Between Here and the Horizon (21 page)

“Where are you studying?”

“Studying?”

“Yeah, y’know. To become a nurse.” I pointed at her badge.
 

She looked down at the offending article like it was the first time she’d ever seen the thing. “Oh, that? No, no. You don’t need to study to be a nurse. You just kind of learn everything as you go along. It’s like being a secretary. Or an inventor.”

“I don’t think tha—” I stopped talking. Gale was staring at me, hanging on every word coming out of my mouth, and I could clearly see the problem here: the lights were on, but no one was home. How the hell had she managed to score the job at the medical center?
How
? “Can you do me a favor please, Gale? Do you think you might be able to write down Sully’s address for me? I’d like to make sure he’s okay.”

“Oh! If you go over to his house, will you do me a favor? Can you give him these?” She reached under the desk and then dumped a large white paper bag onto the counter, with a script stapled to the front of it. “He forgot his pain meds when he left. He’s gonna be miserable without them.”

“Yeah, I guess I can give them to him.”

“Great.” Gale beamed at me like all her problems had been solved. She ripped a piece of paper off a pad by the telephone and scribbled on it for a second. When she handed it over, I was stumped by what she’d written.
 

The Lighthouse.

That was it.

“I’m sorry? The lighthouse?”

“Uhuh.”

“Where is it, though? How will I know how to get there?”

“That part’s easy. You just follow the signs. It’s the only lighthouse on the island.”

******

Of all the places in the world Sully Fletcher could have lived, a lighthouse actually made some perverse kind of sense. Lighthouse keepers were typically isolated, hermit types, weren’t they? With the overwhelming need to shut themselves off from the world? And wasn’t it just so Heathcliffe of him to segregate himself on some windswept corner of the island, only venturing out to torment the locals when the wicked mood took him? Maybe Holly had been right when she called him that back at Rose’s party.
 

I drove until I found a sign for “The Lighthouse,” and then I drove until I found another and another. Soon, there were no more signs, and I was out of ideas. After a good thirty minutes, navigating the Land Rover down winding dirt tracks and hilly pathways, I gave up and finally asked the first person I saw—an elderly guy in an old wax coat, standing on the side of the road, staring up at the sky like he was waiting for something miraculous to fall from it, and he was determined not to be taken by surprise.
 

“The lighthouse? Well, you’re way off course. Head back to the main road and then take the third right, past the house that’s been painted blue. Then all the way to the end of that road. That’s where you’ll find the lighthouse.”

“Thank you. Do you need a ride anywhere?”
 

He looked startled. “No. I’m fine right here, thank you.” There was nothing for miles in either direction, and I could see no real reason for him to be standing out here, staring up at the sky, but I didn’t want to offend him so I kept my mouth shut and I left.
 

Twenty minutes later: a lighthouse perched on the edge of a rocky cliff, cast in broad strokes of burned orange and yellow by the setting sun, like something out of an Afremov painting. As I parked outside, I noted the stack of “
The Lighthouse”
signs stacked up in a pile by a stony pathway leading off toward the cliffs.
 

The door flew open before I’d even had a chance to climb out of the car, and Sully stood there, one hand resting on his stomach, the other braced against the door jamb, staring at me with the wide-eyed look of someone about to encounter aliens for the first time.
 

“What the fuck?” he mouthed.
 

“You tell me,” I mouthed back. I didn’t want to get out of the car now that I’d seen the shitty expression on his face. His hair was crazy, standing on end, and his jaw was marked with dark stubble that made him look both unkempt and well put together at the same time somehow. He was wearing a tight, gray, long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and yet another pair of scruffy black jeans. He was pale and there were shadows under his eyes, which made him look haunted.
 

Slowly, still pressing one hand to his stomach, he hobbled out of the doorway and came and stood in front of the driver’s side door, looking at me through the window. When I didn’t buzz down the window, he lifted his hand and rapped a knuckle against the glass.
 

Didn’t really seem like I had much of a choice after that. Down the window went. Sully considered me for a moment, considered the car in general, then said, “I don’t suppose…that this is a coincidence?”
 

“You left your meds at the center.”

He turned and walked away. “I’m not taking that shit.”

“It’s pain medication, Sully. They wouldn’t have prescribed it to you if they didn’t think you needed it.”

“I
don’t
need it. How do you know they’re pain meds anyway?” Slowing, he looked back over his shoulder, frowning. “You been snooping in my shit?”

“I was surprised they weren’t anti-psychotics actually,” I snapped. “And no, I wasn’t
snooping in your shit.
Gale offered up the information before she handed over the bag.”

“Ha!
Gale
.”

“Yeah. Your girlfriend isn’t the brightest bulb in the box, huh?” I got out of the car and followed after him.
 

“You know all too well she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“You implied it.”

“Which doesn’t mean anything, really, does it?”

“Why are those signs stacked up by the side of the house, Sully?”

“To stop nosy busybodies from showing up at my place, unannounced.”
 
Stopping at his front door, he turned and barred the entrance with one arm. “Shame. Didn’t seem to work in this particular instance, did it?”

“I’m just trying to do the Good Samaritan bit, you asshole.”

“I’m not a Christian.”

“What?”

“The Good Samaritan. He was from the bible, right?”

“You don’t need to be a Christian to be a good person, Sully.”

“I’m sure it helps. Look, it’s fucking freezing, and I have four cracked ribs. Can we please do this some other time?”

Over his shoulder, I could see a room in disarray, and a television on a stack of books, its screen turned to static. White noise popped and crackled, rustling low. I should have just left. I shouldn’t have come in the first place; as soon as I’d found out he’d refused treatment at the medical center and gone home, I should have left him to his own devices. But he looked terrible. A clammy looking sweat had broken out across his forehead, and his hands were shaking. He hadn’t taken any of his damn pain medication, and now he was telling me he had four broken ribs. God, how the hell was I supposed to just drive away now? It would be easy enough to do. It’d feel great slamming the car door and speeding off, leaving him behind in the dust. But I wouldn’t get further than a mile before the guilt set in, and I had to turn back.
 

“Damn it, Sully. Just let me inside so I can fix you up with something to eat and something warm to drink. Set my mind at ease. Then I’ll be on my way, I promise.”

Sully cocked his head to one side. His breathing was shallow. Shallower than it should have been. “You’re quite the little do-gooder, aren’t you? What was the chick’s name from The Sound of Music again? The nun that wouldn’t quit that infernal singing? You know, the one who saved those children from the Nazis? You’re just like her. So…
sunny
.” He used the word as if it were an insult.

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m nothing like her. Can we please just go inside? You’re right, it is freezing, and I don’t feel like catching hypothermia right now.”

Both his eyebrows lifted at once. “That’s funny.”

Okay, so that was a pretty dumb thing to say on my part, but there was no need for him to be such an ass. “Sully. Come on. Please.” Lord, I was begging him to let me inside his house so I could take care of him? How had this come about? Really, it categorically, absolutely made zero sense.
 

He sighed, allowing his arm to fall. “All right. You can come in. On two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“If you step foot inside my house, do not even think about trying to tidy anything. Move one book, one plate, one mug, and you’ll be back out of the door quicker than you can say
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
.”
 

He looked so damned pleased with himself that I couldn’t help wipe the smile from his face. “That’s from Mary Poppins, not The Sound of Music.”

“I don’t care what it’s from. You mess with my shit, you’re gone. Copy?”

I held my hands up. “Fine. I won’t tidy.”

“And the second condition is that there won’t be any of that hot tea bullshit. If you’re coming in here, you’re drinking whiskey.”

“What? Why am I drinking whiskey?”

“Because
I’m
drinking whiskey. And that’s just the way it is.”

“I have to drive.”

He shrugged
. “Take it or leave it, Lang.”

How much would it hurt him if I jabbed him in the ribcage right now? A lot, probably. Enough to make him behave himself? I wasn’t going to hold my breath. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just let me inside already. My feet are going numb.”

******

The inside of the lighthouse was surreal, like something Escher would have concocted, all weird angles and bizarre staircases that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. I had no idea why he’d forewarned me not to tidy. There were stacks of books all over the place, and clothes, yes, but the clothes were folded into piles, and the books were all lined up neatly. There were no plates or mugs laying around. Not even in the small kitchen he led me to, grumbling under his breath. He took two tumblers from one of the cupboards, and then rummaged around in another cupboard until he found a half full bottle of Dalwhinnie.
 

“Ice?” he asked over his shoulder.
 

“I don’t know. Sure? I’ve never had whiskey before.”

“You’ve never—” He couldn’t believe it, that much was clear. “You have never had
whiskey
? That might just be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. I suppose women in SoCal drink Sauvignon Blanc or Pimms or some shit. Mojitos. Cosmopolitans.”

“Sometimes. I don’t really drink at all.”

“Oh, lord save us.” Turning around, he handed me a tumbler, three fingers of dark amber liquid sloshing around inside it. “I’d hold your nose and throw it back if I were you. You’re not gonna like it.”

I accepted the glass. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a fairly observant human being. Now drink.”

I drank. It was foul, awful, evil stuff that burned all the way down my throat and settled in my stomach, a small fire spitting there that wouldn’t go out. I’d only had one mouthful. I had at least four or five more to go before I reached the bottom of the glass. I wanted to cough and splutter and pull a face, but then again I didn’t want to prove him right.
 

I managed to hide my disgust, though god knows how. Sully watched me manfully taking gulps of the raw liquor, his expression blank until I tipped the glass up and finally drained it. He gave a small nod, lifting his own glass to me. “Wow.” He knocked his back in one, wincing a little as he swallowed.
 

“Wow?”

“Yeah. I’m impressed. That was three shots right there. And you didn’t puke.”

“Three shots? Sully, I have to drive back across the island. What the hell?”

He pouted, pouring out more whiskey into the glasses. “I thought you were gonna stick around and ‘take care of me’,” he said, throwing air quotes onto his last words.
 

“I am. But I still have to go home and take care of Connor and Amie. Remember? Your niece and nephew?”

“I don’t want to talk about them. Or Ronan,” he said, holding up his index finger. “If you need a ride later, I can get Jared down the hill to drive you. In the meantime…” He handed me back my glass, which contained a much smaller amount of whiskey in it this time.
 
“Drink up.”

I took the tiniest sip of the whiskey, scowling.

“Atta girl.” He smiled, but it was a grim, uncomfortable smile that betrayed how much pain he was in. His hand was still pressed against his diaphragm like it was the only thing holding his insides in place.

“You can’t take pain meds if you’ve been drinking,” I said quietly.
 

“I don’t plan on it. I told you. I’m not taking that shit.”

“Why not? You’re obviously suffering.”

“Because, little miss know-it-all, I saw enough guys in the military get hurt. They were prescribed morphine and oxy, and I watched them all turn into addicts right before my eyes. It’s not worth it. I’d rather take a few shots of the good stuff and grit my teeth if it’s all the same to you, thanks very much.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.
Oh
.”

He stood there, staring me down, not really breathing, not saying anything, and once again I wanted to leave. I looked away; I wasn’t the sort of person to be cowed by anybody. Not even Ronan Fletcher had managed it. But there was something about his brother that Ronan didn’t have. Some intense, deep, penetrating quality that made me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.
 

“I’m going to go sit down now, before I fall down. Please feel free to snoop around and do whatever the hell you like in my absence.” Sully left the kitchen and went back through to the living room, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders rigid, and I considered picking up one of the sharp knives from the butcher’s block on his counter and seeing how good my aim was.
 

Instead, I took full advantage of his invitation and began rifling through his cupboards, looking for ingredients so I could cook him something to eat. Surprisingly, there was plenty to choose from. I’d expected a refrigerator full of condiments and a stale, half eaten sandwich; bare shelves, and dust balls in his pantry. But rather his refrigerator was full of vegetables and fruit, along with packs of meat and blocks of cheese, and his cupboards were overflowing with baking products, dried goods, and tins of soup. Staples, nothing fancy, but better than nothing, that was for sure.