It was an impulsive decision, but one that had felt right at the time.
That same sense of confidence dwindled, however, when Esma approached the cabin door.
Eight years, and a lifetime of memories lay behind it, covered in dust and slowly weathering away, as they should. It felt like desecration to open that door, like walking into someone's tomb, though that tomb was very much her own.
But maybe it was time, she figured, as she jiggled the key in the rusted lock. Maybe memories can only be preserved for so long. Maybe that was why she decided to nurse a stranger back to health, to allow him to cross this sacred threshold, to let him sleep in the same bed in which she had hoped to lay her own children.
The lock turned with a resistant squeal, and Esma shouldered the door open, greeted with a scene painted in shades of gray. Still life, or rather, life stilled, halted at the moment of tragedy, the continued passage of time layering on top of it.
Though she wished she couldn't have, she recognized every detail immediately. There was the large plush chair in which her father had told her tales of the sea, and later, in which Julen and she had passed quiet days, her seated on his lap, each of them reading alternate passages from a book. To her right was the kitchen table around which her family had gathered, and around which she had most of her dim memories of her mother. Further beyond, the larger bedroom, still hung with thick drapes. And in the middle of that room, the magnificent, ancient, four-post bed where she and Julen lay and loved and dreamed together, the bed where he took his final breath.
It was the one room she swore to never enter again, yet it called to her, coaxing and sweet like Julen's voice, and she found herself crossing the threshold, sitting on the bed, coughing at the cloud of dust that arose. The sunlight filtered in in thin, wan streams, and outside, she heard the birds singing in the trees. It was so warm, so peaceful, she felt as if just by lying down, she could turn back time, wake up next to the man she loved, and realize the past eight years were nothing more than a bad dream.
So she tried. She lay down, listened to the birds, and closed her eyes.
* * *
The summer of her nineteenth birthday, Esma was still working in Calmeni, at the counter of one of the general stores along the docks. She had made friends and connections in the town, as her father had hoped; but, to his dismay, they were all of a businesslike nature. Still, he did not complain when she brought home fish given to her fresh from the haul of a friendly fisherman, or when she procured supplies for the lighthouse at a discount.
She was known in Calmeni by her family's occupation, and she earned the grudging respect of even the most judgmental local men for her prowess in the water and mechanical skills. She had come to terms with her father's decision for her, and felt, for the time being, that she was exactly where she belonged.
Julen Prifti did not so much enter her idyllic life as he crashed into it. He arrived on a fishing vessel near the end of the summer, his first full season out at sea. The son of a farming family farther in the mainland, he had not, his fellow crewmen joked, ever found his sea legs.
"Don't get me wrong," one of them said, leaning on the store's counter, one arm around a visibly exhausted Julen, "he's a good worker. Strong and quick. Hauls in the nets with the best of them, fastest fish cleaner I've seen. When he's not sick, that is." He tousled Julen's hair.
"If I didn't know that you knew better," Esma said, leaning forward with a smile, "I'd suspect you're trying to barter the man in exchange for goods."
"Barter?" Julen raised an eyebrow and extricated himself from the fisherman's embrace. Then he turned to Esma, his hands raised in front of him, one corner of his mouth turned up. "In that case, I'm afraid this is a wasted transaction. I'm not worth much, not after a season out to sea. A bedraggled sea rat, who smells of dead fish, that's all."
"Bedraggled." Esma studied him. He certainly wasn't bedraggled at all. A bit tired, his clothes tattered at the edges, a fading bruise across his cheek from a mishap—or fight—out at sea; light brown hair that brushed the tops of his eyebrows; full lips that were quick to smile; warm, dark eyes. Rough, worn, but not bedraggled.
"What made you want to go out there?" she asked, as the other fisherman began perusing the shelves behind her.
"Simple curiosity, I suppose. I've been landlocked my whole life, so I wanted to see the ocean. And not just see it, experience it, all its whims and follies, all its dangers and bounties—"
"All its waves," the fisherman cut in.
Esma ignored him. "Well, I think it was plenty brave to try. I'm not sure I'd have the courage to do that myself."
"Surely, you're familiar with the sea," Julen said, confused. Esma laughed.
"Familiar? I was raised by it, right up there on Aselada Island. I help my father keep the lighthouse there. What I meant was that I doubt I would fare well removed from it. I don't think I could be landlocked, not without losing my mind. I need the sea; she's my family."
"Then what's her secret?"
"Her secret?"
"How do you win her favor?" Julen's eyes had softened, his smile warmed, and Esma had the distinct feeling that he was no longer talking only about the sea.
"Respect is paramount," she said, angling her face toward the counter and looking up at him through her eyelashes. "And time. She has her own will, her own mind, and you have to learn it. And learn to love it. You don't change the sea; she changes everything she touches."
Julen watched her quietly, then placed his hand on the counter. "Will she change me?"
Esma reached out and surreptitiously brushed her fingertips against his, drawing in a sharp breath at the warmth of his skin. "Only if you want to be changed."
He had indeed wanted to be, making more frequent visits to the general store, speaking with Esma for longer periods of time. The day she took him out in her boat for the first time, he was pale and spent the excursion holding onto the sides of the boat with white knuckles, but did his best to smile throughout.
"You'll get used to it, with time," she told him once they were back in Calmeni.
"You're a far gentler mediator than those fishermen were."
"They have other things on their minds. I want you to know the sea, perhaps to love her, even a fraction of how much I do."
It was not the love of the sea Julen sought, but that of the woman so at home in it. And for her, he learned to brave the sea's whims and wiles, learned to read her warnings and bask in her calms; watched the sun set into her and set her aflame from the top of Aselada Island; and, after one particularly glorious night, watched her come alive with the new day's sun, her favored daughter sleeping at his side.
Esma married him before the year was out, so wrapped up in his affection that she did not notice the early signs of her father's declining health. By her twentieth birthday, her father had joined the rest of her family in the mainland cemetery, satisfied that he would not leave his daughter alone.
The next fourteen years slipped by, and Esma enjoyed them thoroughly. She and Julen moved into the cabin on Aselada Island and kept the lighthouse, and soon, the man who had once had such a contentious relationship with the sea presided over it, keeping her light even through the strongest storms, earning her love and her respect, as he had Esma's.
They never had children, but not for lack of trying. Julen's hands were warm and gentle, his kisses hot and passionate, and Esma responded to him in ways she'd never thought possible. As she had introduced him to the sea, he led her into uncharted territories of desire; and as he learned to keep the light, she learned to take the lead now and again, plunging both of them headfirst into undiscovered pleasures.
They burned so brightly together, the heat between them so intense, that it seemed only catastrophe could tear them apart. But all it took was a forgotten oilskin on a trip to the harbor. Esma had been tending the lighthouse at the time, and had no idea that Julen had been soaked to the bone on his return from Calmeni, or that he had remained in his wet clothes as he made multiple trips to bring the shopping from the shore to the cabin. She thought he had caught a common cold, and nursed him as best she could; by the time she realized it was pneumonia, by the time she sent for Dr. Faron, nothing more could be done.
And so the light that had dazzled her, blinded her to the casual cruelties of the world for so long, faded without a spark, without even the smallest of fizzle. And the darkness that he left behind consumed her, drove her from her home back to the lighthouse, where darkness had no refuge.
The place from which she kept the light for others, for she had none left to keep in herself.
* * *
Esma opened her eyes. The streams of light breaking through the curtains had not shifted much, and the birds still called to each other outside the window. She sat up with a sigh, and wiped at tears that no longer came.
This was a mistake. The cabin was hers; hers and Papa's, hers and Julen's. Argider had no place here. But she had given her word to both him and Dr. Faron, and the best she could do was make Argider comfortable during his recovery.
She fetched the broom from the nail on the kitchen wall and went to work in the smaller bedroom. She swept the floorboards, beat the dust out of the mattress, wiped down the dresser beside the bed. Then, opening a bundle she had carried with her from the lighthouse, she lifted Julen's clothes from it and laid them in the dresser drawers with a care bordering on reverence.
This was it, admitting that her nightmare of the past eight years was real, that Julen was really gone. There was no merciful sunrise to tell her otherwise, no warm hands and strong arms to ease her pain. There was only time, and acceptance, and neither of them did much in the way of healing.
Is it a cure? Argider's words came back to her, cutting deeper than any dagger could. Or is it just a salve?
She was dismayed to realize that it was neither. It was only time.
* * *
Argider tore into his meal with relish, stopping only long enough to swallow each mouthful. His pain now managed by the medicine, it was as if his body finally remembered that he needed food.
Esma watched him from the living room, wiping down furniture with a damp cloth, trying not to raise too much dust. "Slow down," she called to him. "I didn't save you from drowning only to have you choke."
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. "It's been a while."
"I can tell." She dipped the cloth into a pail of water and wrung it out. "Did they feed you at all aboard the Westerell?"
"Small rations. It was supposed to be a short trip." He took a drink of water and watched her dust the bookcase. "Esma, you don't have to do that. I'm comfortable enough in my own space."
"Well, I'm not comfortable with the rest of the cabin looking like this. Consider it a matter of pride."
"Heh, pride. Funny you should mention that, mine's all gone. I feel so damn useless lying here, and seeing you working this hard makes me feel worse."
"It can't be helped. You need to heal."
He leaned back against the pillows and looked at the rafters. "How old is this cabin?"
Esma looked up as well. "Close to sixty years, I believe. There were other houses before this; my family adjusted as they kept growing."
"It's built well. It's a pity you left it."
"I doubt I could have kept it up even if I'd continued living here. The lighthouse takes a lot of my energy."
"All the more reason for me to feel ashamed." He turned toward her. "Maybe I can help you repair it, when I'm healed."
"You don't have to do that."
"I'd like to, as repayment. You didn't have to take me in, you didn't even have to save me."
"There'd be no reason to repair it, then. I have no intention of moving back in, and once you're gone, no one will use it."
"It seems a shame to just let it fall apart. You never know, maybe someday—"
She spun around to face him, irritation stinging her chest. "Maybe someday, what?"
He blinked at her. "Maybe someday, you won't be alone, anymore."
She scoffed. "Listen to you. That medication must have gone straight to your head. You don't need to worry about me, or the cabin. Focus on your own problems." She turned away from him, and not a moment too soon. She didn't want him to see how her jaw clenched, or the single pitiful tear that ran down her cheek. She didn't want him to notice how her hands shook, how her heart broke anew even when she thought it fully broken years ago.
Maybe someday, maybe someday. Wasn't that the hope that had blinded her in the first place? She couldn't stare into the sun again when she could no longer see its light.
She took a few breaths to steady herself, then glanced over her shoulder. "Are you finished? I can clear the plates."
"Yes, thank you. It was very good." He held the plates out toward her. "I meant what I said. I'd like to help repair this place. Let me repay you that way."
"I never asked for payment."
"It's only fair."
"You'd be wasting your time."
"It's mine to waste." He looked her squarely in the eye, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were deep brown, almost black, and had an intensity she hadn't noticed before. She felt as if he could stare straight through her, to her fears, her grief, her past. As if his eyes had stripped away the layers of dust in the cabin and seen what had played out there over the years, seen what happiness it had once held. Why else would he be so insistent in bringing it back to life?
"You really don't have to."
"I want to." He reached out and gave her wrist a gentle squeeze. She stiffened, but did not pull away. "It sounds odd, since I've only been here a couple days, but I like this place. I think it deserves a second chance. Don't you?"
She drew a ragged breath, the dishes clinking against one another in her trembling hands. He squeezed her wrist once more, then released her, still watching her intently.
"If you think it has another chance," she said at last, "I can procure the supplies, once you're better. I can't guarantee your effort will amount to much, though."
He smiled. "You underestimate me. I'll have this little cabin looking better than ever. You'll reconsider having ever left it."
"I had my reasons."
"It couldn't have been for the lack of view." He gazed out the window, still smiling, and Esma took the opportunity to leave. She hurried to the lighthouse and up the stairs to the kitchen, then dropped the dishes into the sink with a great clatter and placed her head in her hands. What was happening? Argider's eyes, his touch...she knew she had been without company far too long, but to come undone at such an innocent gesture was ridiculous.
Girlish.
Desperate.
I think it deserves a second chance. Don't you?
What had he been asking? Whether she agreed with him, or whether she deserved...? No, it couldn't be. She was letting her emotions run away with her, hearing things that had not been said.
It was tiredness, she concluded, working the pump at the sink. The events of the past several days, few hours of sleep, returning to the cabin, all that dust...that's all it was.
That's all it could possibly be.