The Possession (12 page)

His words touched my heart, but I couldn’t keep the smirk from spreading across my face. “Want a job?”

“Hrmpf,” he muttered, “I don’t think I have enough t-shirts.”

Zach dumped the rest of the grass cuttings into the barrel by the shed and pushed the mower back inside. That task completed, he joined me in front of the porch and began to weed. We were allowed to share this job because Aunt swept the porch above us, with Mr. Philbrook just a turn of the head away repairing the garage roof.

“So, what’ve you been doing?” he asked, his voice loud enough for me to hear and low enough to drive Aunt nuts if she tried to eavesdrop.

“Reading.”

“Gee. And I’m missing it.”

I gave him my best ‘you’ve no idea’ expression and shot a look to the porch.
Chtz
,
chtz
,
chtz
. The broom rhythm remained unbroken. Still, I slid closer.

“Did I tell you there’s a whole shelf in the study with lighthouse books?”

Zach shook his head without looking up, but swayed to tap his shoulder to mine. “Newsflash! The library has a whole section of them.”

His hand stopped mid-yank on a stubborn weed and his eyes sought mine. “Daph. I’m sorry.”

I sat back on my heels and wiped the heated sweat from my forehead with my arm, then fiddled my garden gloves back into a perfect fit. “Hey. Don’t be like that, okay?”

He didn’t answer and didn’t move. I dipped my head to collect myself, then tilted my chin up in his direction. “I don’t need special handling, Zach. What, are we not going to use the word ‘library’ the rest of our lives? I’m counting on you to keep it real.”

The weed met its maker, torn from the soil with a vicious yank. “If you knew what it does to me, Daph.”

I rested a hand on his wrist, our chaperones forgotten, and removed the limp plant from his grip. My gaze flitted to the gaping wound left in the earth. “I’ve a pretty good idea.”

Our gazes collided and I swear, for one brief moment, our hearts beat as one.

Zach smiled and melted my fear. We were a team. Nothing would stop us.

“Less talk, more work,” Mr. Philbrook called across the yard. Aunt peered down through the third archway. We bent our heads to the border bed and smoothed the mulch.

“You do realize they had dinner the other night, right?” I mumbled, trying not to move my lips. “That’s why they showed up here together.”

“And lunch yesterday, which is how today’s work schedule came about,” he added under his breath.

We slid a look toward each other.

This knowledge could be useful.

“So what’s with the row of books, anyway?” Zach questioned as he gathered our weeds and stuffed them into a yard waste bag.

“Oh! They aren’t just lighthouse books. They’re daily journals and such about the work done and when, who did it and the household expenses.”

“A ledger,” he offered and I nodded agreement.

“Exactly.”

“So why does that get you all worked up?” he questioned and walked away to get another bag of mulch.

When he returned, I replied, “If Ro was so good at keeping work diaries, she may have had one of her own, don’t you think?”

“I think she’d be too tired. The lighthouse was a lot of work.”

The momentary pause in my mulch spreading, a tilt of the head in his direction, must have told Zach my thought.

“In Bay Head, by third grade you’ve learned all you need to know about the early lighthouses, and more than you want.”

My grin made him roll his eyes. He saw it coming.

“So tell me something I don’t know,” I suggested.

“Where do I begin?”

I smacked his arm and tossed mulch across his lap.

His look reprimanded as he brushed the bits of shredded wood off into the border and collected the remaining wayward mulch from the lawn. “They didn’t start keeping records of keepers until 1828, even though there were lighthouses as early as 1768.”

His tone so authoritative, I couldn’t help but add, “Maine’s first lighthouse dates back to 1791.”

Zach eyed me. “Did you know keepers used to be known as wickies?”

“Yes, during the time of the spider lamps. A single lamp could have four or more wicks in it.”

We squared off and Zach challenged, “But why were they called wickies?”

“The intensity of the light depended on clean lantern glass and properly trimmed wicks,” I answered smoothly.

“The lamps were lit at sunset.” Zach nodded. “The keeper usually had to return at midnight to re-trim the wicks—”

“Hence,” I summarized, on a roll now, running over his words, “keepers—”

“Were wickies!” he finished, beating me to it.

I jammed my hands onto my hips and shot off, “What fueled the spider lamps?”

“A pan of oil,” he returned the volley swiftly, to assure me he knew, “usually whale oil here in the northeast—”

“With no chimneys, the fumes were horrendous and—”

“Would often chase the keepers—”

“RIGHT OUT OF THE LANTERN HOUSING!” we shouted over each other.

“Aieee!”

“Whoa!”

Our unified cries hit the air when the icy water from the hose blasted us. It stopped as quickly as it had started, and Mr. Philbrook’s and Aunt’s chuckles rolled across the lawn towards us.

Oh, yeah. Forgot about them.

“Cooled off yet?” Mr. P. called.

Zach raked his soggy hair back and waved truce, but a gleam of revenge lit his eyes. He picked up the mulch bag and started toward the garage. As he passed me, he mumbled, “Get your aunt off the porch.”

I headed toward the shed but veered off at the last minute and crept up the porch steps. Aunt stood on the steps at the far end, still laughing. I tiptoed halfway across, then spotted Zach lifting the hose from the ground where his dad had dropped it.

“A bee, a bee,” I screamed, running lead-footed across the porch. When Aunt turned in my direction, I waved my arms, as though swatting it away. She hurried down the steps and out of my way and collided with Zach’s dad, who had raced over at the commotion.

“Yeow!”

“Hey!”

The water hit them squarely, hard and fast. My aunt tried to dodge, but Mr. P. was forever in her way as he, too, tried to duck away. Finally, he pulled Aunt to him and, turning his back to the hose, shielded her until they were out of range of the water.

I skipped down the steps and high-fived Zach as he tossed the hose aside. Our dripping nemeses advanced toward us in mock agitation. Zach threw his hands up in surrender and I did the same. “Hey, fair is fair,” he called to his father.

The four of us congregated far from the hose.

“Well, looks like that will be it for today,” Mr. Philbrook said and attempted to wring some of the water from his shirt. “Let’s go, Zach. Good as it feels after baking in the sun, we should get dry.”

Aunt squeezed her ponytail out. “But I bought swordfish for the grill. Can you come back?”

Mr. P. pushed a soaked lock of curls behind her ear and studied her, not answering, until Zach nudged him none-too-gently with his elbow. That earned him a glower and Aunt a response. “Sure, Eddie. We’ll get cleaned up and be back by six for swordfish.”

Zach licked his lips in anticipation. “With lemon butter, right?”

Aunt laughed. “With lemon butter, of course.”

We gathered the yard tools as Zach and his dad rewound the hose and put the ladder away. Aunt walked toward the Philbrooks’ truck with her list of projects for both Jay and the bicentennial, but Zach remained. I perched on the porch steps to wait for Aunt and see what Zach had to say.

“You’re a good partner in crime.”

Not what I expected, but okay.

“And you’re cute when you’re wet.”

My shirt must have shrunk, because it was suddenly harder to breathe.

“You know, Daph, there’s something else about lighthouses I should tell you. Something you probably don’t know. Because of your age and all.”

O-kay. My age? With a raise of my eyebrows, I demanded, “And what might that be?” enunciating every word.

“When the handyman leaves, the keeper has to kiss him.”

“Hah!” The word burst from me and I started to laugh, but Zach strove to maintain his serious air, so I decided to play along. I composed myself.

“Uh, Zach? Nothing personal but . . .” I twisted my lips and scrunched up my nose.

His earnest expression slipped a notch.

“I really . . . don’t . . . want . . . to kiss . . .” I leaned away a bit with each hesitation and Zach leaned in a bit, his bottom jaw beginning to drop.

“. . . your dad.”

Zach grinned, but his shoulders sagged with relief. He dropped to the stairs beside me.

“I do want to kiss you.”

His head almost spun off his shoulders to look at me. Then he gauged the visuals between us and the truck. “If we’re caught, I won’t be back tonight.”

When he turned to make sure I had heard, I grabbed his face and kissed him. I mean I kissed him. My heart pounded, but as soon as our lips met, all my fears and worry and concern slid away, and I went for broke.

“I missed you.” Simple words, it seems, but powerful. I uttered them then pulled back, away from his lips and his arms. Away from safety and danger at once.

His gaze burned into mine. He fingered my hair, knuckles brushing my collarbone, and his other hand dropped lightly to my knee. “I missed you, too.”

The truck started. Zach stood abruptly.

“I’ve got to go.”

I nodded. “See you in a bit.”

He nodded back, not speaking, and hurried off.

I rose and climbed the steps to the porch. Aunt’s foot on the stair made me pause until she joined me to go in.

“We’re lucky we have them to help us out, Daph.”

“Absolutely,” I responded.

“I wish Jay would charge me right, though. He shouldn’t be discounting and doing work for free.”

“Give Zach a raise.”

My aunt turned to me in the mudroom. “What?”

“If his dad won’t charge you what he should, give Zach a raise. Or a bonus! Yeah, a bonus. The extra you’d pay his dad if he’d take it. It’s not like Zach doesn’t deserve it. And he’ll need it for college next year.”

My aunt mulled this over. “Jay would know what I’m up to.”

“So? He still wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Maybe I can increase his hourly and give him a ‘special projects’ bonus.” She winked at me. “Then it won’t be so obvious.”

As she headed to her room to clean up for dinner, I heard her mumble, “Damn stubborn man.”

Smiling, knowing exactly how she felt, I jogged up the stairs to my room.

My salad looked breathtaking on the table, grape tomatoes, yellow peppers, and mandarin orange slices tossed together against the green and burgundy leaves of the field greens. I finished oiling the last of the potatoes and added them to the grill. Mostly cooked in the microwave, the skin would crisp up nicely at about the same time the fish was done.

Zach and his dad arrived with corn on the cob and citronella torches. I helped Mr. P. with the torches since Zach was too busy drooling over the fish to lend a hand.

“Your aunt never remembers,” Mr. Philbrook explained as we drove the torches into the ground diagonally from each table corner. “You’d turn in tonight looking like bubble wrap.”

The visual made me laugh out loud and Zach’s dad seemed pleased by that.

Dinner went off without a hitch. I thought it was going to be weird, sitting through a whole meal with both of them, almost like a double date, but it wasn’t strange at all. The four of us had plenty to talk about, with the bicentennial so near, and even normal conversation never lagged.

We lined up at the fence near the base of the tower at sunset. The water lapped the rocks far below us, calm ripples in the windless night. The sun painted the white tower pink, cranberry, and blue, paler and paler until it disappeared beneath the horizon.

Four heads automatically looked up, checking that the light shone out across the water. We smiled at each other.

Clean up was quick and the torches burned low, but the night was still young.

“How about a movie?” Aunt suggested.

A ten minute debate later, we’d agreed to watch a movie, but not which one. A murmured conversation between Aunt and Zach’s dad followed.

“Daphne, we’re going to run to the video store. Do you know if we have popcorn left?”

“Yeah, but you might want to grab some soda.”

“Okay.” The two adults eyeballed us, gauging. “You coming with us, or staying here?”

Zach and I shrugged at the same time.

“Guess we’ll wait here.” I grinned. “Zach could use a few turns around the yard to walk off that food.”

They laughed at Zach’s pointed expression and Aunt put her hand to Mr. P.’s arm.

“I’ll meet you out front, Jay. I have to grab my purse.”

She watched him walk away then turned to us, her face serious. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Our solemn nods reassured her. She crossed the yard and disappeared into the house.

Zach and I started across the yard. We passed the table, one on either side, and continued on to the fence. Back to the sea, the shush of lazy waves. Back to the siren’s call.

I leaned on the wall of the tower, watching Zach. Zach rested his hands on the rail, watching the sea.

“You never told me, Zach,” I said, my voice hushed in the twilight. “What did you do while under house arrest?”

He didn’t look my way but answered, “Got lectured.”

“Lectured?”

No response.

“About what?”

“Responsibility.”

“Huh?” He’d lost me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, or I would have seen where this was going. Of course, I’d been asleep for the good parts of our last encounter, so I should be excused.

Zach turned his back to the sea and hopped up onto the top rail. He stared at his hands. “My dad reminded me I’ll be going to college come fall, and how young we are. That I should think about your reputation, and just plain think.” He tapped his temple. “With this head.”

“OH!” My hands flew to my mouth and I sagged against the lighthouse tower.

He glanced at me with a lopsided grin. “Sorry. But that’s what he said.”