A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [49]
I don’t remember the trip to the cove. When I got back to the lighthouse, the sun was sinking. No wonder I was hungry; the whole day had gone by while I was with her. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything on Earth, but concern about finding her again, trespassing on the lighthouse grounds, gnawed at me.
I waited for the sun to settle farther, and decided to peruse my book and still had enough daylight to read. I thumbed through it distracted, though. In a moment, I set it aside.
But the legend of the missing daughter and the lighthouse keepers kept calling me. I wanted to read it, but the fast-fading light was too weak now. I’d kept her waiting longer than I planned, too.
Why wouldn’t she tell me her name?
Finally, I dared not let it darken further before I stumbled over the ragged crag to the lighthouse’s little basement chamber. I didn’t have the surety of her steps to lead me this time. The trees surrounding the cove deepened toward a uniform black with the orange sun dying in the west. The lighthouse stood majestic and stoic over the cove’s point, its bright beacon eye still dark.
The lighthouse keeper’s domicile still looked empty. The windows were dark despite the impending night. No smoke rose from the chimney even with the crisp snap in the air. I kept one eye on the house as I minced across the rough surface toward the stairs in the niche, shrouded in dark in the waning light. Stars winked on above me. The moon, just a sliver past full, rose over the sea, fat and silver, the reflection shimmering over the cove’s waves until they broke over the sand.
I turned the knob of the room’s door.
It was locked. The knob spun perhaps a quarter turn, but no farther. I rattled it, then tapped the door with my knuckles. I was afraid of who else would hear my request for entrance, and my eyes roamed and twitched over the beach and trees for signs of detection.
No response.
I knocked again, harder. Nothing.
I looked around one more time, and banged on the door with the side of my fist. I thought residents in town heard it, was certain the lighthouse keeper did. Still, the residence stayed quiet and dark.
And she didn’t open the door.
I tried to calculate where the tiny window might be, and thought I might work my way around the lighthouse to knock there. I sighed when I remembered the shutters.
I didn’t know her name to call out to her.
I ascended back to the rock’s surface, and stepped clear of the lighthouse. The day was gone to dusk, and only a faint orange band of light swathed the horizon. The cove was a collection of silhouettes with white, blue, and green stars above it, the silver moon swashed over the water’s surface. I stared at the beach, wondering what to do, and saw it.
A tiny black dot on the water, less reflective in the middle of the moon’s white splash on the surface. Just beyond the combers, it rose from the waves. The familiar shape, the seductive feline movements toward the beach.
It was her.
I smiled, and worked my way down the crag, to the beach. I walked over the sand with the now-cold Chinese food in a soggy paper bag, and saw her on the sand, dancing. The silken, almost reptilian motions of the dance she’d done for me the night before, beneath the full moon. An eternity later, I reached her, as she continued to pulse and swing like the tide behind her, arms overhead, hands cloying and stroking the air over her. When she came around to face me again, she smiled. She stopped her rotation, but kept the movement of her hips and midriff, swinging them to and fro, hypnotizing me again. I realized my desire for her raged in my jeans again, and the mysterious glow radiated from her eyes under the moonlight.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hello there,” she traced her smile with her tongue.
“What are you doing out here?” I knew a stupid grin had pasted itself on my lips.
“Dancing,” she answered, her voice patient and warm.
“I mean, I thought you were going to wait in the lighthouse and rest.”
“Did you? How could I resist the music?” She lowered in a graceful