The Lighthouse

“Oh, I understand. We could walk on the beach for a while, though, couldn’t we? Unless you have something you need to do?”

Alix hesitated, glancing toward the light. “I don’t know… ”

“Just for a little while? It’s such a nice day.”

There was something plaintive in Cassie’s voice-a need for companionship that Alix understood all too well. And it was a nice day, at least as far as the weather was concerned: the last of the overcast had blown inland or burned off, leaving the sky cloudless, and there was very little wind. The sun transformed objects that had previously seemed drab or ugly, invested the patchy grass with a subtle green, the rocks with a rich brown, the sea with deep blues and turquoises. It was the kind of rare fall day made for a walk on the beach.

Well, why not, then? It was early yet; what difference did it make if she talked to Jan now or an hour from now? Talking to him tonight, away from Cape Despair, was the important thing.

“I guess I can spare an hour or so,” she said. “Can we get down to the beach from here?”

“Oh, yes.” The plaintive quality was gone; Cassie seemed almost animated now, as if spending an hour with Alix-with anyone-meant a great deal to her. “I know a way down the cliffs you probably haven’t discovered. One of the women in the village told me about it. I’ve been there three or four times when the weather’s good, to pick through the driftwood.”

The route down to the beach, it turned out, was only a short distance from the lighthouse gate-no more than four hundred yards. Cassie led her on a zig-zag course among dun-colored outcrops and boulders to a series of natural-and crumbling-“steps” that scaled the cliff wall. Alix paused as the gallery owner started down, feeling a brief flash of vertigo. But when she saw that Cassie didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping her balance, she took a deep breath and followed.

It took almost ten minutes to make it all the way down the series of knobs and outcrops and niches; in one steep place she had to scoot a couple of yards on the seat of her jeans. When she finally reached the beach she was a little winded. But Cassie, in spite of her recent illness, looked nearly as fresh as when they’d started out.

The beach here was narrow, no more than fifty yards wide. A third of it was strewn with driftwood, all sizes and shapes, some of the jumbled pieces driven back and up into declivities in the rocks by the force of the wind and the sea. Here and there, the stark white and gray of the wood was garnished with brownish-green seaweed. Cassie set off at an angle through the coarse, pebbly sand, Alix at her side. The sea was remarkably calm this afternoon. Further down the beach, small shorebirds-sandpipers? grebes? — ran from the breakers, then turned to chase them as they receded. Cassie made no attempt at conversation, and neither did Alix. She breathed deeply of the salt air instead, feeling it relax her even more; even the strain of her thigh muscles as she slogged through the loose sand was not unpleasant.

As they approached the waterline, the birds scattered in a great gray and brown and white cloud, screeching their disapproval of the human interlopers. Alix sat on her heels, let one of the waves break up close to her so she could test the water. It was icy enough to make her jerk back her hand.

Cassie’s voice came from behind her right shoulder, startling her. “On days like this, I’m almost glad I moved here.”

“Only almost?”

“Yes.”

Alix stood, drying her fingers on her jeans. Then in silent accord they both turned and began to move along the wet hard-packed sand toward where the beach narrowed and finally disappeared altogether. It was windier than it had been up by the lighthouse, and Alix buttoned her jacket to the neck and thrust her hands into her pockets. Beside her Cassie seemed to be lost in thought, perhaps trying to decide if she wanted to reveal any more about her feelings for this place and for the village.

At length Cassie said, “I hated it here when I first arrived-the bleakness, the loneliness. Now it’s… home, I guess, as much as any place can ever be for me.”

“What about Eugene? That’s where you used to live, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t happy there?”

“Well, it’s a nice town. I had a lot of friends. Belonged to an art cooperative and had my studio there. Took courses at the university extension-cooking, French, calligraphy, whatever happened to interest me at the time. And there were concerts and plays… ”

“Then why did you leave?” Alix asked. “I know you mentioned you were divorced, but Eugene is a sizable town; surely you wouldn’t have run into your ex-husband very often.”

“It wasn’t that. I had to leave, for my own peace of mind. Ron spoiled the town for me-all my memories as well as my enjoyment of the present. Staying there would have been more than I could bear.”

“He must have really hurt you.”