The Night Mark(85)

“You’re only saying that because you got spider guts all over the swimsuit edition.”

Yeah, and we probably wouldn’t have gotten our security deposit back if I’d stuck an ax in the wall.

“Will?”

Yes, babe?

“I want to love him like I loved you. Is that okay?”

Babe...

“Please, just tell me how you feel about that—yes or no?”

Faye, it’s okay. I swear. I want you to love him as much as I want him to love you.

“You do? Why?”

Because I’m the goddamned greatest dead husband who ever lived.

She burst into laughter. “You are that. No argument from me.”

Faye took a breath.

“Will, love? Is this you?” she whispered. “Are you doing this? Are you pulling these strings for me?”

Didn’t I promise to take care of you until the day you died?

“Yes, you did, Will. And you’re doing a very good job of it.”

And with that, she tossed her wedding band into the water.

She waited.

The lighthouse beacon flashed once and went dark.

Faye counted.

One.

The water started running high. It lapped at her legs, at her waist...

Two. Three. Four. Five.

Faye heard the water rushing toward her, rumbling like an iron train on iron tracks.

“See you on the other side, my love.”

Six.

A wave hit her with the force of that runaway train.

Seven.

Light.





20


Faye broke the surface with a cry, and a force even stronger than the ocean ripped her from the water and carried her to dry land. She couldn’t see who it was for the salt and blowing sand in her eyes. She struck out with her arms, seeking warm bodies, and caught hold of the first one she found.

“What year is it?” she yelled. She had to scream over the screaming of the wind.

“What?” The word sounded like it had been ripped from his mouth and tossed away.

“What year?” she yelled louder.

She swiped at her face and blinked her way back to sight.

“It’s the year you learn how to swim, love.” Carrick knelt at her side, smiling like he’d won the grand prize in the carnival of life. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her roughly against him. She clung to his arm, never wanting to let go of him again.

Dolly, still soaking wet, threw herself on the ground and wrapped her arms around Faye’s stomach. Faye grabbed her, held her. Thank God or whoever was running this show, she was home.

“How long was I under?” Faye asked.

“Too f*cking long,” Carrick said. “I thought I’d lost you for sure this time.”

“You swear like a sailor, Chief Morgan.”

“I am a sailor. Now get into the goddamn lighthouse.”

“Aye, Chief.”

Carrick glanced at the ocean stampeding the beach like a herd of wild horses.

“Get Dolly,” he said. “Hold her hand and you hold mine. Stay low to the ground. Ready?”

Faye took Dolly’s hand, and they scrambled to their feet.

“Ready.”

“Don’t let me go,” he said. “Now run.”

He took off, her wrist tight in his hand and Dolly’s hand tight in Faye’s. The wind surged, turning the air into a sandstorm. Halfway down the beach the rain started, slamming into them like a thousand tiny bullets. She remembered riding a roller coaster in the rain once and having to cover her face from the pain of hitting the water so much faster than the water hit her. Now the water hit back. Dolly slipped and took Faye down with her. Carrick turned and grabbed them both by the hands.

Tripping and sliding, the three of them ran into the wind and through the whirling sand. Faye imagined they must have looked like a mad family on the maddest beach outing, a parody of a picture postcard.

Faye knew she should be terrified. One broken flying branch, one storm surge, one more fall and that could be the end of any one of them. But she couldn’t be afraid, not when she was so relieved to be back. Elated. As soon as she could, she would kiss Carrick and keep kissing him until neither of them knew nor cared what year it was.

The wind blew hard north, picked up speed as it whipped around the stone seawall and slammed against the lighthouse. Carrick could barely get the door to crack open against the wind. Faye had to slide in through the gap and push it open with her back against the wood. Carrick pushed Dolly through and followed her in, right as a gust of wind caught the door like a sail and pulled it loose from the hinges. Carrick jammed the door into the frame the best he could, but there was nothing for it. The next gust blew the door in and onto the floor. Wind gushed into the tower, cold and wet and angry, and ran circles around the three of them. The lighthouse whistled and howled like a whole orchestra of off-key oboes.

“Watch room,” Carrick screamed over the wind. “We can shut the hatch.”

Faye took Dolly’s hand again and coaxed her toward the spiral staircase. Carrick hadn’t been kidding about Dolly’s fear of heights. Dolly took two steps, shook her head and dug in her heels.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Faye said, taking Dolly’s face in her hands. “Please,” she mouthed over and over, but there was no budging Dolly. She pulled back from Faye and tried to make a break for the open doorway. Carrick caught her around the waist and hoisted her up in his arms.