Lighthouse Nights

17

it took five work days for jules to feel secure enough in her job performance to tell rachel about the initial confusion. she played it off as a joke, but the woman didn’t find it funny.

“dear lord, what have i done...”

jules forced a nervous chuckle and stacked another upside-down chair on one of the shop’s three tables. “don’t worry about it. you couldn’t have known it was me!”

rachel dropped her broom and grasped jules by the shoulders. “i was so cruel... dear jesus, i JUDGED you.”

jules’ eyes grew wide.

“and you’ve been such a good worker! how could i—” the woman froze. her mouth gaped subtly and her eyes lost focus. jules watched the puzzle pieces click. “you were sleeping in a train station... you wear that same shirt and skirt every day...” rachel’s eyes snapped back to jules. “where do you go every night?”

jules playfully grabbed the woman’s wrists and shook her. “rachel, i’m fine! i’m going to start saving my paychecks until i can afford—”

“you’re homeless.”

jules never thought about it that way; she’d been “homeless” for two years. “i promise you—”

“stop right there. i’m going to fix this. okay? i am going to fix this tonight.”

over the next three hours, rachel proceeded as if she’d spent her whole life waiting for a stray girl to wander into her shop (a notion confirmed by the seven cats whose photos she kept in her purse).

two oak doors stood side-by-side in the back hallway. the first opened to a staircase that led to rachel’s one-bedroom condominium. the second contained a storage closet (she called it her “shed”) with a slab floor, plywood walls, the moist underside of the stairway, a single naked bulb with a pull chain made of yarn, and a folded green cot.

“it’s not much—”

“it’s perfect,” jules said. and she meant it.

for dinner, rachel surprised her with hamburgers.

jules considered biting the bullet and eating the beef for the sake of politeness... but there were some values that couldn’t change. she explained to the carnivore that she was a leaf-eater. rachel felt so bad that she left the shop and returned ten minutes later with a veggie burger and onion rings.

“you’re amazing,” jules said. “i’ve been living off bread samples for a week.”

“eat it up. tomorrow we’re going to peruse the luscious racks of the salvation army.” her hands twirled at the word “luscious.” “we’re gonna find you some cute clothes. i’ll talk to harvey in the morning, too. we’re going to cut you a paycheck for a one-month advance.”

jules accepted rachel’s generosity and thanked her until tears swept the woman’s pulpy cheeks (”i’m an easy crier,” she said). as the sweet, bubbly, NORMAL teenage girl tucked a borrowed sheet into the bars of her new cot and hung her only outfit on a rogue nail, she felt a familiar urge in the stony depths of her gut.

run away, julesie, it said. get the hell out of this town and don’t ever look back.

*  *  *

at the pier’s base, jules felt confident in her agility. but as she rounded the first lighthouse with a net, pole, tackle box, blue-jean backpack, bread, thermos and chair, her hands and arms were losing their grip on the cumbersome equipment. she stopped to reassemble the supplies, then forged on to the pier’s tip with the pole and chair clanking the cement behind her.