Page 21 of The Lightkeeper

Leaving my perch by the window, I went and unlocked the bedroom, pulling out my sketchpad and pencils from the closet. It wasn’t my usual medium, but neither was it my usual subject.

I returned to the kitchen, pausing for one more glance out the window to confirm Aurora was busy, and then flipped to the most recent partially finished sketch: the damn sea snail.

The sketches were supposed to be fast and crude. An outlet for my frustration and what I’d hoped would be a stepping stone to my next painting that should’ve been finished long before now. Case in point: Lou left me a message yesterday that the painting displayed in the front window of the gallery had sold, and she didn’t have a good-sized one to put in its place.Basically, it was a reminder that I needed to get my act together and create new content before my gallery was filled with empty frames.

But as soon as I started the sea star, my plans went out the window.Just like everything else about Aurora did.The drawings had taken on a life of their own, capturing all the details of the sea star while Aurora’s voice described them in my head. Before I knew it, the sketch was a full-fledged drawing that I inked over in black, and for a split second, I considered putting it in my gallery.

And then I’d quickly flipped to a new blank sheet and started on the sea snail.The nudibranch. That was two days ago. Now, I had the body finished and was working on all the tiny extremities that stretched out like crystallized fingers. One after another, I added the creature’s little branches as though it were counting all the reasons I needed to stay far away from its captor.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been working, but the sound of her approaching voice broke my bubble of concentration.

“It’s going really well. I’ll send you some photos of what Icollected today; you’ll love them.” I tensed, hearing the smile in her voice.Who was she talking to?“I miss you, too, Dad.”

Dad.

I caught the rim of her yellow hat as it passed by the front window I’d been sanding earlier.Shit.I flipped my sketchbook shut and beelined for the bedroom, tossing everything on the bed and quickly shutting the door. My hand was on the key in my pocket when the front door opened.

“Love you, too,” she said just as our eyes met across the living room.

She was on the phone—wasn’t talking to me—and yet something cracked open inside my chest, and it was damn uncomfortable.

I saw the moment she started to look too long—to wonder what I was doing standing by the bedroom door. So, I quickly spun and strode back to the kitchen for some water.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” she asked, standing in her waders in the doorway.

I stared at her.

“Can you grab me another jar?” She pointed to the box of empty jars underneath the desk. “Otherwise, I have to get out of these waders just to get back in them.”

I gritted my teeth and headed for the box. Anything to spare myself the sight of her in the tight leggings she always wore underneath.

“I found aBuccinum undatumthat I want to bring inside,” she went on blithely, her excitement making her words bounce. “More commonly known as a waved whelk, they’re like bottom-feeding conch snails. Not particularly special, although their numbers have been declining in certain areas where they are common, but my dad loves them. So, I had to call and tell him.”

My throat felt tight.What would it be like to be the person she called when she was excited?It wasn’t just her face that lit up whenshe found something new, it was the whole of her. Every inch fucking glowed.What would it be like to be the first person to bask in that?

I extended my hand with the jar, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Any other dinglehoppers or snarfblatts I can get for you?”

Her eyelids fluttered, taking a second to process the reference. If she was going to speak Latin, I was going to speakLittle Mermaid; with two younger sisters, I was fluent in mermaid.

“No.” Aurora smiled and blushed, the sight like a punch to the gut. She took the jar, brushing my fingers in the process. I felt the heat—the fire—but not the pain I usually anticipated. “Thanks, Kit.”

Air hissed from my lips. How much longer would the husky way she said my name continue to drive a bolt of lust through my veins? I stood there for only a second longer, watching her quickly waddle back to capture the waved whatchamacallit, and then decided I needed to get out—away from the lighthouse for a little bit.

And that was when I knew it was bad—whatever this was, whatever I felt—when I was willing to leave my own sanctuary rather than torment myself with her presence any longer.

Ten.I’d counted ten deep breaths as I sat in my truck in front of Mom’s house, Frankie’s old Volkswagen Beetle parked on one side of me.

I was pretty sure Lou was working because she was always working—always saving for her inn—but I couldn’t be positive because she didn’t have a car.Part of that whole “always saving” mantra.

I injected one more breath into my lungs, preparing myself formy family. It wasn’t that they were a lot, it was that I wasn’t enough—that I wasn’t better. And if I couldn’t make them happy by getting better, then I could at least spare them the pain of seeing me broken.

Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked up to Mom’s farmhouse, the path leading to the wide, wrap-around porch that we used to sit on as kids and watch the rain. I pulled my cap off as I climbed the front steps, not bothering to knock before I let myself in.

“Mom?” I called and wiped my feet on the mat.

“Kit.” Frankie stopped in the hallway, her hands filled with candles as she blinked at me. “Hi.” She looked down and then to me again. “Can you smell these?”

She didn’t give me a choice, walking over and shoving one and then the other in my nose, the scent of the sea bursting in my nostrils.

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