“I meant the question in more of an existential sense.”
“Oh, well, when you figure that one out, let me know. I haven’t got a damn clue. But my full name is Evangeline, if that helps. It was my mom’s middle name.” Her voice, teasing and even flirty at first, softens at the end, nearly tapering off into a whisper.
When I don’t say anything, she blinks at me, then looks away, folding her arms over her chest. “Sorry. I don’t know why I told you that.”
We sit there, drowning in a damn river of awkward for what feels like years. Do I say I’m sorry about her mom? Ask how she likes the cape? I’m about to offer something, anything, but she’s got this look on her face that makes me stop. It’s the same look Mom wears every November tenth—?my father’s birthday—?and every March twenty-first—?their wedding anniversary. It’s the Please don’t talk about it look.
“Listen,” I say, rubbing at my forehead with both hands. “I’m exhausted. The lighthouse is cool and all, but it’s my first night here, so—?”
“Will I get you in trouble?”
“I don’t know, will you?”
She smiles and slips off the bed, starting a slow amble around my room, gliding her hands over my few possessions. “Emmy’s a hard sleeper, and lately I can’t sleep. Plus, the ocean—?”
“Let me guess. It called to you.” Carpe diem, baby.
She tilts her head at me. “Yes, it’s been whispering sweet nothings in my ear since this afternoon. I had to see it.”
I shake my head at her, but laughter bubbles in my chest.
“Irresistible wooing notwithstanding, it does look beautiful under the moon.” Eva stops her tour and faces me, resting her butt against the dresser. “Come with me.”
“I’ve seen the ocean under the moon before.”
“Not with me. Not from the top of the lighthouse.”
She has me there, but still. I grasp for some fresh excuse, but something makes me keep my mouth shut.
She smiles a slow smile—?she knows she’s got me.
This is ridiculous, I say to myself. But I need a little ridiculous right now. A leap off a balcony, of sorts.
I get off the bed, and her posture snaps straight, ready for action.
“Hold your wad,” I say, holding up both hands. “I’m not even sure how to get up there.”
“There’s a door on the outside,” Eva says. “Locked. But surely the current lighthouse keeper has a key.”
“I’m not about to go digging through my mother’s boyfriend’s trousers.”
She frowns but moves toward my door. “Let’s just look around.”
I hold up a finger and listen for a few seconds, straining my ears for music or low murmurs or creaking floorboards. Nothing.
“Fine. But when I open this door, stay quiet.”
She mimes zipping her lips.
“You’re not one of those elephant walkers, are you? These are old floors.”
“I assure you,” she says after a beat of silence, her voice suddenly dreamlike, “I’m like a fairy on my feet.”
I run my eyes down her long legs. She even stands gracefully. “Just be quiet.”
Eva hovers close to my back as I ease the door open. It squeaks and I stop, then try to open it an inch at a time.
“It’ll make less noise if you do it quick,” she whispers, and her breath tickles my neck.
“Lot of practice at this?”
“You could say that,” she says. “At least lately.”
I don’t even want to know what that means, but I’m starting to suspect that traipsing around the cape at night might be a regular occurrence for this girl since she got here. Stays in her room mostly my ass, Luca. Emmy would flip if she knew.
But I don’t say any of this. Instead, I yank the door wider. It doesn’t make a sound. We sneak down the hall, and I barely take a breath until we’re past Jay’s room and safely into the living space. Moonlight streams in through the wide windows, silver streaks through the blue-dark.
“It’s so amazing that you get to live here,” Eva says, stopping to stare out the window.
“Yeah, it’s a freaking miracle.” I tiptoe toward the kitchen. Mom and Pete’s room is around the corner, but I still don’t hear anything, so I assume they’re asleep. A light over the stove glows just brightly enough that I can look around.
“Did you find any keys?” Eva asks, coming up behind me so quietly I nearly yelp.
“Does it look like I found any keys?” I hold up my empty hands.
“Um, prickly.”
“Um, intruder.” But I’m smiling. She moves along, her fingertips on a delicate search through the moonlight.
“Here,” she says, pointing to the wall near the side door, and I walk over. Three sets of keys dangle from grungy brass hooks. One is my mom’s, adorned with a tiny red plastic flip-flop and packed with at least six different keys that have absolutely no current purpose, keys to old apartments and condos that she never gave back to the landlord. The other two I don’t recognize, but one has a clunky Ford truck key, so I assume those are Pete’s. The last set has only two keys and they look old. Not skeleton-key old. Just aged and well-worn.
I grab them off the hook and flip the deadbolt open on the door.
“Let’s go.”
Outside, Eva takes the lead. It’s cold as ass. I stuff my hands under my armpits and follow her around the side of the house. The salty wind bites through my tank top, and I’m a few muttered curse words away from going back inside when we reach the old wooden door on the north end of the lighthouse. To my right, high tide is at full throttle, and the ocean churns against the rocks that act as a barrier between the water and the lighthouse’s tiny yard.
“Keys,” Eva says, holding out her hand. I drop them into her palm, and she wiggles one and then the other into the lock. After a few jabs and twists, the door swings open. Cool, stale air curls out through the entryway. In the dark, I can just barely make out a spiraling staircase, cobwebs lacing in between the rails.
“This is a scene from a horror movie,” I say. “You realize that, right?”
Eva laughs and tugs on my arm, pulling me into the dark chasm.
Aside from a toolbox and a folded-up ladder in one corner, the space is pretty much empty except for the staircase, so we start climbing. We spiral up and up and up. The air grows even staler, mixing with salt and something softer. A musky, flowery scent I can’t pin down.