Chapter 2 — The Lighthouse Keeper
Cassie
The lighthouse rose above the cliffs, stark and unyielding, its weathered walls bearing the marks of time and tide. Cassie climbed the last stretch of the cliffside path, the wind tugging insistently at her jacket and loose strands of hair. The red roof caught what little light the overcast sky allowed, a muted beacon of endurance. Her camera strap dug into her shoulder, its weight both grounding and familiar, but her steps faltered as her pulse quickened.
She paused where the path curved, taking in the full view of the lighthouse. It stood steadfast against the crash of waves below, the rhythmic sound a steady beat beneath the wind’s howl. She ran her fingers over the cracked leather of the strap, her touch lingering as if it might offer her strength. The sight was achingly familiar, yet daunting. The last time she had stood here, she had been a different person—eager to leave, desperate to untangle herself from this place and its memories.
But time had a way of pulling everything back. Her father, Evelyn’s letters, the photograph calling her home—and Jack. Jack most of all. She swallowed hard, her hand brushing over her jeans as if to smooth the nervous energy trembling beneath her skin. What would she say to him? What could she say to him after so many years of silence?
The wooden door at the base of the lighthouse stood ajar, creaking faintly with each gust of wind. Cassie hesitated, her fingers brushing the strap again, her heart hammering a rhythm that didn’t match the waves. She glanced toward the sea, hoping for clarity in the endless expanse of gray-blue water. But there was no clarity, only the pull of the moment drawing her forward.
The door groaned as she pushed it open, stepping into the cool, shadowed interior. The air inside was damp, thick with the metallic tang of rust and brine. The faint hum of machinery vibrated through the space, steady and unyielding, like a heartbeat. It made her feel both comforted and exposed, as though the lighthouse itself were alive, watching her every move.
Her boots scuffed softly against the worn floorboards as her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through salt-streaked windows. The space smelled of oil and seawater—familiar and unrelenting. And then she saw him.
Jack stood at a workbench near the spiral staircase, his broad shoulders hunched over a collection of tools and gears scattered across its surface. His flannel sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms dusted with salt and grease. His dark hair, now streaked with gray, was shorter than she remembered, though still unruly at the edges. Time had softened some angles of his face, hardened others. He was at once the boy she had known so well and someone entirely changed.
Cassie’s breath hitched. He hadn’t seen her yet, and for a fleeting moment, she considered turning back. But her voice betrayed her.
“Jack.”
He froze, his hand hovering over a brass lantern. The hum of the lighthouse filled the silence as he straightened slowly, his movements deliberate. When he turned, his blue-gray eyes locked onto hers. They were as piercing as she remembered, sharp and searching, though something unspoken flickered behind them. Surprise? Hurt? She couldn’t tell.
“Cassie,” he said, her name rough on his tongue, as though he hadn’t spoken it in years. His gaze lingered on her, weighing something she couldn’t see, before his expression hardened into one of guarded indifference.
“It’s been a while,” she managed, her voice softer than she intended. Her fingers tightened around the camera strap, the leather biting into her palm.
“It has,” Jack said, leaning back against the workbench. He crossed his arms, his posture closed off, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, taut as a frayed rope. The wind rattled the glass panes above, filling the space with its restless howl.
“I heard about the lighthouse,” Cassie said, clearing her throat. “Evelyn told me.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to the spiral staircase as if wishing to escape. “I figured she might.”
Cassie took a hesitant step closer, the vast space between them feeling insurmountable. “I wanted to see it,” she said, her voice steady. “Before it’s gone.”
His eyes snapped back to hers, and the sharp edge in his tone cut cleanly. “You came all this way just to take a picture? To freeze something in a frame while it falls apart?”
The bitterness in his words hit her harder than she expected, stealing her breath. She steadied herself, her grip on the camera firm. “That’s not what I meant,” she said carefully, searching his face for a crack in his armor. “You know it’s not.”
For a moment, something flickered in his expression—a brief softening, a hint of vulnerability—but it vanished as quickly as it came. He turned back to the workbench, his hands moving to gather the tools scattered across it. “If you’re here to take pictures, go ahead. Just stay out of the way.”
The dismissal stung, but Cassie forced herself to stand her ground. She watched as he walked to the staircase, his boots heavy on the metal steps. Her fingers itched to call out, to say something to bridge the years between them, but the words wouldn’t come.
The keeper’s quarters were spartan and utilitarian, every detail speaking to a life lived in solitude. A cracked mug sat abandoned on the workbench, its contents long cold. A shelf overflowed with books on maritime navigation, their spines worn from use. Her eyes settled on the brass lantern Jack had been working on, its surface etched with the wear of storms weathered. She reached out, her fingers grazing the cool metal, feeling the grooves like scars.
Raising her camera, she let the weight of it anchor her. The shutter clicked softly as she captured the details of the space—the grain of the floorboards, the rust creeping along the edges of tools, the faint light filtering through the salt-streaked windows. Each photo felt like a fragment of the past, a moment she could hold onto even as it slipped away.
The pull of the staircase was magnetic, drawing her upward. The metal was cold beneath her hand as she ascended, each step echoing her unresolved thoughts. The lantern room enveloped her in light and shadow, the rotating beam sweeping out over the sea in steady arcs.
Jack stood by the glass, his silhouette stark against the light. His hands were braced on the railing, his shoulders tense as he stared at the horizon. The beam illuminated the mist in rhythmic pulses, a quiet defiance against the encroaching dark.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Cassie said softly, careful not to break the fragile stillness.
“You’re not intruding,” Jack replied, his voice low. But he didn’t turn.
Cassie stepped closer, her gaze following his out to the endless expanse of water. “It must be hard,” she said, her tone gentle. “Knowing what’s going to happen to this place.”
The silence that followed felt weighted, and when Jack finally spoke, his voice was tight. “It’s just a building,” he said, though the crack in his words betrayed him.
“It’s not,” Cassie countered, daring to close the space between them. “You know it’s not. It’s a part of this town. A part of you.”
Jack turned then, his eyes meeting hers. They were raw, unguarded for a fleeting moment before his walls came up again. “And what would you know about that, Cassie?” His words were quiet but piercing. “You left.”
The weight of his accusation pressed against her chest, but she didn’t look away. “I made mistakes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m here now.”
Jack held her gaze, his expression a whirlwind of emotions—anger, regret, something she couldn’t name. He shook his head slowly, the movement heavy with unspoken truth. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”
The words cut deep, but Cassie forced herself to stay. She turned her camera toward the light, framing the beam as it pierced the mist. The shutter clicked, breaking the moment’s tension as the light swept across the night, illuminating the stormy sea beyond.
As the wind howled around them, Cassie felt the pull of the tides within her—relentless, steady, and impossible to ignore.
