any boat at sea.
One thing he knew for sure. It still called to him.
Half the lyrics in his notebook had been scribbled beneath this light. He’d written the song that he’d been goaded into playing at his last kitchen party right here. This was the place his memories were strongest, which was probably why all of his songs were about Natalie.
As he squinted one more time at the fairies’ cove, the old house gave out a loud moan. Probably the wind. Except it was followed quickly by the telltale squeak of the step that had never been fixed.
He jumped to his feet, his notebook falling facedown on the floor. And while his heart suddenly pounded in his throat, he wasn’t really surprised to see a head of red hair ascend the steps. In fact, he wondered if he’d conjured her just by dwelling on the past.
But the yelp of surprise she let out when her gaze met his was entirely real.
“Justin! Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother you I didn’t know you were here I’ll go.”
Natalie’s words came out so fast that they were practically a single sentence. But they made him smile, so much like his own when they’d first met here.
“No. It’s okay. You can stay.” Those weren’t exactly the words he’d planned. But when he spoke them, her shoulders drooped, and she heaved a great sigh. He felt like a knight who’d rescued the maiden.
“Thanks. I just needed a … quiet space.”
“All right.” He motioned to the floor, only then stooping to pick up his lyric book. “Welcome to my humble abode. You might find the floor is a little less comfortable than it used to be.”
She winced when her hip made contact with the metal. “When did this get so hard?”
“About the time we turned thirty.”
A giggle bubbled out of her, low and easy like the inlets that trickled their way into the island. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
He nodded. Because he didn’t have anything to say, he remained silent. The cover on the light spun once. Twice. A third time. She didn’t say anything either. Maybe they were afraid to break the spell. Or maybe she didn’t have anything on her mind.
Except he knew that wasn’t true.
She fiddled with the hem of her pants where her ankles were crossed beneath her. Then she straightened her legs, which lasted for about three seconds. Then they were bent and tucked beneath her chin. All the while, her eyes never strayed from the cove, especially under its blanket of darkness.
There were no fairylike eyes out there tonight. The howling wind and chilly air kept all of the island’s animals confined to their homes. But strangely enough, he had no desire to go to his own.
“What’re you looking for out there?”
She shrugged, and the valley above her nose deepened. “I’m not sure. Maybe there’s a fairy out tonight.”
A sudden crack of thunder seemed to signify the collision of their memories, and he reached out a hand to steady her when she jumped. They weren’t more than three feet apart, but as far as they could be in the tight circle. It seemed to take an hour for him to reach her arm. When he finally got there, her skin was cool like the night.
Again she refused to look at him, but he could feel something flowing off of her in waves. It was relentless and made her tremble.
Something inside him swore he needed to stay right where he was. So he waited silently.
At the exact moment the clouds released their stores from above, Natalie opened up a storm of her own. “I saw my dad tonight.”
He choked on his own tongue, coughing and sputtering and trying for all he was worth to make sense of her words. They couldn’t be true. Her dad had been gone for years. He disappeared not too long after she did. Her mom had sort of given up after that.
Maybe he’d misunderstood her. After all, the steady ping of rain against the lighthouse was distracting at best. Maybe she’d seen an old friend or received a call from Russell.
Except there was nothing else she could have said that would make the lines of her neck so tight and her lips narrow beyond recognition. There was no misunderstanding.
Her dad was back in town.
His fist shook where it rested against his bent knee, a knot in his gut pulling tighter and tighter. Rick O’Ryan had no right to come back to the Crick. Not after the way he’d neglected his only daughter. He’d left a trail of broken hearts and broken marriages in his wake, and no one had been sad to see him go.
Least of all Justin, who would have gladly spit at the man, save for the island values his mother had hammered into him in his youth. He’d watched time and again from afar as Rick let his only daughter suffer at the hands of her mother, every scene a painful reminder of his own impotence.
Why hadn’t he been able to save her? Why couldn’t he step in and rescue her? Why had he been confined to the sidelines, forced to watch his best friend bear such agony?
He’d only ever been able to be there after the fact, to hug her and hold her and make promises he couldn’t keep.
And it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.
A flash of lightning severed the sky, a mirror of the anger building in his chest. There was no release for his ire, though, so he clasped his hands in front of him, bowed his head, and prayed for brilliance. There had to be something he could say.
Only there wasn’t. So he squeezed her arm again and nodded, hoping to encourage her to continue.
After another boom shook the lighthouse, the rain stopped pelting the windows. Now it came like tears, rolling down each pane with a great and solemn sadness, mimicking every tear they’d shared in this place.
“I was at Grady’s, sampling some food for the reception menu. When I went to leave, there he was. Just standing in the doorway. Blocking me in.” She fiddled with her watch for a silent second before her eyes lifted to meet his gaze. “I just froze. I didn’t have a clue what to do.”
“Sure. I mean, no one would have expected him to come back. But we didn’t—” He pulled the reins tight before the dig could escape. No one h
ad expected her to come back either. That didn’t mean he needed to rub it in.
Apparently he didn’t need to spell it out for her, if the lines around her mouth were any indication. “I know. You never thought you’d see me again, did you?”
He shook his head. “After a year, I gave up hoping. And after that … well, I suppose I quit looking for you.”
“You were looking for me?”
He bobbed his head and ran his hand over his hair before tugging on his ponytail. “It wasn’t like I was sending out a search party or anything. I just had my eyes open. I was paying attention, wondering if you’d show up somewhere, hoping you’d call the house.”
She shook her head and bowed it low. “I was mad. I was seventeen and stupid, and I was hurt. I felt like my best friend had abandoned all of our plans.”
How was he supposed to respond to that? He could remind her of his dad and the dairy, but she already knew. It didn’t seem fair to throw it at her again. And he didn’t need to.
Waves of wrinkles crossed her forehead as she lifted her head to look at him. “I felt so guilty for leaving you when you were hurting so badly. But things were getting … worse. I had to go, but I wanted you to find me. It’s why I left the note.”
“I know. Now.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and watched the sweeping arm of light for several long moments. “Back then I just thought you’d given up on me. On us. But I don’t know what I would have done if I’d found your letter.” He shrugged. “I like to think I’d have gone looking for you.”
A tiny smile crept across her face and then slowly morphed into a frown. “My dad said he’d been looking for me too.”
He clenched his fist again, the urge to punch the other man sizzling through his veins. “What did you say?”
Like an owl pulled from a deep sleep, she blinked slowly. “Nothing. I said hi and then got out of there as fast as I could.” A strangely satisfied smile replaced her frown, and it was followed by an easy chuckle. “Stella Burke was there, and I think she had apoplexy when she recognized Dad.”
