Lighthouse Nights

24

epilogue: autumn, 2011

her name was jules again. although her life, actions and style were still fluctuating in search of an honest equilibrium, CHANGE did not require a different name. she liked the one she picked.

the grand harbor shoreline still nurtured children’s laughter and crying gulls, but visitors were sparse at the water’s edge and the remaining dozen seemed like summer leftovers. in the lake, the bravest kids ventured to shivering knees, but darted back to their mothers’ hugs after a few short seconds in the cold.

her jacket’s right sleeve hung slack at her side and a sling cradled the atrophied limb. her shoulder began to itch under the gauze again, so she busied her left hand with a hairband to keep from scratching. 

jules looked to the base of the pier and waved to rachel. “i’m fine!”

the woman uncrossed her arms just long enough to wave back, then resumed pacing the lot.

jules found her niche beneath the square lighthouse. she sat on the ledge, dangled her feet, and waited.

*  *  *

the gulls were gone.

a crew of park rangers installed a plastic fence along the shoreline. aside from echoing hammers on wooden stakes, the pier was stagnant.

rachel had finally relinquished her worry after two full weeks of standing in the cold. whenever jules returned home rachel would ask, “anything?” and jules would tell her no.

today the girl read a novel at the pier’s tip. the lemon-juice highlights had faded and a simple tweed cardigan had replaced the pink tees and skull-and-crossbone corsets. 

her nails were blue. she liked blue nails.

the distant tapping began to lull her to sleep. 

yesterday, she questioned a ranger about the fences.

he replied simply, “they catch the drifts.”

*  *  *

the middle of december; a day before the winter solstice. her breath crystalized before her eyes and lingered for a moment in the falling snow.

her lighthouse was encased in glass. the catwalk clutched a string of icicles that spanned the entire length of the pier. 

her beach was gone now, replaced over time by a solid blanket of snow that extended past the lighthouse as far as her eye could see.

jules removed her right glove and jotted down an idea for a story. her hand flushed before she could finish her note, so she shoved it back in her pocket.

she looked north, across the channel and down the crest of lake michigan. she turned around and searched the park and alabaster dunes... but she was alone; the only human crazy enough to weather the cold.

she looked toward the base of the pier and saw a dark speck amidst the white. she stepped back to the ledge and sat down, then traced a circle in the snow with her boot. she looked again.

the speck was a person.

closer and closer; she recognized him and stood.

*  *  *

gabe met jules beneath the lighthouse. without a word, he brought his hand to her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.