Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Was that a giant fuck you to anyone who messed with him?
Time to channel a little Leonidas Blackthorn and stop slinking around like a scolded cat.
I head downstairs, find the flashlight in the kitchen drawer, and make sure it turns on.
Yes.
The bright light floods the dimly lit halls.
Just a quick look outside to make sure nothing’s blown loose. It can’t hurt for peace of mind.
I nod to myself as I step outside and—
Holy crap!
The wind slaps my face, whipping my hair into my eyes. I struggle to brush it back with my fingers so I can see straight.
The lake sounds rough tonight, slapping the shore. A blanket of clouds drift in like stampeding elephants.
Ugh.
Hopefully their flight isn’t delayed.
Of course, the kids’ safety comes first, but it would really suck if they get tied up at the airport waiting half the night while I’m stuck here alone.
For now, let’s not think about it.
Besides, for all I know, the storm is localized and might just graze Bar Harbor.
I ignore the pulsing anxiety as I walk down to the site of the burned gazebo and the old storm shelter before the rain starts pounding.
Since it’s been opened before, I’m able to yank the doors wide enough to stare down into the darkness.
They creak like a coffin.
Silly.
It’s only scarier now because I’m here alone.
But I have my phone.
I might as well take a quick look.
With one hand braced against the wall, I descend the steps one at a time.
They’re steep, but sturdy, and soon I’m at the bottom without breaking my neck.
The same stale scent I noticed before rubs my lungs and I try not to cough. This place needs to be left open one day to air out.
I swing the light around, taking in the old clay pottery figures of my grandparents, half-finished, and all those little shoes on the table.
Why did he leave them like this?
Did Gramps ever come down here much after she died? After the fire?
If he didn’t, that would explain the staleness, I guess.
I swear there’s a hint of scorched smoke, but it might be my imagination.
Turning the corner to the back wall, behind the stairs, I shine the flashlight on the stained glass.
It’s so pretty. The colors glint vividly in the light.
As I admire it, I notice something behind the glass, just a dull blurry shadow.
There must be something inside that cabinet.
I can’t tell what it is when I get closer, pointing the beam at the tinted window.
Another painting, maybe? A book? With a small round rock on top of it?
It looks like a few treasures trapped behind there. No way of getting to them without smashing the beautiful glass.
Sigh.
Another family secret waiting, even if it’s not the priority tonight.
Does it have anything to do with the shoes that had Gramps so upset? My mind drifts back to Holden’s story.
I idly let the light drop to the floor, running a hand through my hair, barely breathing.
My fingers still feel stiff and wrinkly from my cleaning blitz despite wearing gloves the whole time.
I just wish I knew what Gramps was thinking when he left this place behind.
Back when he was alive, I never imagined he had so many layers.
He was just PopPop, a human lighthouse built to weather any storm and shine like the stars through the darkness I’ve only started to understand.
That darkness was his.
And now the lighthouse is gone.
Here I am, mentally and literally wandering the stormy night, wondering if for just a split second, maybe I can find one last dying ember he left behind.
This can’t be unique.
Every family has a few ugly mysteries, sure.
But Blackthorn secrets only burble up to inflict pain.
It’s a miracle Ethan put down the bottle and finally chose to fight for his future.
My phone buzzes then, scaring me to death.
Jesus!
I pull it out to send Kane another hi, I’m not dead text.
Kane: Kids are on the plane. Just took off and I’m leaving now. Might be slow going in this weather.
Right.
Thunder growls down at me through the open storm doors. I wince.
It’s a big enough storm to hit Bar Harbor and snarl any traffic on the small windy backroads to Sully Bay.
Hurry back and stay safe! I send before shoving my phone back in my pocket.
There’s a steady pelting rain now.
Pretty much inevitable with clouds this dense, but I didn’t think it would hit so quickly.
Time to get moving.
I climb back up the stairs carefully since they’re already slick, shielding my face as I look at the sky, which rips open and drops its grief.
Another squall soaks me as I’m fumbling back to the house, making my clothes wet and heavy.
Holy shit, this sucks.
I’m a shivering mess by the time I go pounding through the front door, drenched and tingling from the cold.
I’m so disoriented I don’t notice it at first.
The pantry door half-open.