Page 22 of The Lightkeeper

That was Frankie.

Once she set her mind to something, she didn’t give anyone—even herself—a choice in the matter. In my case, she was determined to be normal around me. Determined to not show a single tremor or crack no matter how different I was now or how bad things got. Come hell or high water, she was going to treat me like the brother I’d always been.

Meanwhile, Lou was the complete opposite. Sensitive. Affected. She guarded her words and her emotions, trying to look out for me at every turn as much as I tried to take care of her.

“Do they smell different to you? I thought they did, but now I can’t tell. And Mom and Gigi are jamming, so they’re useless…” She continued to alternate one and then the other.

“I don’t…” I sniffed again, wishing I could help, but all I smelled was sugar and lemon andher. “What am I smelling for?”

She huffed. “Well, they’re both sea scents, but one I did with a little hint ofcitrus.”

I shook my head and tried again. “The right one.”

She squealed. “I knew you’d figure it out. I was about to drive them over to the lighthouse to get an answer.”

“How’d you know I’d figure it out?” I folded my arms.

“You have a good nose.” She shrugged.

“Are you saying I have a big nose?”

It was almost imperceptible—the hesitation and widening of her eyes—but I caught it.Surprise.I was joking with her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d joked with her—with any of them. But here I was, emitting the smallest piece of light from somewhere I swore was only filled with darkness.

Where had it come from?

And was it because of her?

My teeth locked. “You said they’re in the basement?”

She hummed, her head bobbing as she continued down the hall. I followed a step behind into the kitchen; I heard Mom and Gigi going at it before we even reached the basement steps.

“Crisis averted!” Frankie exclaimed. “Kit found the one with the citrus.”

“Oh, Kit.” Mom sighed as my feet landed on the basement floor.

“There he is.” Gigi’s cloud of cotton-candy-purple hair floated over to me as she wrapped me in a hug. “Hello, Christopher.”

Is it just Kit? Or is it short for Christopher?

“Hi, Gigi.” I gently hugged my grandmother back. She was the only one who called me by my full name.

“I didn’t know you were coming today.” Mom was next in line for a hug and kiss, quickly wiping her hands on her apron that was smeared with all colors of jam.

“Neither did I,” I muttered under my breath as I approached their work table and stared at the jars of jam strewn over the top. “What are you making today?” I picked one up, the contents a bright red.

“Seaside Strawberry,” Mom answered.

Gigi gasped, drawing all of our eyes as she pointed at me with her pink Sharpie. “For you.”

“No.” I lifted a finger and warned. “Not for me, Gigi. I don’t want—” I broke off, tensing when Frankie put her hand on my arm.

Why was it that my body rejected my own family but when Aurora took my hand, it felt like a balm on an open wound rather than a brand on bare skin?

“You don’t get a say,” my sister quipped, a smile teasing her lips. “That’s how it works.”

I let out a long exhale, watching Gigi scribble on one of the labels.

A majority of Stonebar Farms jam production was done in bulk in a facility that was just outside of town. Making the jam. Canning it. Labeling it. Start to finish, everything happened there. But here, in Mom’s basement, she and Gigi made special batches just like they’d done at the start.

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