“They were,” Judy confirmed. “Very much so.” I could see a tear forming in Judy's eye as she recalled the past, her features softening with remembrance. “They were hopelessly in love and overjoyed to have you.”
Diane closed her eyes, the tears flowing freely now. She clutched the locket tighter, as if holding onto her parents' memory. “Thank you,” she said, her red-rimmed eyes meeting ours, “for this. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
When Diane set off for the cottage, Judy and I could finally breathe again.
“We did a good thing tonight,” Judy said as she handed me a glass of wine.
“Yes, we did,” I agreed, sipping the sweet liquid while my gaze followed Diane's retreating figure. “But it's only a start. There's so much more she needs to know.”
“You're right. And in time, we’ll tell her everything.”
“I was thinking,” I said, staring off into the darkness, “about asking her to stay.”
“At the cottage?” Judy asked, her eyebrows knitting together in surprise.
“Yes,” I replied firmly. “She said she’s always dreamed of living by the ocean, and what better spot is there anywhere in the world than right here? Besides, we could both use the company.”
Judy took a moment to consider it, her expression inscrutable. “It’s a big commitment, you know. We’d be takingon an important role in her life, not to mention that of her daughter’s. Are we ready for that?”
I looked at Judy, my eyes steady, my voice brimming with conviction. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”
35
When the lightsin the cottage had gone out, Judy and I took the path that led to the lighthouse, our shoes crunching on the fine shells under the inky blackness of night. Judy wore her favorite red jacket, the one that matched the rusty hue of her hair and clung to my arm. Every now and then, I stole a glance at her, wondering what thoughts were tumbling through her mind.
As we crested the hill, the lighthouse came into view, standing tall and proud as it always had. We stopped short of it, our gazes drawn to a pair of headstones nestled in the sand. For a long time, we stood there, neither of us saying a word. One of the headstones was weathered, the name and date etched into it barely visible under the moonlight. But the other one was relatively new, its polished marble surface reflecting the pale light.
The inscription read, “Andrew Hastings, 1929 - 1993,” and beneath it a small quote, “To the lighthouse, my love.”
I let go of Judy’s arm and approached the grave, laying a single red rose atop it. “I miss you,” I whispered, my voice swallowed by the roar of the nearby ocean. “But I’m surviving, just like always.”
When it was Judy’s turn, she knelt down in front of the other headstone. She brushed away the sand and a few fallen leaves, her finger tracing the faded lettering of Rosie’s name. “We did it, doll,” she said. “We found Faith. Your little girl is safe and sound, just like you wanted.” Her voice wavered through her tears, raw with emotion. “We promised we would never forget. And we haven't.”
As if on cue, the lighthouse’s beam swung in our direction, piercing the night. It cast long, eerie shadows over the graves, making the headstones seem taller. The light seemed almost tangible, as if we could reach out our hands and touch it.
Judy's hand found mine, her fingers trembling slightly. “I think she would have been happy with how things turned out, don’t you?”
I squeezed her hand reassuringly, thinking back to the stories that Rosalie had written, with their surprising and satisfying endings. “Yes,” I said, nodding my head. “I don’t think she could have written it any better herself.”
At dawn, I walked down to the cottage to see if Diane was awake. The light in the living room window was already glowing, illuminating the dew-kissed grass. I could see her hunched over a notepad at the coffee table, forehead creased with concentration. Her lips moved slightly as though she were whispering the words to herself.
My approach was quiet, but she must have sensed me because she looked up as I stepped onto the porch.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, opening the door for me. “For a minute there, I thought it was some early morning wanderer.” She smiled. “Need a cup of coffee?”
“Please,” I said, settling into the worn leather armchair by the hearth. Diane padded to the kitchen and poured two cups, handing one to me.
“What brings you here so early?” she asked, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.
I took a sip of coffee, letting the warm, bitter flavor work its magic before answering. “I was thinking…since I’ve got this perfectly good cottage going to waste, and since you’re going to have thousands of questions now, maybe you could use it? I mean, if you want to.”
She looked at me with surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m asking you to come live with me…you and Cassie, in the cottage. It doesn’t have to be forever, just until you get the answers you’re looking for, or until you decide it’s time to move on.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I could never afford a place like this.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “It’s not about affording it, Diane. I’m offering it to you, no strings attached. This place was always meant for someone like you, someone who can appreciate its beauty and its solitude. Besides, you’ll need a space like this if you’re to write the next great American novel.”
