“Not great, I know.”
“You seem alarmingly unafraid.”
He laughed, and I realized how much I liked his laughter, how much a single note of appreciation from him could warm my chest. I looked at the lighthouse to distract myself because I was still mad. “Can you climb it?”
“They open it to the public twice a year, I think. I went in a couple times as a kid.”
Wind whipped at us as we crossed the grasses. Noah had brought a flannel picnic blanket from the back of his car, which we laid down at the top of the dune. Behind us, the land stretched in wide, empty plains. Before us, the cliff crumbled away.
When I’d first came to Nantucket, I’d thought it would be all boat shoes and curated wealth. And in town, I could forget how wild nature could be, since humans had shaped the land into something tame. But here, it was impossible not to remember. The wind seared the land, flaying the grass flat and driving whitecaps across the sea and filling my lungs with sharp, crisp air. Before us, a gull glided low on the horizon. You could feel removed from the rest of the world on Nantucket, lifted out of time and space and deposited in another life.
I wondered if my grandmother had ever stood by this lighthouse and gazed out at the waters. Had she thought of how the next land out from here was war-torn Europe? Had she wondered about her parents, the way sailors’ wives wondered about their husbands? “It’s funny,” I said as we settled on the blanket, “how the sea can sometimes be so beautiful and sometimes so terribly, terribly sad. Or I guess it’s always beautiful, whether it’s happy or sad.”
Noah unwrapped his sandwich.“Quien no sabe de mar, no sabe de mal.”
He who knows nothing of the sea, knows nothing of suffering.
“Do you think you know something about suffering?”
“Notrealsuffering.” He met my gaze. “But I think everyone knows what it’s like to feel sad or alone.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees. “The human condition and all that?”
“And I think when you’re looking at something like the sea—at anything beautiful, really—you can feel your emotions more than usual. Like beauty is a magnifying glass.”
I glanced over at him, surprised. “Noah Barbanel. You really are a romantic.”
His cheeks heightened in color. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not,” I said hurriedly, and because it was important he knew I meant it, I touched his arm, though it made my heartbeat ramp up dangerously. “I’m really not.”
He craned his head back. “I wanted to show you Coatue... but I think I messed up.”
I kept my expression serene, afraid sharing any emotion would make him clam up. “Messed up?”
“Well... did you have fun today?”
I tilted my head. “Sure. I sort of thought we’d get a chance to hang out, though.”
“Right.” He nodded. “I did, too. I meant for us to. I sort of—so.” He stopped and flushed. “There’s a project on Coatue where you use ground-penetrating radar to look at what’s under the surface, at low-growing trees and underground roots—I volunteered on it last summer, and I thought I’d show it to you, but...”
“But what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking at the water, and a small, self-deprecating smile curved his mouth. “It seemed dumb once we were there.”
“I don’t think it’s dumb.” He gave me a skeptical look, and I shook my head vigorously. “I don’t! I wish you had.”
“Well.” He shrugged, though he looked a little happier. “It didn’t seem to fit the day’s vibe. Besides—you seemed busy.”
I stilled. “Excuse me?”
“You were talking with Tyler.” His tone was utterly inoffensive, and yet my hackles rose. I recognized his blank, neutral voice. It wasn’t one he used when he was pleased.
I concentrated on unwrapping my sandwich. “Yeah, because I didn’t know anyone else.”
“Really.”
“And he was friendly.”
