I take a deep breath. “I help the Dynamic Dumper people make smart financial decisions so they can get rich off of their customers having an effective BM, okay?” I spit out in a rush. I don’t love my job, but it allows me to work remotely and live in stretchy clothing from the waist down. My grandparents would not approve. Fortunately, they don’t visit my apartment often. “Not all of us lucked into our dream job.”
Stevie is the choir director at the local high school. Her college graduation aligned near-perfectly with the retirement of the former choir director. Stevie claims she got the job because she was always Ms. Maynard's favorite soprano. I say it’s because Stevie is musically gifted, and no one with her level of talent would teach choir at a 2A high school for five dollars an hour. She’s doing what she loves, and she’s not a slave to greedy Big Toilet. I envy my best friend.
Stevie smiles like she knows exactly how lucky she is. Then she purses her lips with a frown, like she pities me for living in the big, smoggy city. “Okay, let’s talk about how you’re in love with Tom Selleck. What in the actual h—”
“I’m not in love with him,” I correct her. “We kissed in the lighthouse.” There is a distinct difference. After a day of feeling phantom whispers of Tom’s mustache on my cheek I’m sure of it. A woman can make out with someone in the lighthouse without being in love with him. Then I remember the feel of Ike Wentworth’s firm hand wrapped around my ankle at the top of the same lighthouse, and warmth covers my face.
“My, my.” Stevie settles deeper into the cushions. “Someone’s blushing.”
I pull my dress away from my body to fan myself. “I’m just embarrassed. And hot.”
“I bet you are.” She wags her eyebrows. “For Magnum P.I.”
“No.” I groan. This has to stop. “I ran into Ike Wentworth at the top of the lighthouse.”
Stevie sits up. “You dreamed about Tom SelleckandIke Wentworth in the lighthouse?” She fakes a gasp. “Juicy.”
“No. I dreamed about Tom, but I climbed to the top of the lighthouse and saw Ike in real life. It was terrible.”
Familiar lines form between my friend’s dark eyebrows. “You went to the top of that thing? Isn’t it condemned?” She shakes her head. “Okay, start from the beginning.”
So I do. I recount the whole lighthouse debacle, including my sad realization that I've lost myjoie de vivre, the singing of “Toxic,” the staircase falling apart, and my call to 9-1-1. Stevie gasps in all the right places. And when I tell her how Ike Wentworth climbed a ladder to rescue me, she purses her lips to hold in a laugh. She doesn’t make it long. Now she is full-belly cackling.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re okay, but of all people—”
“I know.”
Ike has never cared for me as a person, and I don’t particularly like him. The situation would be amusing if I wasn’t still stinging. The heartbreaking images of the crumbling lighthouse underscore all of it, which only makes me more angry at Ike. He’s in the position to do something about it, but he won’t. “Do you know why he isn’t maintaining the lighthouse?”
“Isn’t it sad?” Stevie frowns. “It always comes up at the town meetings. They don’t have the budget for a keeper, and it needs a full renovation. There’s no money for any of it.”
My guess is the money is there, but it’s being mismanaged because this town is run by an over-muscled, aged-out frat boy with a beard. Maybe if he spent more time looking at the books and less time in the gym—
“You’re making the face.”
“What face?” I will the tense muscles in my brow to relax.
“The face you make when you’re either hating on Ike Wentworth or hating on Cape Georgeana. Take your pick,” she says with forced lightness.
Guilt niggles at me. “Hey, I don’t hate Cape Georgeana.”
What’s not to like? It’s a quaint, if slightly run-down, seaside village with a green at the center of it and rows of shingled shops. It’s adorable. I bite my lip. That’s all I can say honestly. I can’t comment on the residents.
Besides that they all seem to think I’m a witch—and that I invented paper straws, shot out the lights in the high school football stadium, and am a sleeper spy for the People’s Republic of China—they are a never-ending parade of human curiosities. Each resident is weirder than the last. P.T. Barnum would make a killing in this town. If they’re struggling to attract tourists, Ike should consider starting a circus to bring in revenue. This sounds mean, I realize. It’s hard to be kind to the people who have basically ostracized me from the time I went through puberty. They started it.
“Ugh.” Stevie shoves my leg. “Your long-standing beef with Ike is getting so old. He’s a good guy.”
“I don’t care about Ike. I care about the lighthouse.”
“Really?” Stevie arches an eyebrow. “When was the last time you even came to see it?”
“I was here…” I look at the ceiling to remember. It’s been a while, which might be why I’ve felt so down. Even Stevie's trips to see me in the city, or our twice-weekly video calls haven't been enough to keep me mentally afloat.
“It was three years ago on my birthday.” She fails to hide the hurt in her voice this time.
“I thought you liked visiting me in the city,” I say, though there’s no defense for me.
“Have yousmelledNew York City?” Her pert nose pinches. “I love you, and we always have fun, but…”
