Keeper of the Light

you want to cry.

Paul started at a sudden rapping on his car window, and he turned to see Nola Dillard standing inches away from his face. He rolled the window down.

“Coming in, hon?” she asked. She was on foot. She must live close by.

He opened his door and joined her in the street, where her perfume masked the scent of the sound, and the setting sun played on the false gold of her hair. “I wasn’t sure I had the right house,” he lied.

“This is it, all right. You can tell by the sailboards if nothing else.”

They were greeted at the door by a German shepherd on three legs.

“This is Tripod,” Nola said.

Paul patted the dog’s head. A dog and two cats, Annie had told him. Not much for a vet.

The personality the house exuded on the outside spilled over into the living room. Annie’s touch was everywhere. The furniture was not the usual sturdy beach variety of the Outer Banks, but rather an overstuffed and eclectic collection of chairs and sofas upholstered in bold floral prints. The floor was nearly covered by patterned rugs, haphazardly layered on top of one another to form a comforting patchwork. Paul felt as if he’d walked into Annie’s arms.

“Don’t they have a wonderful view?” Nola was still at his elbow, pointing toward the huge window that looked out over the sound. The sunset was beginning to paint the sky, but Paul’s attention was drawn to the adjacent wall where ten small, oval windows were scattered from floor to ceiling, each filled with an intricately detailed scene of a woman in a flowing dress. One held a parasol, another walked a greyhound, a third held a bloodred rose to her nose.

“Oh, my God,” he said. He had not known, she had never told him, that these windows existed. “These are extraordinary.”

“Mmm,” Nola agreed. “She was a very talented lady.”

He could have spent the rest of the evening in front of those ovals of glass, but Nola took his arm and steered him toward the kitchen.

“Let’s say hello to Alec,” she said.

The kitchen was again pure Annie. The floor and cabinets and countertops were white, but the walls were nearly entirely made up of windows, and the windows were filled with stained glass, so that even in the muted evening light, the room was awash in soft pastels.

Alec leaned against the counter by the sink, uncorking a bottle of wine. He smiled when he saw them. “Hi, Nola, Paul.” He rested his hand briefly on Paul’s shoulder.

“The bluefish was divine,” Nola said. She kissed Alec on the cheek, touching his chest lightly with her hand in a way that gave Paul gooseflesh. Was there something between them? How could Alec have lost Annie such a short time ago and even let another woman near him? Nola, though, was looking at Alec with clear adoration that Alec seemed not to notice. Paul supposed he was the type of man some women would find attractive, with his piercing blue eyes and dark hair, and the smile that came as a surprise just when you thought he was incapable of any levity whatsoever.

He’s so sexy, Annie had said during the first interview. Paul had taken her words as a warning, an indication that he didn’t stand a chance with her this time around. He wondered later if she had only been trying to warn herself.

Alec arranged some wineglasses on a tray and handed the bottle to Paul. “Want to pour for me?”

“Sure.” Paul tried to get the same level of energy into his voice that Alec had in his, but failed. He took the bottle from Alec’s hand and began to pour, but his eyes were drawn to the decorative white shelves between the counter top and the cabinets. There, directly in front of him, was the small blue cloisonne horse he had bought Annie in New Hope. He spilled some of the wine on the tray and set the bottle down until he could pour it without his hand shaking.

Baby Blue. She had kept it all these years.

“Can you bring the tray out?” Alec asked, as he and Nola carried corn chips and salsa into the living room.

“Sure,” Paul said again. He separated the glasses on the tray so they wouldn’t rattle against each other when he lifted them.

He took a seat facing the wall of oval windows, but the light outside was quickly fading and from this distance he could not make out the scenes. Besides, he had to pay attention to what the others were saying. He had suddenly become the topic of their conversation.

Alec took a swallow of wine and lifted the file of material Paul had put together on the history of the lighthouse.

“Great work, Paul,” he said. “You’ve more than earned your keep on this committee.”

The others agreed, Brian Cass adding that they just needed a bit more information on Mary Poor to make it complete.

“I have a few things I need to get done for the Gazette,” Paul said. “But I’m hoping to get over to Manteo one day in the next week or so.”

“No rush,” Alec said. He took a deep breath and set down his glass. “Well, maybe I’d better wait till you’ve all had a bit more to drink before I move on to the next topic.” He picked up another file. “I’m afraid this is it, folks. The Park Service has made their final decision.”

“Oh, God,” said Sondra. “They’re going to move it.”

Alec nodded, and Walter Liscott groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Read it, Alec,” Nola said.

Alec opened the file. A track would be built, he read, the work to begin in late August and completed next