Page 22 of The Summers of Us

This is for Everett.

I look at him in hopes that he can read the sentiment in my eyes as we enter the ground floor room. It’s dark and musty in the bottom of the lighthouse. Curiosity takes over as we examine the black and white blueprints like historians.

Before we ascend the staircase, an actual historian teaches us about its dramatic construction, the Destruction of 1877, the ghosts that “haunt” the stairwells as a result. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I still shiver from the thought despite the hot, humid, unventilated room. Visions of ghosts cross my mind, tattered souls wandering the beach in ruffled, white dresses, lost in one way or another.

I wish they were real, so I’d know Hadley was still here.

I’d know Hadley was being taken care of.

Is Hadley over there, on the banks of Piper Island? Does she wonder why everyone left her there? Is it cold when night falls? Does she stand over a perfect sand dollar, screaming at distant beachcombers to grab it before the ocean takes it?

Do they know she’s really talking about herself?

I don’t believe in ghosts, but would it make things better to know that she’s there and I just can’t see her?

This is for Everett, so it’s not time to cry. I bite my lip and look toward the end of the spiral staircase to distract myself.

I have the entire climb to compose myself, pretend I’m only distraught from the endless steps and summer heat. Everett goes ahead of me, clambering up the first set of stairs. We pass a few windows, which must have been put there to revive the lighthouse keepers, remind them of their ascension, assure them they’re not too far from sunlight. Dust motes come to life inside the golden rays. Distant footsteps echo as we approach the top.

The stairs spit us out at the top. Once our eyes adjust to the blinding sun, the view takes our breath away. A sea of lush green treetops, paper white rooftops winking in the sunlight, waterways carved through the marsh grass like fireworks, exposed and ruddy in the low tide.

The panoramic view showcases each shade of blue swirling in the sky. No longerjustblue; the sky iseveryblue. The horizon is moon jelly blue from a blanket of clouds miles away. The swath directly above us is sapphire blue, unobstructed by the spider web clouds. Where the blues meet, the sky is the color of Neptune. I bet if I touched it, my fingers would freeze.

Water surrounds us on all sides, its own confident shade of blue, unique from the sky, but only blue because of it. Since the lighthouse is situated on the top of the island, half of the view is the churning sea.

“Wow,” I exclaim once I catch my breath. I could stand here forever, watching the tides cover the marsh and reveal it again. “Is this everything you hoped it would be?”

“More.” The wind makes a mess of the hair just above his forehead.

My hand springs into action, but it’s a fruitless endeavor this high up. His hair has a mind of its own, as does mine. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this. You’ve been here, what, five years now?”

“Almost six, but they’re only open in the summer and we’ve just never gotten around to it.”

“I wonder what this looks like in the winter.”

“Black, white, and dead, like those pictures at the bottom of the stairs.”

I giggle. I understand what he means. Winter might as well be colorless, a photograph of summer left to wilt in the sun before it boards itself up for the off-season. This winter sent me into hibernation, but instead of sleep, I became consumed with homework, exams, college preparation, therapy, and my weekend job at the tennis court. On the coldest, busiest days in Raleigh, I wished to be a Piper Island toad warming on a rock, but there was life to live and a mind to keep in line, so I couldn’t.

The first day the warmth came back, sap rose in my soul.

I woke up hungry for more. At least that has never changed.

“Except the sunsets. They’re more vibrant in the winter. Something about clean, dry air and a lower angle on the horizon,” Everett says.

“You researched that?”

He smirks at me. “You weren’t born knowing that?”

“Of course I was.” I smirk. Heat creeps on my face from more than just the sun.

Somewhere out in the middle of the water, a dolphin comes up for air, its gray skin glistening in the sun.

I gasp. “Look! A dolphin!”

It’s gone as quickly as it came, but it returns a few waves down. With it returns our gasps. We lean farther off the railing like a few inches will make it easier to see. Another one appears behind it, then another, until all three dance among the waves.

I raise an eyebrow and look at Everett. “You know you can make wishes on dolphins?”

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