Page 97 of Fire Island
CALLUM
The lid to the lantern room is open and hanging on her hinges in the ocean breeze that’s decided this is the very minute to become the problem child. I wait, holding my breath, as the crane lowers the new lamp through the small, round opening.
The freighter with the crane and new lamp arrived an hour after Evie left with Em, and it’s my surprise for her. She’s heartbroken about the way the lamp met her timely end.
I mean, it needed replacing, anyhow. So I guess you could say this backed the Restoration Society into a corner. With the help of the Coast Guard, we were able to afford a new Fresnel.
We are officially back in business.
If the lamp makes it onto her platform without smashing into a million tiny little pieces, that is. As soon as I can reach, I take her sling-bound body in my hands to steady her as she lowers down. Everything is ready for her. I only need to make the connections, then secure her to the base. The test run will happen very soon.
And I have a plan for that.
The crane operator squawks out something over the radio. I snatch mine from my hip and count him down until the lampis in position. Unhooking his apparatus from her, I squeeze the radio buttons again. “Up and out, bud.”
The oversized crane hook and straps float up and out of the lantern room. I hold my breath until they clear the glass-walled room. Checking the new lamp is in fact stationary and stable, I use a long stick with a hooked end to bring the lantern room’s dome back down and latch her shut. With a tug to double-check she’s down tight, I turn back and fix the lamp.
The connectors don’t take too long to put together, but smaller hands would have made things easier. I realize I’ve gotten used to having Evie around. So much so, she factors into every part of my life now, consciously and subconsciously.
Every thought and decision runs through the Evie lens. How does this affect her, what would Evie want... It shouldn’t surprise me like it does. I’ve known for weeks how far gone I am for that little woman. Longer, if you count the nine months we spent before...
With the lamp in place, I double-check every point is installed correctly and head downstairs. Wiping my hands on a grease rag, I pad to the sink for a mug of water. I gulp down the cool liquid, staring out the window. On the distant offshore waters, a small boat sails along at a steady pace.
Or is it?
I squint, leaning closer to the window.
No, it’s anchored?
I cross the living room and grab the binoculars. Back at the window, I hold them up, taking a while to refocus and find the boat.
Odd.
Why would you anchor all the way out there? It’s too exposed. Too choppy, even on a good day.
They’re far too close to a shipping lane to be standing still. I can’t make out the name on the side of the boat. It’s either tooweathered or too far out for the binoculars to focus on. With a grunt, I push from the sink.
I should radio out and see if they need help.
I should.
But I don’t.
Not after last time. It may be my duty to render assistance to all vessels who ask for it, but they ain’t asking. As far as I’m concerned, they’re right where they want to be.
Hell, so am I. I’m not risking that for anything.
Not anymore.
The drone of Em’s muscle boat carries in with the late afternoon easterly. I finish repotting the gnarly old citrus plants for what may be their last season. With the cooler weather around the corner, my chores have shifted like clockwork, as they do every season.
The footsteps crunching over gravel outside are unfamiliar.
I turn back in time to see the greenhouse door slide open.
“Hello?”
I don’t recognize the voice straight away. But the figure standing in the doorway is as familiar as looking in the mirror.
