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“It’s okay, Mom. We can talk tomorrow.”
Her face crumpled with relief. “Are you sure?”
“Surely sure. We can do it while we pick out paint colors for my new house.”
Her face slackened with shock.
“I’m just kidding!” I said quickly, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, I should have realized you were too tired for sarcasm.”
She allowed herself a weak chuckle as she reached out to muss my hair.
“Tomorrow. I promise.”
I bent forward so she could plant a kiss on the top of my head, and then got up. “Where am I sleeping?”
“The door right at the end of the hall. I already put your suitcase in there.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too, kiddo.”
I opened the door into a sweet little room in the back corner of the house, which overlooked the gardens. I pulled aside the lacy white curtain and peered below me. Persi had abandoned the swing and vanished. The blossoms took on more vibrant colors in the lengthening shadows, and I watched them for a moment, waving hypnotically in the salty ocean air. If I turned my head and craned my neck, I could make out the cliffs and the top of the lighthouse…mylighthouse, I thought with an incredulous half-laugh.
I turned from the window and inspected the room a little more closely. It had the kind of old, uneven, wide-plank wooden floors that people in the city would pay a fortune for, with a cream-colored braided rug in the middle of it. The walls were painted a pale minty green. One wall was covered with framed watercolors that looked as though they’d been torn from a nature journal, each one featuring a different botanical or bird. A wrought iron bedframe was pushed into the corner beneath these and was spread with another colorful patchwork quilt and a mountain of mismatched pillows that nonetheless seemed to belong together—a little found family of cushions. Against the opposite wall was an old-fashioned wingback chair and above that, a set of open shelves covered in a hodgepodge of items: porcelain tea cups, bird nests, bits of driftwood, seashells and sea glass, and chipped mason jars full of dried flowers and feathers. Beside these was another window, with a little whitewashed writing table and chair pushed under it. I crossed to this second window and opened it. Now that the air had cooled, I let the soft breeze play over my face and listened to it tinkle the music from the windchimes down on the porch—their tunes a gentle counterpoint to the distant crashing of the waves. I pulled out the drawer in the desk and found a dusty pile of drawing paper and a scattering of colored pencils rolling around inside.
I knew in that moment that I loved this room—that it wasminein a way that even my bedroom back in Portland could never be. I knew I wasn’t supposed to want this house, and I didn’t—at least, I didn’t want to take it from anyone. But I was finding with each new room I explored and trinket I examined, that I didn’t just want to spend the night here or stay for a visit; I wanted tobelongto this place.
Even though I didn’t know how long we were staying, I decided to empty the contents of my suitcase into the little whitewashed dresser beside the door. I looked at my reflection staring back at me in the mirror over the dresser, and experienced a memory so sharp and clear that I thought for a moment I was seeing the ghost of my younger self behind me twirling and twirling on the rug in a white summer dress. It was so real that I gasped and spun on the spot, expecting to stare into my own eyes. But the room was empty, apart from Freya, who had nudged through the door. I caught just a glimpse of her tail as she disappeared to explore the uncharted wilds beneath the bed.
I pulled up the edge of the quilt and peered beneath it. Freya blinked her green eyes back at me.
“What do you think of this place?” I asked her.
She meowed softly and slunk out from the shadows to pounce upon the bed and curl up on the pillows, as if she owned them.
“I like it, too,” I admitted to her.
I curled up next to her and she wound herself into a fluffy little knot in the crook of my legs. I stroked her fur and listened to the hypnotic rhythm of her purring. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, I thought.
Just for a minute…
I woke suddenly in darkness and blinked around in confusion. The clock informed me that it was after nine o’clock. Had I really slept the whole evening away? It seemed so, though I still felt exhausted. I turned on the overhead light, as well as the one on the bedside table, which had a stained-glass shade that threw little colorful geometric patterns onto the wall behind it and revealed a plate heaped with food on the bedside table, long gone cold. Someone—probably Rhi—hadn’t wanted me to miss dinner, but I was too tired to eat. I peeled myself out of bed stumbled into some pajamas, slid my feet into my slippers, and padded down the hallway to brush my teeth at the little porcelain sink in the bathroom. As I walked by my mom’s room, I saw that she wasn’t there. I strained my ears and heard the quiet mumble of voices downstairs—maybe she and her sisters were trying to talk things through. I hoped so, though I suspected that if Persi were also a part of the conversation, there’d be a lot more yelling.
Back in my room, I snuggled down under the quilt; Freya was already snoring softly as I turned out the overhead light. I half-expected to lie awake after such a prolonged nap, but instead my eyelids grew heavy again almost at once, as sleep washed over me like the incoming tide.
Tide.
Waves.
Ocean.
* * *
I dreamed of the Gray Man again, but for the first time, we were not walking along the beach. Instead, we stood side by side on the cliff top, looking out past the lighthouse to the sea beyond. My hair whipped around my face; my bare toes curled over the damp, slippery rock. There were stars out above us, but a dark and forbidding bank of clouds was rolling in off the water. I could see the flashing glow of lightning deep in its rounded belly.
“There’s a storm coming,” I said.
The Gray Man nodded, his face a shadowy blur.
