Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The first level of the lighthouse is nothing like I expected.
Not decrepit or abandoned-looking at all.
In fact, it looks quite lived-in. As I step out of the little entrance cabin and into the circular structure, I spot a wooden workbench beside me on my left, a black mat on the opposite side with rubber boots, running shoes, and work boots, and a cast-iron staircase that winds up toward the next level.
To the right of the stairs is where I see him.
Standing with his back to me, talking on an old beige landline telephone hanging from the wall.
Strange. Wearing a pair of cargo pants, a dark green cable-knit sweater, and green-and-brown leather-and-rubber boots on his feet, he’s speaking in hushed tones now, and I spot a cut on his arm where his sleeve has been rolled up past his elbow.
He’s quite tall as he looms over the phone on the wall, and his dark brown, wavy hair almost touches his shoulders.
I jump backward, and he turns toward me, staring into my eyes with his own dark green ones.
A scowl grows on his handsome face as he hangs up the phone and shouts in alarm, “What are you doing here? Don’t you know there’s a white squall on its way?
You won’t see it until it’s on top of you!
You shouldn’t be here. Especially not dressed that way!
” He points right at my wedge sandals and flowy white skirt.
To say I’m confused and taken aback is an understatement. For one thing, it’s a sunny, warm day. Second, how dare you. My hands come up to my hair as I fix my claw clip to try to bring my blood back down from a boil before I respond.
“Pardon me?” I finally say, hands now placed on my hips. “I saw that crazy lightning strike and then heard all this commotion inside”—I’m now waving them around the room like a lunatic—“and it sounded like someone was hurt. Excuse me for trying to help!”
He takes one step toward me before deciding he knows better than to get any closer.
“Lightning strike? That means it’s already too close.
And I don’t need your help. This place is too dangerous for someone…
like you,” he says gruffly, looking me up and down with that damn scowl still stuck on his face, his full lips pulled tight together while a crease grows on his forehead.
Did my eyes play tricks on me just then? He would have had to have seen, felt, or even heard something.
“Okay, fine then. Suit yourself.” I wave my hands in the air like I’ve completely given up trying.
He brings a paper towel from his pocket and places it over his cut, the towel instantly absorbing any crimson blood that was ready to fall.
Outside, I can hear the waves crashing loudly against the rocks and the whistle of the now fierce wind all around us.
I still can’t get over how quickly the weather can change out here. Far different from being in Ottawa.
With that, I turn around, open the door, and slam it shut behind me.
As I step out into the calm sunlight, I can’t help but feel a bit confused about what just happened.
My body felt all tense and wound up when I was inside, and now that I’ve stepped back out, I can feel everything settling back down.
The shift in the air is palpable. How does he think it’s about to storm right now?
How did he not hear that strike? I spin on my heels to go tell him but then decide against it.
“Not worth it,” I shout into the afternoon air.
I make my way back to my car, anger still fuming out of my ears, and turn on Google Maps to get back home.
Definitely not the encounter I thought I would have at my first East Coast lighthouse.
“Who even uses a landline, anymore?” I scream as I start to drive.