The Lighthouse

At length he broke off the kiss. “Why don’t we go down and christen our new bed?”

“That’s a fine way to put it,” Alix said, but she took his hand and they moved across to the open trapdoor.

Downstairs, in the living room, the telephone rang.

It had a loud bell and the acoustics of the tower allowed them to hear it plainly. Jan said, “Damn. Your father, I’ll bet. He always did have a fine sense of timing.”

“Could be somebody else.”

“Your father,” he said. “You’d better go answer it.”

“All right. Wait for me in the bedroom.”

“Just don’t be too long. I’m pushing forty, you know; I can’t maintain an erection as long as I used to.”

“Hah,” she said, and kissed him quickly, and hurried down the three flights of stairs to the living room. She was puffing when she picked up the receiver and said hello.

Her father’s voice said, “Alix? That you?”

“Yes, Dad, it’s me.”

“You okay? You sound out of breath.”

“I’m fine. We were up in the lantern.”

“The what?”

“The lantern. Top of the tower where the light is.”

“What were you doing up there?”

“Jan was checking the lens.”

Matthew Kingsley chuckled. He considered Jan’s enthusiasm for lighthouses-as well as his scholarly vocation-whimsical, on a par with becoming a poet or running off to join a traveling circus. In Matthew’s world, real men didn’t teach-they worked with their hands, built, accomplished tangible tasks. He himself had been a twenty-year career man in the Navy, had flown missions in the Korean War, and then had gone on to make a name-and a small fortune-in the aerospace industry. Now he was a successful politician: congressman from California’s influential Eleventh District for the past eight years, and a strong contender for the next gubernatorial nomination. Matthew seemed genuinely puzzled by his son-in-law’s passion for the classroom and books; but at the same time he was fond of Jan, so what few criticisms he voiced took the form of mild and good-natured kidding.

“Well,” he was saying, “just as long as you kids are having a good time.”

“Is that why you called-to see if we’re having fun?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’d arrived safely and are on your way to getting settled. I have a personal interest in this venture, you know.”

There was a note of pride in her father’s voice; he’d been remarkably successful in the complicated matter of getting them permission from the Oregon State Parks Department to live in the Cape Despair Light for a year. And he was genuinely pleased to have been of help; Matthew liked using his influence to help others (although he seldom used it in his own behalf).

He’d have been hurt if he knew her gratitude was mixed, that she feared his help in the matter had been obtained at some cost to her marriage. Years before, when Jan had learned-after the fact-that his father-in-law had been directly responsible for his appointment to the Stanford faculty, he’d been angry and resentful. And once that storm was over, they’d mutually decided they would never again allow Matthew to use his influence on their behalf.

Why, then, had Jan broken their vow and gone to her father behind her back to ask for this enormous favor? At first she’d thought it had to do with her own plans to enter into partnership in a Los Angeles graphic arts firm next year. Although she would be establishing the Northern California branch of the company, the work would entail a lot of traveling to L.A. She’d asked him if that was his reason, and he’d said of course it was: “You won’t have time for lighthouses after you become a big executive.” But he’d said it so readily that she wondered then if it wasn’t just a convenient excuse, if there was some other explanation for the puzzling urgency of his request to her father. When she’d tried to question Jan further, he’d become closed off and unreachable, unable or unwilling to talk to her about it.

Her father was saying something. She said, “I’m sorry. Dad, what was that?”

“I said, everything is all right, isn’t it?”

She hastened to reassure him it was, gave him a brief description of the lighthouse, and promised to call him and her mother when they were more settled. After the conversation ended, she sat on the lumpy, overstuffed couch that, along with two equally lumpy chairs and a couple of end tables, comprised the living room furniture. It was dark beyond the small windows; she peered out at the night, thinking about her family and her home, about Jan’s drop-everything need to start writing his history of lighthouses that had brought them so many miles from all that was familiar.

But she didn’t sit there for long; there was nothing to be gained by brooding. Besides, Jan was waiting upstairs. And tonight he was all she really needed.

Alix

Late the next morning, they went into Hilliard to buy supplies and propane tank refills.