Grey’s expression shimmered. “From space?”
I leaned over the rail, pointing to the sky. It had started to turn, purple in the east and crimson in the west. Red sky at night, a sailor’s delight. “From the moon. We went there. Lots of times. We have pictures from there.”
The air sizzled. Grey leaned with me, turning his silver face to the sky. “Pictures from the moon . . .”
“You like astronomy?” I asked.
He didn’t look over. His faint smile twisted, into something painful and staid. “I like any view that’s not this one.”
A bunch of gears clacked behind me, and the beacon simmered to life. Starting dim, it spun slowly, growing brighter with each pass. It shocked me, how much heat it threw off. My back stung with it.
“It’s not so bad,” he said softly.
He looked across the water to my village. I followed his gaze, and I don’t know what he saw. What moved in him when he looked at it.
But to me, it was beautiful. My heart wrenched, wistful. Weirdly homesick. Because it all looked perfect. Nothing to care about from this high up, nothing bad ever happened in that little town. They sailed home on glassy seas with full pots. Everything they planned happened the way they hoped.
Grey put a hand on my back. Its chill chased away the heat from the light. “Willa?”
“What do you know, anyway?” I asked.
Quiet, Grey ticked his tongue against his teeth. Then, he sat on the rail. He reached for me with his wispy fingers, curling them gently against my chin. He was still only shades of grey, but there was a light in his eyes. A dark spark that reacted in the shadows, leaping up.
Finally, he parted his lips and whispered, “I know you’re not alone.”
That touch stayed on my skin. It crept into my bones and tightened around me like a fist. As I walked home, I didn’t look back. I felt Grey, on that island, watching me. I knew he was there; knew he could see me.
From that lighthouse, he saw me. That lighthouse, where nothing but a fall stood between him and the whole ocean. Where some kind of spell brought him everything he wanted. As I slipped into a quiet house, I thought hard at the kitchen. I dared it to give me a turkey dinner, to put Levi in the chair across from mine.
But my kitchen was cold. Dark. Quiet. Thick clouds hung in the windows. It wasn’t even bright enough for shadows. Opening the fridge, I stood there in a cold glow. I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent a text to Bailey. It was a whisper into nothing, and she didn’t answer.
Helping myself to cold chicken and old potato salad, I made myself a plate and sat down alone. I rifled through the mail. The mortgage I ignored, and I tossed the light bill aside. Those weren’t for me, not anymore. Neither was the coupon for a tune-up or a catalog for mail-order clothes.
At the bottom of the stack, I found an open envelope from an insurance company. There was a letter inside, and it caught my eye because it said SETTLEMENT ENCLOSED. Stapled to a letter, a receipt fluttered when I pulled it free. It was made out to the estate of Levi Matthew Dixon.
My dinner turned to cold weight in my belly. No wonder Daddy didn’t want my money. I killed his son and paid a year of house payments all at the same time. Suddenly, I wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t look at me anymore.
I dumped my plate in the trash. I about escaped the kitchen, but Daddy came in the back door. He brought the ocean with him, the smell of it on his wet clothes. He brought the bitter, ashy scent of cigarette smoke, too. It trailed after him like a cloak.
Pulling off his hat, he stared past me. “Standing around in the dark?”
“On my way to bed.”
“Your mother bought you a dress.”
The calendar seemed to rustle, reminding me of my court date. More weight piled onto my shoulders. What difference did it make what I wore to give myself up? Couldn’t I surrender what was left of my life in jeans and a sweatshirt?
Daddy headed for the back stairs. “If you want to argue about it, you can wait for her.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
With a look back, he sighed. “Stay off the boat. I mean it this time.”
Of course he knew. Dropping lobster pots isn’t exact. I replaced them as best I could, but there had to be little differences. A degree off here or there, a trap too close to the next one in the string.
I could have argued with him. Lied about it. But he wasn’t stupid, and neither was I. He wasn’t being hardheaded about the boat to punish me now. After my court date, I couldn’t get caught on the Jenn-a-Lo when there was gear on deck or in the water. The Coast Guard would seize it all. The boat, the gear, the catch. They’d take Daddy’s license, too.
“Your boy stopped by.”
“He’s not my boy anymore.”
Daddy rolled his eyes; he didn’t try to hide it. “I’m just giving you the message.”
Grabbing a bottle of water, I twisted the top off viciously. He wasn’t just doing anything. It was real clear he thought I had a knack for screwing everything up. My insides tangled and turned, leaving me queasy.
It was easy to imagine him and Seth sitting on a tailgate together. Shoulders slumped the same way, baseball hats pushed back a little too far. Talking all low, short sentences like they always did, waiting for me to come to my damned senses.
Snatching my phone off the table, I took it to the dooryard so I could get some air and to bother Bailey some more. Another message into the air, and silence came back. I texted my mother, asking where the dress was. She didn’t reply either.
I was alone in the dark. Not just alone; lonely. Considering the phone, I punched two numbers, then stopped. I wasn’t about to go running after Seth. All my emptiness ached. It was gore under my skin, raw and red.
Pulling my hood up, I hiked back to the wharf. The light swung over me, so solid—I wondered if I could catch it, walk across it to Jackson’s Rock.
The ocean wasn’t the same from the shore now. Earth, solid earth, rock and stone, pushed me from behind. I could walk into the waves, but I wouldn’t be surrounded by them. I’d soar over them.
Out on the Rock, Grey was probably sitting down to supper. Making his wishes for books that weren’t out yet, or a nice iPad to go with his half-assed Internet connection. All those music boxes . . . all that peace and quiet, surrounded by the sea. He had everything he wanted.
And I was jealous.
TWELVE
Grey
My kitchen is empty now. The stairs, silent. My sitting room nothing but a museum. I have a bowl of broth for supper, and two slices of bread. They go untouched as I flick through the pages of my book.
Sometimes, I realize that my routine is a lie. I’m not real. My body isn’t flesh. I don’t need to shave, or to eat, or to sleep. When I cut my hair, I’m only rearranging the mist that shapes me. When I tremble in Willa’s presence, I fool myself into believing my emotions are sensations.
I touch her, and in that moment, I trust my hand rests on her shoulder. If I were to cling to her or card my fingers through the light that should be her hair, I would believe it.
She would too.
It’s magic’s perception. All these things I do, I do because they’re vestiges of my humanity. I have habits, because I still consider myself a human being.
But now . . . so close to becoming real again, the artifice is never more evident to me. Trailing my gaze along the walls, I notice the edges of the illusion. Those places where I failed to expect something. Mist hangs in those spaces, obscuring the incomplete picture that is my prison.