Page 1 of The Lightkeeper

Chapter One

Kit

The sunrise steepedthe horizon in deep crimson, the color bleeding onto the distant ocean surface. A caution to those familiar with the sea:Red sky at night is a sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning is a sailor’s warning.

I wiped clean the last corner of glass in the lantern room and shoved my rag into my back pocket, my morning ritual complete. Every day for the last nine years, I’d woken before dawn and made my way up the spiraling staircase to the very top of the Friendship Lighthouse to clean the windows encircling the tower; one of my many tasks as its lightkeeper. Dirt and dust were easier to see before the sun was fully up.

I’d existed at the edge of the ocean for nine years’ worth of sunrises to heed nature’s forewarning.It wasn’t going to be a good day.

My footfalls were heavy back down the stairs. Normally, I’d prepare for a stormy day by moving my easel to the small office that sat at the base of the tower, moving the desk sothe space could transform into a makeshift studio as the picture window afforded a wide panorama of the storm over the sea and a new scene to paint. However, inspiration had run dry lately, and worse than that, today I had to go into town.

A tremor ran through me. Unwelcome but unsurprising. I didn’t like cramped spaces or crowds. Or people in general. I liked my corner of the earth, tucked on the bare, jagged edge of the continent, secluded in my lighthouse. It was on the very edge of civilization, my only neighbors being feathered nomads and crusted sea creatures, and it suited me.It had to;I’d never have a normal life again.

It had taken time, but I’d whittled my errands down to a single day out of the month. One day to get groceries. To pick up any necessary tools or supplies for repairs to the lighthouse. And to see my family. Only one day where I had to prepare myself to deal with the world.

But some days, one day felt like one too many.Some days like today.

I wished I could put it off for longer, but as I entered the kitchen from the little office at the base of the tower, the empty shelves, empty bread basket, and empty fridge echoed that I couldn’t.I was supposed to go three days ago, and I had kept pushing it off.If the fact that I’d run out of food wasn’t enough, the increasingly insistent texts from my younger sister, Frankie, warned that if I didn’t see her and my siblings and Mom soon, I’d be getting a house call—a lighthouse call.And that was worse.

I didn’t want them here. I loved them—I loved them too damn much to want them to see how I lived because I didn’t live. I existed. And the state of the lighthouse made that painfully clear.

The inside of the small house was wrapped in either wood panels or wallpaper—the kind that was washed of all color and design by the tumble of time, leaving only a thin, gray barrier thathad started to peel in spots. After the desk in the little office space, the living room was inhabited by the second of my three pieces of furniture: a single, solitary recliner that faced the fireplace.

A hint of smoke clung to the air, the ashes of last night’s fire piled in the small hearth. Only in the depths of winter did I haveafire burning since consistent electricity and heat were… questionable… out here during a storm, but now, as winter cracked open into spring, I usually only lit one at night to keep the chill away.

I walked into the bedroom to pull on a thick sweater, the fabric at the elbows wearing dangerously close to holes. There, the third piece of furniture sat just off the floor: a mattress with a flat pillow and a haphazard collection of blankets. I’d slept on far worse in Afghanistan, but my family wouldn’t see it that way. They’d look at the sparse furniture in the cold, dreary house on the edge of the world and they’d worry. They’d worry so damn much, and it would kill me.

I reached up and dragged my hand roughly through my hair, my fingers snagging on the heavily scarred skin at the back of my skull hidden underneath my thick waves.

“Shit.” I pulled my hand away instantly and balled it in a fist. It didn’t hurt, but the memory did. Worse than the original injury.

Next week was the anniversary. The first one. After a decade, I thought it’d get easier. After isolation, I thought it’d get easier. Nothing got easier.I went over to the cases of water bottles I had stockpiled next to the fridge—the only thing left in the kitchen—and took one, chugging several big gulps and swallowing down the demons that clawed inside my chest.

Time to go.

Time to get this over with.

I strode to the living roomand grabbed my brown jacket and hat from the nails I’d driven into the wall next tothe door.

Even on my broad shoulders, the worn, weather-proof brown jacket hung stiff and loose. My cap was black with the wordsCandle Cabinstitched into the rim—the name of my sister Frankie’s handmade candle shop.

I plucked my truck keys off the third nail in the wall, pulled the collar of my coat high, and headed outside.

It took three cranks to start Dad’s old truck. I should’ve had the starter looked at a year ago when it started taking two cranks for the engine to wake, but it wasn’t a priority. If the truck didn’t start, that was one more reason to not leave the lighthouse.

The streets of Friendship still slept as I drove into town. In a few months, summer vacationers would swell the coastal towns of Maine, but at this time of year, it was only locals who traversed the streets. And this early in the morning, the locals knew that nothing was open yet save the town’s only coffeeshop, the Maine Squeeze.

My first stop.

I parked right out front and left my keys in the cupholder. No point in locking things around here. The town was too small to need anything like that. And again, if someone stole the truck…one more reason not to leave the lighthouse.

The bell chimed above the door, a twinkling welcome into the retro café with its checkered vinyl floor and bright orange walls.

“Good morning! Welcome—Kit!” Lou squeaked and bolted around the counter straight for me.

I grunted as my sister barreled into me. “Morning, Lou.” I held her close for a good hug.

Elouise was the youngest Kinkade—but only by seven minutes. She and her sister, Frankie, were twins and, technically, my half sisters since we only shared Mom. But there was nothing half about my or my brother’s relationship with them. Their dad hadn’t been a good man, so Jamie had stepped in as the eldest, a pseudo-father figure to them… and me.

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