Page 85 of Enemies to Lobsters
“And so, in honor of Autism Awareness month and my friend Boone, we’re turning the lighthouse blue for the month of April.” She holds up her big scissors with a suspicious grin. “And I dedicate this newly-restored lighthouse to the people of Cape Georgeana. We’re weird. We’re strong. We’re weirdly strong together.”
Okay, she never rehearsed that part of her speech with me. And Autism Awareness month? She didn’t tell me anything about this. A lump forms in my throat.
Happy laughter circulates through the onlookers while Diana snips the ribbon that’s strung across the patio. It flutters onto the concrete steps. A beat passes.
“Oh, shoot. That’s my cue,” I mutter, killing the party lights and flipping the switch for the exterior lights with shaking fingers.
The lighthouse tower is flooded with bright blue light, and the crowd gasps. Then a beam of light shines from the lantern room, stretching out to the sea and the shore as it circles overhead.
There’s a roar of applause. There are tears. People whoop and whistle. Muffie, who must’ve zoned out during Diana’s speech, loudly asks, “Why is it blue?”
When I meet Louise’s gaze, tears are streaming down her cheeks, her arm wrapped around Boone’s skinny shoulders. She shakes her head in awe.
Diana finds me, tucking herself against my side and leaning her head on my arm. She waves at Louise, who mouths a serious, tear-soaked “thank you” to my wife.
Under the soft blue light of the lighthouse, I press a long kiss on the top of Diana’s head. I love this woman so much it hurts.
“Weirdly strong together?” I ask against her hair.
She snickers. “I said what I said.”
Bonus Epilogue
Marlow
Why did I let you guys talk me into this?” I hiss at Diana from our hiding place in the bushes.
That’s right. Bushes. We’re crouched behind the scratchiest shrubbery in the state of Maine, waiting for Diana’s husband to emerge from Muffie Horowitz’s darkened house.
“Because you want the Red Sox to win as much as we do,” August’s thunderous voice rumbles beside me.
“Correction,” Diana mutters. “I don't want the Red Sox to win anything. I’m here to support Ike.”
Stevie scoffs. “How are you still a Stankees fan after last season? It was shameful.”
“Would you guys keep it down?” I whisper, shoving leaves away from my face. “You’re going to wake her up.”
August chuckles. “No, we’re not. Muffie is mostly deaf without her hearing aids. Trust me. I’m her doctor. You’d have to light a firework on her lawn to wake her up.” That explains why he’s hardly trying to hide. But his bright Red Sox T-shirt is like a beacon, pointing the cops right to us.
“You have to relax, Marlow.” Diana sounds so condescending over there in her obnoxious Yankees shirt.
Yeah, right. I don’t relax. And I never do things like this. I don’t step out of line—I can’t afford to. “I have way too much on my shoulders to relax. Or do anything crazy. Or fun. Or spontaneous. Or that might get me arrested forgrand theft auto,” I emphasize the terrifying words, breathing in and out over and over. “Am I hyperventilating?”Pant, pant, pant, pant.
“You will if you keep breathing like that,” August answers. There’s laughter in his deep voice.
“Gee, thanks, Doctor Wentworth—”
“Got ‘em.” Ike’s voice booms over mine as he jingles a set of car keys.
I screech.
“Shh! You guys!” Diana hisses as Ike pulls her to her feet.
The rest of us scramble out of the bushes, crouching, snickering, and shushing each other as we scurry around the bumper of Muffie’s twenty-year-old Buick. This thing is built like an aircraft carrier. It takes three full minutes for me to get to the back passenger side.
After Ike unlocks it, Stevie holds the door open like she’s waiting for me to sit in the middle between her and August.
“You first,” I say from my crouched position by the bumper.
