“I think they’re still hurting a bit from their run the other day. I’m still hurting from the run the other day.”
“They don’t look like they’re hurting.”
Sherlock and Rex pranced with excitement, whining, tongues hanging out. “They would run until they dropped,” Dan said. “We can drive down and get a walk on the beach. I want to go out to the lighthouse.”
“Okay,” Tracy said, sliding into the passenger seat.
Dan drove down the hill and around the bend. Normally, with parking difficult in the summer, they pulled into a designated lane in the middle of the road, but today Dan drove past the storefronts and restaurants, out toward the lighthouse.
“Are we going to walk the dogs or drive them?” Tracy asked.
Dan turned right into a parking lot just past the V-shaped apartment complex that led to the Alki Point Lighthouse. A cyclone gate on wheels blocked the entrance, and a large sign warned that the area was restricted and trespassers would be prosecuted.
“It’s closed,” she said, not sure what Dan was expecting at that hour.
“Huh,” Dan said. “Let’s see if there’s a way down to the water.”
“Are we looking to get arrested to spice up the day?” Tracy asked. Smaller signs posted in the parking lot indicated the parking was reserved for apartment tenants, and violators would be towed.
“I’ve never been out here,” Dan said. “I just want to take a look. The worst they’ll do is ask us to leave.” He stepped from the car and opened the tailgate. Rex and Sherlock bounded out and followed him to the cyclone fence. Dan pulled on the gate and the fence rolled to the left.
“It’s open,” he said.
“No, it’s closed,” she said, still anchored in her seat. “You opened it.”
“Come on, let’s just take a look. They would have locked it if they didn’t want anyone to come in.”
“You won’t be satisfied until we’re arrested, will you?”
“Don’t be a namby pants.”
“Wasn’t I just getting a lecture about doing things that might get me in trouble?”
“That was different; you could lose your job. What are they going to do to us for looking?”
“Arrest us. Accuse us of being terrorists. Send us to Guantanamo Bay. Waterboards.”
“Come on,” Dan said. He walked away, down the street.
“Okay,” Tracy said, opening her door and stepping out. “I guess we’re doing this.”
She closed the gate behind her and hurried to catch up. The paved road continued past two homes, white with red roofs and porches. The homes reminded her of something out of a 1950s movie. The Seattle Times had recently run an article commemorating the lighthouse’s one-hundredth anniversary and noted that the two beachfront homes now housed senior Coast Guard officers. Farther down the road, Tracy and Dan came to maintenance buildings, also white with red roofs. A white gravel path led to the lighthouse, which marked the tip of the southern entrance, and the transition from Puget Sound into Elliott Bay.
Tracy followed Dan along the gravel path, half expecting armed guards to appear at any moment and order them to the ground. The door to the lighthouse remained open. Dan stepped inside. Tracy followed. The room at floor level consisted of a museum with photographs and equipment depicting the lighthouse’s history. Dan didn’t linger, climbing a narrow, winding staircase. Tracy followed him to the second level, figuring if they’d come this far they might as well go all the way. A metal ladder ascended to the actual room that housed the light. They’d need a crane to get Rex and Sherlock up the ladder.
“Stay,” Dan said.
Dan climbed the rungs. Tracy followed. Below, Rex whined. “Hush,” Dan said.
As Tracy climbed, she couldn’t see above her. Dan blocked the entrance. When he reached the top and cleared the ladder, however, she noticed a flickering golden glow. She reached the top rung and Dan extended a hand to help her into the cramped octagon-shaped room, the light beacon in the middle. The glow, however, did not emanate from the beacon. It came from a dozen flickering candles casting shadows over red roses. Out the windows, streams of light from the fading sun glistened on the surface of the water like hundreds of diamonds.
Tracy felt her eyes water and her knees weaken. Dan never released her hand. He dropped to a knee while reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, producing a small black box.
“Oh my God,” Tracy said, feeling herself becoming overwhelmed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Tracy Anne Crosswhite,” Dan said, opening the box to display a large diamond.
Her chest heaved and her breath caught in her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Will you marry me?” Dan asked.