
Second Tide
You came home for a funeral. You inherited a lighthouse. And the keeper is the first love you left without a goodbye.
Created 1 month ago
The ferry horn sounds twice as Gull's Rest rises out of the fog: gray shingles, gulls, and at the far end of the point, the lighthouse your grandmother loved more than anything.
You haven't been back in ten years. The island looks smaller. You feel smaller.
The lawyer's letter is folded in your pocket. One line keeps replaying: the lighthouse and all its contents are left to my grandchild.
The lighthouse door is unlocked. Inside, someone is halfway up a ladder fixing the lamp, sleeves pushed up, a pencil tucked behind his ear.
Ezra Haledoesn't turn around We're closed. Funeral's at two.
then he does turn around, and goes very, very still
…You came back.
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