time his house was finished, he’d be able to climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.
The thought made him smile. Once, climbing to the top of the light had been so much fun. Although, now that he thought about it, there had been lots of other fun times out on the island. He and Granddad used to take camping trips out there all the time. On those lazy summer days, they’d sailed all over the inlet, spending nights telling pirate stories around the campfire and eating catfish they’d caught off the pier. Those had been some of the best days of Topher’s childhood.
He would get strong enough to climb those stairs, if for no other reason than to prove his newly hired architect wrong. Not that he would ever admit how her words had affected him in the last twenty-four hours.
The funny thing was that she hadn’t called out his disability to be cruel. She’d simply noted it down like one of the many observations she’d put in that notebook of hers. Like his frailty was something to be weighed and measured.
Well, screw that.
He skirted the live oak as quickly as he could, not wishing to linger where much sadder memories ran deep. He’d spent a lot of lonely time up in that tree after his mother died. Aunt Mary, Ashley’s grandmother, had helped to raise him.
He followed the footpath down a set of concrete stairs to a small sand beach, where he abandoned his cane and towel. Walking along the sand was hard work and required the use of muscles that had atrophied over the last few months.
It was a relief when he finally reached the water’s edge. As he waded out into the bay, the water buoyed him up. Feeling momentarily weightless, he could walk along the sandy bottom without nearly as much pain. And when he submerged himself, he discovered that he could swim without any pain at all.
He was out of shape and easily winded, but swimming every day would change that quickly. The discovery lifted his spirits for the first time in ages.
It was getting close to dusk when he finally emerged, the gravity pulling him back to earth. The pain returned, and his legs felt rubbery under him. Even after he’d dried off and rested a few minutes, climbing the three stairs from the beach to the lawn was like hauling himself up every single stair circling the lighthouse.
He blew out a frustrated breath. He wasn’t going to recover in a day of swimming. But he was impatient enough to want that. He leaned on his cane and rested, breathing hard as he studied the live oak. The tree called to him, but he resisted.
Instead, he headed back up the path toward the cottage, but a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He stopped and turned his head.
What was that? A shadow against the deeper shadows of the evening? He blinked, his heart still thudding in his chest from his swim. Was it the ghost?
No. There was no such thing. It was only the kid—Ashley’s son, Jackie. The kid was sitting under the tree, his knees drawn up against his chest, his forehead pressed against them in a picture of familiar misery.
Topher pulled himself upright, wrapped the towel around his shoulders, and left the footpath. His cane sank into the soft lawn as he hobbled toward the old tree and the sad little boy.
“So, what’s the story?” Topher asked when he finally made it across the lawn. The kid had been lurking around the cottage for days, as if he’d wanted to start a conversation but had been too frightened to try it.
Not surprising given the state of Topher’s face. But he wasn’t about to walk by and leave the kid looking so miserable. Topher had spent his share of miserable days under the canopy of this particular tree.
“Go away,” the kid said to his updrawn knees.
“Didn’t have a good day at school, then?”
The kid looked up, giving him a daggerlike stare despite the sheen of tears on his cheeks. “And what would you know about it, anyway?” he asked.
Whoa. Topher expected the kid to give him the stare, or maybe run away screaming. But instead the boy met his gaze as if he wasn’t at all frightened by Topher’s disfigured face.
“I know a lot, actually. I was kind of a nerd in school,” Topher said.
“I bet you didn’t have people calling you a liar all the time, did you,