The Thing with Feathers by McCall Hoyle

Author:McCall Hoyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blink
Published: 2017-07-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise.

EMILY DICKINSON

Well, if it isn’t one of my favorite volunteers,” a park ranger says to Chatham as we approach the front desk.

“I’m one of your only volunteers, George.” Chatham offers his hand to the man behind the counter.

“We haven’t seen you enough lately.”

“I’ve been volunteering at Potter’s House since you guys finished the renovations here.”

“Of course you have. Well, with all the hours you put in here last year, you’ve more than earned a free ticket for you and your lady friend.” George hands over two complimentary tickets, winking in my direction. “And I think you know enough of the history and safety regulations to guide your own tour.”

My ears perk up at the words safety regulations.

“I’ve always wanted to be a tour guide.” Chatham grabs my hand. “You’re going to love this, Emilie.” His smile lights up the visitor’s center.

George’s face turns serious as he levels his gaze on Chatham. “Your dad made another generous donation. Please tell him again how much we appreciate his support.”

Chatham tugs on my hand, stepping toward the door. “Yeah, I will,” he mutters without enthusiasm.

George says we’re lucky to have the place practically to ourselves, but I don’t feel as lucky as I did last night with Ayla. In fact, the deserted atmosphere seems like another bad omen, if you ask me. The Outer Banks lighthouses generally draw substantial crowds even in the fall. It’s odd there are no tourists around. Do they know something about the weather that Chatham and I missed?

“This is awesome,” Chatham whispers, placing a warm hand on my back as we cross the threshold into the tiny lighthouse foyer. He’s back to his cheerful self. “It’s like we’ve stepped back to nineteen hundred and we’re the keepers.”

“Except I’m pretty sure keepers weren’t teenage girls who were terrified of heights,” I mumble, turning to face him at the base of the two hundred and fourteen rickety steps leading up to the light. I’ve researched every detail about the lighthouse, down to the three hundred and forty prisms of the Fresnel lens lamp. It probably wasn’t one of my wiser decisions, considering I now know all the tower’s features, from the swaying spiral stairs to the dim interior lighting. The paragraph about the multimillion-dollar renovation to firm up the unstable structure and replace the rusted-out stairs didn’t do much to calm my fears.

He places a gentle finger underneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I’m a little afraid of heights.” I almost laugh at the understatement. It’s like saying a great white shark is just a little fish or a Komodo dragon is only a little lizard.

He loops an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a side hug. “Me too.”

“You don’t look scared.” Somehow, I forget the suffocating fear when I look into the placid waters of his eyes.

“That’s because I know what’s at the top is worth the climb. And because my dad has zero patience for fear or hesitation.

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