Chapter 33
Diana
I’m still wearing last night’s make-up when I climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.
It’s barely dawn, but Ike has already gone to work.
The days leading up to the reception were full, and he has catching up to do.
But when I tug the front of his stolen flannel around myself it’s like he’s here.
I want him here, but I also need some time to think.
I sigh, remembering Ike and our dance last night.
I hardly slept. I could smell Ike’s cologne in my hair, and his voice was in my head all night. I want this to be real. I can’t believe he laid it all out there like that, but that’s Ike. I grin at the memory of our dance. He learned to fox trot for me.
What do I want? I really, really like my husband. Maybe I’ve even fallen for him, too. But marriage? It’s so final. Just the thought of it is… a lot.
Everything about last night was a lot. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so many opposing feelings at full strength in such a short span of time: Love, shock, grief, joy, betrayal.
They were all there, and they exhausted me.
I needed lots of sleep last night. Now I need time to process these feelings.
And it’s impossible to be properly dramatic in the lighthouse with a handsome man around trying to make everything better, right?
This is good. I can work this out on my own.
My mind spins as I near the lantern room. My mother’s face pops into my head. I hope she was lying about my grandparents. I also hope she wasn’t lying. Either scenario is painful. Either my mother abandoned me, or my grandparents pushed her out of my life. Lose-lose. My heart hurts.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
“Ugh.” I groan, fighting to catch my breath when I reach the top of the stairs. This lighthouse hasn’t gotten any shorter or easier to climb, but at least I made it up here without my knees knocking together. Our new staircase is sturdy. It has proven itself.
The morning light is pink in the lantern room when I take in the wide view of the Atlantic. Huge clusters of coral and orange cumulus clouds roll toward Cape Georgeana in the wind, and the sunrise makes the fall colors on the coastline fiery.
An old weather-related proverb runs through my head: Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
Why has something so useless stuck with me for so long?
I don’t sail, and weather apps exist. But I could’ve used some red warning clouds yesterday—some indication that things were going to turn stormy.
I can’t believe my mother showed up after so long.
I can’t believe she called me a WASP-y Stepford Wife.
That barb dug deep. She knew exactly where to strike.
I look down at Ike’s red plaid flannel, my mismatched pink shorts, and tall wool socks.
Except for the ring on my finger, I’m not dressed like a Stepford Wife.
Why did that accusation hurt so much? I stand at the salty window, glaring out at the sea feeling annoyed at my mother.
Why did she leave me? If she didn’t want to conform, fine.
Couldn’t she have taken me with her? Or worse, did she leave me here without being coerced?
Everything hurts. I need to talk to my grandparents.
But first, Puccini. I need to sing through these big feelings.
I squeak out the first lines of “Nessum Dorma,” but my voice fades.
I have an out-of-body moment, seeing myself alone and singing at the top of this lighthouse year after year.
I’ve been so alone for so long. The Witch of Cape Georgeana.
The woman who can move away from her apartment in the biggest city in North America without leaving a friend behind. Humiliation floods through me.
My own mother left me.
The person who should love me more than anyone in the world left me. What does that say about me?
Tears prick my eyes. I try to gulp down the tightness in my throat. Am I supposed to sit here in a lighthouse and process this pain with only the sound of the wind? It hurts too much.
“Why?” I scream until my voice fills the tower. “Why did she leave me?” I yell until I empty my lungs. I gasp for breath, and it turns into an aching sob.
Someone clears their throat near the bottom of the stairs. “Diana?”
Of course. Ironically, I’ve learned that I’m never alone in the lighthouse when I think I am.
It’s Shelly. I don’t think I can handle her right now. I drag the backs of my hands under my eyes. “Ike isn’t here.” I congratulate myself for answering clearly and politely, even though I have no love to lose with this woman. “He’s at work.”
Her footsteps grow closer on the wrought iron stairs. “I'm here to see you, actually.”
Dread fills me. After last night, I can imagine what she wants to talk about. She finally reaches the lantern room, winded and carrying a brown paper bag. She holds it out.
“A whoopie pie, and one of Marlow’s breakfast burritos.” Her weathered eyes crinkle at the corners. “You need more protein.”
This has Ike written all over it. “Did he ask you to do this?” It would be a very Ike move to send in reinforcements on a morning like this.
“Ike?” She shakes her head. “No. I haven’t known you for long, but I’ve noticed things.”
She does. I lower myself on the top step, and Shelly sits beside me. I peek into the bag, removing a foil-wrapped burrito. “Thank you for this.”
She nods.
I feel her eyes on me while I unwrap my breakfast.
She clears her throat again. “Did you know I was principal of Cape Georgeana High School for eighteen years?”
Mouth full of burrito, I shake my head.
“Yeah. Before that I was the assistant principal, and before that I was a teacher. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know hundreds of kids from so many backgrounds.
I noticed a pattern.” She chooses her words carefully, gauging my reaction.
“I’m going to be straight with you. When a child is abandoned by a parent—one, or both—there are always consequences.
Anxiety, depression, poor self-esteem, hyperindependence… Among other things.”
Check, check, check, check. I swallow. “Okay?” I have plenty to say, but the tenderness in her eyes and the knot in my throat stops me short. I take another bite of my burrito.
“I heard you last night. I talked to your mother. And, well…” She also heard me screaming two minutes ago. “Some things clicked into place.” She releases a long exhale, and when she goes silent my gaze snaps to hers.
Her eyes are watery under her furrowed brow. “Diana, your mother’s choice to be absent was her mistake. You are worthy of love. And you are loved by so many people. I’ve watched you with Ike, and…”
I pinch my eyes shut, clenching my teeth together. Hot tears spill under my eyelashes.
“Your worth didn’t change because you were abandoned. You are like this lighthouse—so beautiful, so loved, but so mistreated. You deserved better care.”
My eyes flash open. How does this woman—who didn’t want me anywhere near her son twenty-four hours ago—see me so clearly? I can’t speak past the lump in my throat.
“Ike says you were sad when you came back.” She clears her throat. “I’m going to ask you a few hard questions. Would that be okay?”
I nod, terrified.
“Is it possible that you’ve struggled with depression, Diana?”
“I-I don’t know.” I ponder my life in New York and realize it’s a distinct possibility.
“Have you had any dark thoughts? Thoughts that might put you in danger?”
“You mean, have I…” I can’t say it, but I know what she’s getting at. I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”
Relief washes over her face. “Okay.”
I take a bite. “But I did run over Ike’s mailbox, if that counts,” I say around my burrito.
“Maybe.” She snickers, bumping my shoulder with hers.
“I’m sorry about the mailbox,” I say. Not really, but I’ll work on being remorseful.
“I’m sorry about my son,” she says with a laugh, and I can tell she doesn’t mean it either. She meets my eye. “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I was wrong.”
My reflex is to tell her that it’s okay, but that’s not true. I’m willing to let it go, though. Everyone deserves a second chance. “Let’s leave the past in the past. Start over.”
“I would love that.” Shelly beams, appraising me. “No wonder Ike is so taken with you.”
I squirm under her gaze and nod, taking another bite of my burrito. I’m pretty taken with him, too. His voice is in my head again: I want this to be real. I’m elated and terrified by the thought. He wants me. Or does he only think he wants me? Will he leave me eventually?
“You look so sad.” Shelly’s voice is like a warm blanket. “What’s on your mind?”
I sigh. “Ike.” It’s always him these days.
“I can imagine.” She grins. “After last night, I’m sure—”
“He told you what he said? That he wants to stay married?” I ask with a gasp. I slap a hand over my mouth when it hits me—a second too late—that she’s referring to the reception in general. I’m the person who’s hyperfocused on Ike’s declaration.
Shelly’s eyes widen. “He didn’t tell me anything. That doesn’t surprise me, though. When that boy does something, he goes all in. Did he… Does he want to make this permanent?”
I fidget. I walked right into that one. “He does.”
“And what about you?”
She sees me so well, I don’t bother lying. “I don’t want to lose myself,” I repeat the go-to reasoning that is tired, even in my ears.
“You haven’t lost yourself yet.” Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head to the side. “But that isn’t it. No woman would stay away from a man like Ike without something holding her back. Something big.”
Every woman should believe in her children the way this woman believes in hers.
But she sees way too much. She’s absolutely right.
I’m not losing myself. I know that. So, what’s stopping me?
What am I afraid of? A barrage of memories floods my mind.
I see my mother spouting her opinions about life, marriage, me—everything.
The woman who left. The woman rejected me, if I’m honest with myself.
I can almost hear my wailing voice from a few minutes ago echoing through the tower.
Rejection. Abandonment.
That’s what this is about. That’s what I’m afraid of.
We listen to the sound of the ocean and the wind whistling around the lighthouse while I think and finish eating.
“I’m glad I got to know you better, Diana.” At the question in my eyes she adds, “You’re not what I thought you were.”
“I’m not a witch, you mean.”
She laughs. “No, you’re not. You’re just… so weird.”
Her choice of words startles a laugh out of me. “Weird?” I’m weird. A resident of Cape Georgeana, Maine, is calling me weird.
“Oh, yes.” She throws a soft arm around my shoulders. “I mean that in the best possible way. You have a lobster for a pet, for heaven sake. You’re obsessed with Tom Selleck. You climb up here and sing horrendously.” And the frosting on the cake? She gestures to my hodgepodge outfit as evidence.
Hey, now.
“That’s how it all started, you know?” she asks.
After that laundry list of irrefutable evidence that I’m a weirdo like the rest of them, I’m afraid to ask. “How what started?”
“The witch thing. I mean—well, can I be honest?” She presses her lips together, hesitating. When I nod, it comes out in a rush. “My money says Ike started that rumor because he’s had his eye on you for years, and the boy will get attention from you any way he can get it.”
I shake my head, forcing a laugh. “I-I don’t think so.”
She shrugs, obviously holding firm to her opinion. “Anyway, after he spread that particular story, Tina Murphy came over here with her family, and they heard you chanting in Latin in the lighthouse tower.”
Unbelievable. “First of all, I'm sure it was Italian. And are you serious?” I shriek.
When she nods, I want to make a hundred phone calls and yell, “I’m not a witch, I just like to sing opera in the lighthouse.” Why is that hard to understand? Let a woman have hobbies.
Shelly smiles. “The point is, you have an inner weirdo, just like the rest of us. Channel her. Let her out. You’re so much happier when you do. Everyone sees it. We’ve watched this lighthouse change, and we’re seeing you change—in the best way.”