It’s dark and the stairwell narrows more and more the higher we climb. Relief filters through me when we reach the top, but there’s another locked door and my breath comes in short spurts again. Eva messes around with the other key. Despite the chill in the air, her body heat is all I can feel, and it’s making me sweat in that sort of way that precedes passing out.
Finally, the door bursts open, and we spill out onto the circular balcony. The space between the wall and the edge is about three feet all the way around, lined with flat cement. Above us, light sweeps over the earth and ocean, igniting the silvery dark with pale yellow every few seconds. It’s windy as hell, and, I swear to god, the lighthouse sways like a drunk idiot.
My lungs feel like they’re shrinking, and I press my back against the cool white wall. Eva props the door open with a brick before basically skipping to the edge, her hands curling around the railing as she looks out at the world. Her hair dances in the wind, dark swirls ignited every time the light grazes over the tips.
“This is amazing!” she yells, turning to look back at me. Her smile dissolves as she takes in my fingers clawing at the wall. “Are you scared of heights?”
I shake my head. I have no problem with heights in general. I do have a problem with heights that make me feel like I’m an apple balancing on the top of a toothpick.
She comes over and that subtle floral scent washes over me again. Like jasmine under a spring sun. She reaches behind me and grabs my hand. I let her guide me to the railing. My fingers close around the cool metal, and she settles in next to me, her arm brushing mine as she peers out over the side of the world.
I try to relax and focus on the water, the rocks below, and the sky above. Try to empty my mind of Jay and Mom and pianos. Strangely, after a few minutes of just looking, Eva warm at my side, I do. My shoulders descend and my eyelids feel pleasantly heavy, the salty wind and a formidable ocean whispering a gentle hush-hush.
“I can’t believe I’ve never come up here before,” I say.
Eva laughs. “I can’t either.”
“There’s a boring-as-hell museum on the main floor, but the top hasn’t been open to the public since—?” A humid gust bites off my words, and my fingers tighten on the railing.
“Since what?” Eva asks.
“Since some girl jumped off the edge, like, a hundred years ago.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Everyone has a different story. Her lover was a sailor and he died at sea. Her father was a brute and was going to make her marry his brutish pal. She got caught with her girlfriend, and her parents were going to send her off to an insane asylum.”
Eva sucks in a breath. “Is that true?”
I let out a light laugh. “I don’t know. Hence all the conflicting stories.”
“God, that’s awful.”
“Which one?”
“All of it. And that no one really knows the truth, no one really knows her.” She gazes out at the ocean, her eyes wide and thoughtful. “I mean, her whole story is swallowed up by how she died. By that one thing. Nothing else really matters.”
“No, I guess not.” I’ve heard all of these stories a million times. The lighthouse museum has little key chains with the brassy image of a girl in a long, old-fashioned skirt, her metal arm held out in front of her like she’s trying to hold on to something. The cape can’t even agree on her name. Harriet. Helen. Hattie. But Eva’s right. It is sad.
We stand there in silence for a while. Next to me, Eva inhales deeply and lets it out slowly, her breath matching the rolling waves below us. I try to think of something else to say, but, weirdly, it feels needless, like the words would be intrusive. It’s a peaceful kind of silence. Easy. And dammit if it isn’t nice to let something be easy.
“It makes me feel safe,” she says, leaning her forearms on the rail.
“What does?”
“This. Being this high, above everything, the world huge around us. Makes it seem like my life is small, you know? Like it’s not the only thing. There’s a lot more, more to be, more to experience. More to feel.”
I breathe in the briny air, and the world around us does feel big. It does make me feel small. Hemmed in by the vastness. It’s strangely comforting.
“Why are you doing that?” Eva asks, interrupting my calm. She taps the back of my hand and I look down, stilling my fingers that had been silently moving over the railing, a silent song pouring out of the tips.
“Oh. ‘Riverside.’”
She turns so she’s facing me. “Is that supposed to make sense?”
I laugh. “Not really. It’s a song by one of my favorite singers. She’s a pianist too, and this song gets stuck in my head all the time.” I don’t mention how effing gloomy the song is. It’s depressing as hell, but I love it, love playing it. I’ve even been known to sing it a little when no one’s around. Not that I’ll have too many opportunities to do that now that my piano is gone.
I stretch my fingers out, joints cracking. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”
“So you were playing this song? On the railing?”
I shrug. “Not note for note. It’s mostly in my head. Fingers just move a little here and there. It’s more nervous habit than anything.”
“It still looked pretty involved. Are you any good?”
Again, I shrug.
“Oh.” She gives me a slow smile. “You’re good.”
“You can’t possibly know that from me tapping on a railing.”
“Sure I can.” She takes my hand and lays it on her own palm. “Long fingers, elegant movements. All the makings of an excellent piano player.”
“Again, fingers have very little to do with it. Just ask my mother. Her fingers are longer than mine, and she’s completely tone-deaf.”
Eva just smiles, my hand still in hers, running her thumb over my darkly painted middle fingernail. “Is that what you want to do? Play piano?”
I swallow hard, that word want tripping me up. It’s hard to want things when your life is like mine. Dangerous, even. So I settle for the facts. “I have an audition at Manhattan School of Music at the end of July.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wow. That’s serious.”
I smile. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
“Only if you do it with me.”
She frowns. “I don’t play piano.”
“But you dance, right? Ballet? You could dance while I—?”
“No, I couldn’t.” She turns her face toward the ocean, her expression completely closed-off and blank. The silence that settles between us is so thick, I can almost chew on it.
“Sorry,” I say, even though I don’t know what for.
She shakes her head, her curls springing around her face. “It’s fine. Just . . . don’t ask me again, okay? I get enough of that from Emmy.”
“What do you mean?”
“She thinks I should get involved, start dancing again. I guess there’s a good-size studio in Sugar Lake or something.”
“And you don’t want to?”
She doesn’t look at me, but her eyes go hazy over the water. “It’s not about want.”
There’s that dangerous word again—?want. Next to me, Eva is stiff, her shoulders curled inward toward her chest as though trying to shield herself.
“I’d still like to hear you play,” she says, finally glancing at me.
“Why?”