Keeper of the Light

The Wreck of the Eastern Spirit. He could picture her on TV, poised and attractive and persuasive. Only in his fantasy, it was the lighthouse she was talking about.

“Would you ever consider taking on one of the speaking engagements?” he asked her that first night he called. The kids were out and he was sitting alone in the living room, watching the sun melt into the sound. “We get a lot of requests, and after the brochure is put together we’ll be inundated. There are too many for me to handle alone right now.”

“But I don’t know a thing about the lighthouse,” she said.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

She hesitated, and he wondered if he was asking too much of her. “Why is the lighthouse so important to you, Alec?”

Alec looked across the room at the ten small, oval-shaped stained glass windows built into the side wall of the house. Their designs were barely visible in the dusky evening light. “That’s where I met Annie,” he said. “I worked there the summer after I graduated from college. Annie was traveling down the coast and we just happened to be at the lighthouse at the same time one evening. It became sort of symbolic to me, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll do it, Alec. As long as the time doesn’t conflict with my hours in the ER.”

“That’s great.” He ran his hand over the arm of the chair. “By the way, I bumped into Paul in the grocery store yesterday.”

“You did?” She sounded alarmed. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, I just asked him a few questions about his fantasy life.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I hope you’re kidding.”

“Of course I’m kidding.” He frowned. “This really isn’t a joking matter with you, is it?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We just talked about the lighthouse.”

He didn’t bother with an excuse when he called Olivia the following night. Or the night after that. On the fourth night, he got home late after driving Clay to Duke for a five-day orientation. It was ten-thirty, too late to call her, and he felt as though something was missing from his day when he got into bed. The emptiness of the bed overwhelmed him in a way it had not for several weeks, and he picked up the phone and dialed Olivia’s number. He knew it by heart.

She sounded sleepy when she answered.

“I woke you,” he said.

“No. Well, yes, but that’s okay.”

There was a silence, and an odd feeling passed through him that he was talking to her from his bed, and she from hers. He could picture her there. Silky-straight hair. Fair skin. Green eyes.

“I took Clay to Duke for an orientation today,” he said. “It seems strange not having him around the house.”

“Maybe this is a good time for you and Lacey to do something together.”

“Ha. Fat chance.” He felt a sense of dread about the next four days without Clay’s presence to ease the tension between Lacey and himself.

It took Olivia three nights of phone calls to persuade him. He stopped by Lacey’s room before breakfast that Wednesday morning. She was dressed for school in yellow shorts that were too short and a T-shirt from the sporting goods store where Clay worked. She was hunting on the floor of her closet for her other sandal.

He sat down on the corner of her bed. “Let’s do something tonight, Lacey,” he said. “Just you and me.”

She looked up at him. “Why?”

“Like we used to. Remember? We used to spend a lot of time together.”

“I’m going out with Jessica tonight.”

“You see Jessica every night. Come on. Give your old Dad some of your time.”

She leaned back against the wall next to her closet, the sandal in her hand. “What would we do?”

He shrugged. “Anything you want. You used to like to bowl.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We could see a movie.”

“I’ve seen every movie that’s playing around here. They never change.”

“Night fishing?” he offered. “You used to like that.”

“Yeah. When I was about eight.”

He sighed. “Help me out, Lacey. What can we do tonight?”

“I know.” She suddenly looked excited, and he leaned forward. “I could, like, go out with Jessica and you could stay home with your lighthouse pictures.”

He stared at her, hurt, and she sighed and set her sandal on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, defeat in her voice. “We can do whatever you want.”

He stood up. “Fishing then. I’ll make the reservations.”

She wore her radio headset in the car on the drive to the inlet. She slouched in the front seat of the Bronco, her feet against the dashboard tapping time to music he couldn’t hear.