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She nods and launches into the story. “When the Civil War broke out, Maine was one of the first states to send soldiers, including the Sea Breeze lighthouse keeper at the time. He and his wife had just moved into the lighthouse after their honeymoon, but she supported his choice to volunteer. Allegedly, the marriage was already on the rocks. He had a terrible temper and a drinking problem, and she missed her old life in Portland. So, she wasn’t too sad to see him go. She promised she would keep the lighthouse going on her own while he was gone, since she was young and in good physical health. But…she didn’t know she was pregnant at the time or how long her husband would be away.”
“Oh no.” My brows pinch together.
She smiles. “You have very expressive eyebrows.”
I relax my forehead with a smile. “Sorry. I’m not going to like the end of this story, am I?”
“I told you it was tragic.” She crosses to the staircase leading up to the bedroom and plucks a candle in a bronze holder from the fifth step up. “If you don’t want to hear the rest, I can skip to the candle-lighting part.”
“No, don’t skip,” I say. “What happened to the pregnant lighthouse keeper?”
Sydney turns back to me, collecting a blue lighter from the holder’s wide tray. “She lit the giant lamps for the ships every night, but as her due date grew closer, she knew she had to find someone to take over while she was recovering from childbirth. She put the word out around town and a handsome young man from a village north of Sea Breeze applied. He’d lost his foot in a threshing accident as a child, so he couldn’t serve in the military, but he had a prosthetic and was fit enough to take care of the lighthouse.”
“And to take care of banging the sexy lighthouse keeper?” I snap my brows together again, extra sharply, and am rewarded by Sydney’s laughter.
“Not at first.” Her lips hook up in a wry smile. “That didn’t start until a few months later, when the baby was older. The handsome young man still lived in the cottage behind the house, but the rumor mill said he spent most nights in the lighthouse keeper’s bed. That’s where he was, anyway, when her husband came home a few months before the baby’s second birthday.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Ouch all around,” she agrees, her smile fading as she thumbs the lighter to life and touches it to the candlewick. “The husband beat the young man to death with a cast-iron skillet. His wife ran out of the house with the baby, but only made it to the edge of town before her husband caught up with her and tried to kill her, too.”
“Jesus,” I say, shaking my head.
“She was saved by some fishermen who were out late at the pub and her husband went to prison, but she was never quite right after that. People said she talked about her lover like he’d gone out to sea and would be back any day. That’s when she started lighting two lights every night. The lamp for the boats in the harbor and a single candle as a sign to the young man that her love still burned bright.” She crosses to a table by the glass overlooking the water and sets the candle on top. “As soon as Maya told me that story a few years ago, I started lighting a candle every night, too. It just seemed right.”
She turns back to me with a shrug. “It probably seems silly, but I thought maybe the lighthouse keeper would like that. Wherever she is. She vanished a few years after her son went to college in Portland and was never seen again.”
I fix my attention on her face, glowing a soft blue in the ambient light. “You’re a romantic.”
She shrugs again. “Maybe. I don’t really know for sure. Haven’t had much experience with romance.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” she says, her hands flopping at her sides.
“Were the boys at your college blind?”
“Um, no.” She exhales a laugh. “They could see just fine. They just had trouble showing up. My last boyfriend stood me up four times before we broke up,” she says, but without any heat in her tone. She’s clearly over the douchebag. “Then, I tried dating apps for a while.” She rolls her eyes. “By the time my third blind date stood me up, too, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”
I shake my head. “What’s wrong with people?”
“Not people. Boys.” She lifts her arms, fingers spread wide in surrender. “I’m not a man-hater, I promise, but none of my girlfriends stand people up like that. They call two hours in advance and back out of plans with a nice lie because they want to stay home in their sweatpants like civilized people.”
“Boys,” I murmur. “Maybe that’s your problem.”
She tips her head to one side. “Should I try girls instead?”
“If you swing that way, absolutely. Women are the superior half of the species. No doubt.”
“I don’t swing that way,” she says, warmth in her gaze. “But I like that you think that. I can tell you mean it.”
“I do.” I take a step closer. “Maybe you just need a man instead of a boy.”
She lifts her chin, holding my gaze as I continue to close the distance between us. “I’m trying, but so far, the only man I’ve liked told me I was too young for him. What’s a girl supposed to do?”
Before I can respond, the lights in the room flicker and die, plunging us into darkness.
six
