Page 5 of Beacon

I didn’t hear any of Father’s grief-filled assurances that it was only an accident. That didn’t matter, for I couldn’t escape the truth thatI’dcaused the accident. My mind was numb, each hyperventilating breath a struggle as I frantically shook my head in denial.

“No, no, no, no…” Each word shattered another part of my heart, one that could never be put back together now that Mother was gone. But soon my denial faded, along with my voice, and I fell silent, having run out of words completely.

But I didn’t need words, not when the silence was more comforting. After all, words had the power to hurt: words spoken in frustration, such as Mother to me; words remaining unsaid, like my goodbye to Mother; words which had caused the sea to rage; and words that were now impossible to ever speak, like any to Mother, now that she was—

No! I couldn’t eventhinkthat word, one more horrible and final than any other in my vocabulary.

But although I didn’t speak, I couldn’t escape the memories from my words. They swarmed in my mind before settling on my final conversation with Mother. The memory of the kiss she’d blown to me in farewell was swallowed up with the last words she’d ever spoken to me. I tried to suppress them, but they washed over me in waves—taunting, cruel, accusing—repeating over and over in my mind until I feared I’d go mad.

Just stop talking.

Just stop talking.

Just. Stop. Talking…

CHAPTER2

TEN YEARS LATER

My arm throbbed, but still, I meticulously scrubbed the windows, pausing every so often to search for any sign of dirt. Not a smudge could be seen, yet I couldn’t stop cleaning. What if there was a spot I’d missed and that very spot made it more difficult for the beacon’s light to be seen for the ships out at sea?

Anxiety tightened my chest. I dipped my rag back into the sudsy bucket of water and proceeded to wash the window anew.

“It’s clean enough, Starfish.”

From the other side of the room, Father had paused in trimming the wick—one of our many duties as the keepers of the lighthouse—to watch me in concern. I gave my head a rigorous shake and continued scrubbing. He was wrong; it could never beclean enough.

Father’s limping footsteps approached, but I didn’t turn around, not even when he rested a comforting hand on my hand, forcing me to still. “It’s spotless. You’ve done a marvelous job.”

What if he was wrong? I’d thought the panes were spotless last month…only to wake up one morning following a rough storm to find the remains of a ship splintered against the rocks…

I shook off his hand and renewed my scrubbing with increased vigor. The window had to be clean. The ships had to see the light. I couldn’t bear if there was another shipwreck, one I might have been able to prevent—

Father once more laid a gentle hand over mine clenching the rag in a death grip. I didn’t relinquish my hold; I only clung to it tighter. I shook my head in protest, but he ignored me, working the rag loose until it fell back into the water with asplash.

“You did a beautiful job, Marisa.” As usual, his tone was patient, even though his patience and kindness were the last things I deserved after what I’d done.

I gave my head another feeble shake, but the effort was less defiant and more resigned. I frantically scanned the windows again, searching, but the glass appeared utterly pristine.

“I’ve never seen a cleaner window. The beacon will shine for miles.” Father patted my hand assuredly.

But what if it didn’t shine far enough? What if, despite my efforts, I’d still messed up? What if—

“It’s alright, Starfish.” Father murmured my familiar nickname in a soothing tone, the same he always used with me—as if he feared I might break.

I wanted to believe him, but his gentle words did little to ease the constant tension pressing against my heart or the memories always so near the surface. I wearily sank to the floor, and after a moment’s struggle, Father eased himself down beside me. Even without looking I could sense his concerned gaze.

He lightly touched my brow, as if the gesture could allow my thoughts to tumble free. “Won’t you share yourself with me?” he asked.

I remained silent, just as I always had ever since…I hastily pushed those memories away, but they returned unbidden, raging within my mind just like the storm I’d accidentally created, the storm that had stolen everything.

Mother.

A choking sound escaped my throat before I could stop it, but I quickly silenced it before the utterance could be shaped into any sort of meaning. I loathed words and refused to allow them to be part of me any longer, especially when they brought nothing but distress.

But the noise was enough for Father to sense the distress raging within me, even if I refused to vocalize it. He stroked my hair the same way Mother always had, but it didn’t feel anything like the way she’d done it. He didn’t wait for me to speak, knowing well enough that I wouldn’t. Instead he glanced around the lighthouse we’d spent all morning tending to.

“I think we’ve done everything here. Shall we have lunch?”

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