He stepped to one side as she retrieved her jacket from her bag and made for the door. She had expected to hear an objection, a question, or at the very least a disapproving comment, but none were forthcoming. To her surprise, he just reached into his pocket and handed over one of the keys.

“Take this with you in case I decide to head downstairs for a drink. And please don’t go far, okay?”

Amy put the key in her pocket. “I won’t.”

The walk to the beach took only a few minutes, but it was surprisingly busy, full of couples strolling hand in hand, people playing fetch with their dogs, children splashing about in the shallows. Hoping for some solitude, Amy’s attention was drawn to the northern end of the bay, where she spotted a rocky outcrop protruding into the ocean, at the very end of which stood the town’s lighthouse. Seeing as the tower appeared to be deserted, Amy buttoned up her jacket and set off straight for it.

The lighthouse was farther from shore than it initially seemed, and up close it bore little resemblance to the pristine tower depicted in her room. Its circular wall was pockmarked with cracks and holes, giving the impression that a single tap from a hammer would be enough to bring the whole building crashing down. The domed roof had faded to pale gray, and the lantern room, teeming with gulls that had made it their home, appeared as though it had taken artillery fire, such was the damage to its glass surrounds. Guarding the base was a tall fence that wrapped all the way around, and through diamond-shaped holes in the wire mesh, fixed with permanence to the building’s boarded-up door, Amy could see a sign that read:

No Public Access

Danger—Unstable Structure

By order of Seabrook County,
entry into the lighthouse
is strictly prohibited.

Heeding the warning, Amy traversed a path around the fence, climbed down some jagged rocks, and found a quiet place to sit. The sun had already set behind a wall of clouds and there was hardly any wind, leaving the ocean looking cold, flat, and ominously gray.