16 Liney To Open #2
Bridget’s shoulders relax with the invitation. She scurries past me, and each curl of her short hair bounces. It’s raven black, tickling at the nape of her neck. I’m so distracted I nearly don’t notice her step on my foot.
“Oh! Sorry, I—”
I interrupt her with a sweeping wave to continue inside. Contact, like her hands in mine during the shipwreck. She’s real. Nothing could be plainer.
Elle lied to me. Are there any corners left of our lives untouched by deceit? Why should I ever expect her to put the truth ahead of control?
“I’m not fully recovered,” I admit, closing the door behind her.
“The past few days have been troubling, and not everything’s made sense.
I believe you scared my sister. Not that it’s your fault!
” I rush through my words. “I can’t promise my sister will stay upstairs long, but at least you can warm yourself. ”
“Thank you.” The warmth in her voice melts the last of my fear. “Do you have a hand mirror?”
Bridget stations herself in front of the fire as I grab a small mirror in the drawer of my bedside table.
“You must be freezing.” I hold the mirror up for when she’s ready.
“Is it worse that I stopped feeling it?” She rubs her hands and holds them closer to the flame than I’d dare.
“Numbness?” I ask. Nerve damage could easily take root.
“Yes, though some tingling’s started,” she agrees, but her next words die when she sees her own face.
Silence, stillness, suspense. She stares at the mirror. Why the surprise? It’s not like she grew horns.
She reaches a delicate hand up and touches her cheeks, prodding them until they turn pink. Her head rolls from side to side until her neck lets out a sharp crack.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, trying not to stare too intently. Unsuccessfully.
“I haven’t eaten anything proper in days. I’ve been huddled in a cave every night. I should be in more pain than I am.”
“Shock?” I offer. She turns back to the fire, and I set down the mirror, opting to sit on the edge of the bed instead and fiddle with my fingers. “I certainly was, and you were in the water longer.”
She’s far too calm when she glances over, the oddest grin spreading across her lips.
When was I last near someone who dealt with the unknown with a smile?
It’s mesmerizing, intimidating, and nothing like anyone I’ve ever met.
A noise bubbles up from Bridget’s chest. She throws her head back and laughs so hard I worry Elle might hear.
It’s a free laugh. I can picture it in fields and pubs and open sea air.
I gulp. A year with only an imaginary companion that tried to kill me has left me tongue-tied around a normal girl.
“Have you eaten anything today? It’s nearly supper.”
“My last meal was on the ship, a couple of hours before the storm.” Bridget sighs, a smile of remembrance forming. “The cook made a lovely roast as a celebration for nearly reaching port ahead of schedule.”
My gut twists. Could I have saved the cook? Who else did I fail to rescue?
I count the nights in my head. “You’ve eaten nothing for the past three days?”
Bridget flops her head to the side and peers at me. “I suppose so. Queer, isn’t it? I know I’m starved, but I can barely feel it now.”
“Queer indeed,” I finally agree, fighting a smile despite the worrying implications of Bridget’s state.
I can’t allow these overattached feelings to boil over in my chest again.
Have I learned nothing? Chamomile was nice at first too.
But Chamomile was never hungry. I head to the kitchen, catching the edge of the counter to steady my steps.
I grab the first food I spot, a dried jerky stick from a pack that Elle likes to chew while cooking.
I throw one over, and she rips off a chunk.
“Eat slowly,” I caution. “Your stomach’s likely shrunk. Happened to me once when I was young after a bad flu.”
“Thank you,” she manages through a mouthful of tough meat. Her smile grows toothy as she sinks in another bite. I imagine fangs or shark teeth. But she smiles with nothing to hide, transparent as water.
“But Miss Coleman—”
“Just Bridget, please. May I call you Caroline? I don’t know your family name.”
I can’t do this. Longing for her beautiful eyes on me. Tripping over myself for a stranger. Oozing desperation like I’ve never seen a girl before. A damsel falling for her knight in salt-encrusted armor.
“Liney, if you prefer.” Damn me. Familiarity is vulnerability. It’s my loneliness that makes her so singular.
“Liney.” The lilt in her voice sends tingles up my spine. Bridget pinches the back of her hand. She shows me how the skin keeps the fold for a few seconds before flattening. “I’m dehydrated,” she notes.
“Tea! I said I’d make some! My manners need some work, clearly.” I come out of the kitchen to fetch the kettle from the fire. Crossing the room brings a bubble into my throat that takes too long to clear.
I busy myself with preparations. A task is helpful. Especially when I want to do anything but kick this wonderful girl out for the sake of not upsetting Elle.
“What were you going to say?” she asks.
“Ah, thank you for saving me. I want to help. But my sister can be skittish around strangers.” No, another word. Unhinged? Confused? “Scared.” Fear can do the strangest thing to people. Turn angels into monsters. Sisters into guards.
“Speak plainly please, Liney,” Bridget says, soft but direct from across the counter. “Your sister doesn’t seem entirely well. Are you telling me to leave?”
We’ve reached the impasse. Must I push away a lovely girl when all I want to do is the opposite? Elle wouldn’t truly turn her away without at least a conversation, surely.
If Bridget stays, we will never be the same. It’s as clear as the water simmering over the fire. Elle’s protective streak can outweigh her sense, though so often it’s saved us. Bridget could be the wedge that breaks our familial rock apart for good if I do not temper her properly.
“She’s been through so much. At the hands of our own family. Trust does not come easily, or quickly. I don’t wish to shock her. She believes you aren’t real, as I did moments ago. If she finds you down here, I worry it may be too much for her.”
For her or for me? Crashing this lovely girl against the sheer cliffs of Elle’s vigilance could prove disastrous all around. Or is my caution merely cowardice? Avoidance has always been my forte.
Bridget hesitates, biting her bottom lip until it blushes from the pressure. “And where will I go, then?”
We have one boat. Offering it to her means complete isolation from the mainland. The island won’t have enough to feed us forever. Elle would need to swim in the subzero water, which even she is not immune to, and steal another boat.
I perk up with an idea. “Are there lifeboats? From the ship? They could’ve washed up.”
Bridget laughs, mirthless but without anger. I’ve never known a laugh like that. “You’ve overestimated how much ship’s there to find. But you haven’t been let outside! Of course you don’t know. Liney, there’s nothing there. As though it never crashed.”
“That’s the riptides.” Elle told me about them many months ago when I’d woken up in the middle of the night to a thunderous crash outside. “They’re so strong here from the currents into the harbor. It’s deep, you know. Parts are so deep that—”
“They’re the deepest in the world, yes.” Bridget’s smile brightens. “It’s why I chose this port. A place with that kind of geological significance may have much more hidden away.”
She stands. Her dress has softened with the heat, though the tattered hem will require a needle and thread.
For it to hold up so well is a testament to the craftsmanship.
I wonder where she had it made. Questions dance on my lips.
Who was she before her ship met my island?
Someone who chooses where she goes of her own accord—how?
Why an interest in geology? What could be hiding close by? Where was she to go next?
“After tea, I’ll head back to the cave and gather my things.” Bridget’s smile turns down at the edges. “Talk to your sister. Then come find me.”
“Why haven’t you already left?” What if Elle won’t agree to house her? Bridget deserves escape. How can I live with myself if I come out of the lighthouse recovered and find her dead from exposure? “There’s a rowboat. You must’ve seen it on the dock—unless it was destroyed?”
Bridget blinks and tucks her chin in offense. “I wouldn’t leave you both without a means to the mainland. There are no crops. No livestock. How would you survive?”
The concern hits me harder than it should. Have I forgotten what unconditional kindness looks like? “I’m throwing you out, and you worry after our safety?”
Bridget shrugs, staring into the fire. “You seem a kind girl, Liney. I don’t want to leave yet.”
Unsaid words hang between us. Leave the island or leave me? She barely knows me. I’m delusional still, in a far different way than Elle would suspect.
The kettle sounds, and I make us a pot of what Elle last used.
Illegible layers of writing on the label of the tin create a mystery.
The warmth I feel doesn’t come from only the tea, though.
When was the last time I took care of someone?
Elle is so independent, never needing my help for more than the most trivial things.
I check Bridget’s hands for signs of frostbite but find no discoloration.
She laughs when I press the pads of her fingers.
Please let her think my cheeks are rosy from the heat of the tea and not her delight.
I send her away with rations, a jar of fresh water, and one of my blankets. I promise I’ll come get her once I’ve spoken to Elle.
“As soon as it is safe,” I promise.
“Safe for my sake or yours?”
I don’t have an answer. Not when she leaves the lighthouse, not when I lock the door, and not when I return to my bed with tea still sweet on my tongue.