I stood as he neared, not because I wanted to—I was comfortable on my boulder—but because Jackson was growling. He was good at protecting me, even when I didn’t need protecting or didn’t think I did.
“Jackson, hush,” I said, putting my hand on his head, trying to reassure him.
“Hey, Jackson,” Luca called.
At the sound of his voice, Jackson relaxed and wagged his tail. So much for my protector.
Jackson went to Luca and sniffed at him and the fish Luca held above Jackson’s head.
“Nice catch,” I said.
“Aunt Sam asked me to catch some for dinner,” he answered, avoiding my gaze.
“Where did you learn to fish?” I asked, trying to be polite. Why did I care to be polite, I wondered, as he took a few more steps toward me. The wind was still and the sun hot on my bare arms.
“I used to spend a lot of time at the beach, watching people fish. Aunt Sam sent me money for my birthday once and it was enough to buy a pole.”
“Is that it?” I asked, gesturing to the pole he held in his left hand.
He nodded.
“It looks nice,” I said.
“It works all right,” he said as his thumb rubbed the smooth fiberglass.
“Sam will be grateful for the fish, I’m sure,” I said, still trying to be friendly.
“We’ve had lobster every meal since I’ve been here,” he said, sounding slightly nervous.
I forced a small giggle. “Lobster does get tiring. I bet your friends back home are jealous, though.”
He made eye contact for a brief moment and then averted his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was shy or creepy.
“I don’t have many friends, or any, really,” he said softly. “But yeah, I never figured I’d get tired of lobster. It’s so cheap, so we keep eating it. That’s why she asked me to go fishing.”
“Cheaper than chicken,” I said. Which was the summer mantra at our house and probably every house on the coast of Maine—at least when the harvest was good—and this year was one of those years. Though we never ate it for more than two nights in a row.
He nodded slightly.
“I don’t have many friends either, or any, really,” I said, surprised I was telling him something so personal.
He smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and sincere.
“You don’t leave your property much, do you?” he asked.
“How do you know?” I asked, suddenly worried he was watching us during the day as well as at night.
“Aunt Sam, she told me how your family is the most like a family she’s ever known, and she said, for the most part, you all stick around here.”
“Did she tell you why?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice even.
He lowered his head and dug the toe of his flip-flop into the sand. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said, relaxing a little. “I’m sorry for you, too.”
He nodded and turned his head away. He looked like he was trying not to cry.
I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to make him upset, or even to talk to him. I started toward my rock, a signal that he could leave.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, taking a small step in my direction.
I stood facing him. “I guess so.”
“What is that?” he said.
I followed his gaze. The old inn was there, mostly engulfed by trees on the edge of the rising mountain.
“An inn my great-great-grandparents ran,” I answered.
“Have you ever been inside?” he asked, eyes curious and cautious at the same time.
I shook my head.
“Good,” he said, his body shuddering as he spoke.
He’d have a difficult time when the temperatures dropped. This was the mildest of autumn days and, still, he was cold.
“Why?” I asked. When I was younger, I had wanted to explore the inn, but my parents and Gigi said no.
“It looks dangerous,” he said, his eyebrows pulled together.
“That’s what my dad says. He says a good sneeze will bring it down. It survives the ocean winds year after year, so it can’t be that fragile,” I said, watching Luca.
“There are other ways for something to be dangerous,” he said, eyes focused on the dilapidated two-story cedar shake building.
“What?” I asked.
His voice had been slightly muffled by the waves and what I thought I heard him say didn’t make much sense. How else could a building hurt a person, other than falling on top of them?
“Nothing,” he said, shifting his attention to the sea. “You have a nice backyard,” he said, changing the subject.
“Yes, I do.” The wind blew the strands of my ponytail to the side of my face.
He shifted his load and began moving forward, toward the trail. Our moment together was over. I wasn’t sorry to see him go. I was happy to have the solitude of the waves and sand. I sat down on my rock, Jackson coming beside me. My hand slid down his back, his fur soft and sleek to the touch. We watched together as Luca made his way off the soft sand and onto the beginning of the trail. He turned as he was about to enter the woods.
“Will you walk back with me?” he shouted above the rhythmic waves.
It was an odd request and an even odder expression. Even from a distance, I could sense he seemed afraid.
Jackson and I exchanged a look. I stood and so did he. He trotted beside me as I brushed the sand from the sweatshirt I’d been sitting on.
When I reached Luca, I said, “Why did you want me to walk with you?”
He started up the trail, hesitated, and then said, “Do you know much about that place?”
It took me a moment to understand what place he was talking about. “The inn?”
He nodded.
“I’m not sure there’s much to know. It’s an old run-down inn, built by Gigi’s grandparents.”
“Do you know anything else about it, or them? Did anything happen there?” he asked with intense curiosity and fear, though he was trying to hide it.
“I’m sure things happened there,” I said. “It was an inn. Things happen in inns.”
The wind blew and he shivered.
“Are you cold?” I asked. “Maine is a lot colder than Florida,” I said, trying to be kind to my strange neighbor.
He turned to face me, his expression sending a chill through my body. “No,” he said.
I stepped away.
In his expression, I saw the guy who stared at my windows. The guy who frightened me, the guy who made me want to never let my little sisters out of my sight. My body became rigid. Jackson responded to the change. He watched me, not sure why I was scared, yet sensing it. I was glad for his presence. He’d protect me. If Luca tried to hurt me, Jackson would stop him.
“I scared you. I’m sorry,” Luca said. “I didn’t mean to.” His voice and gaze became softer.
“No, I’m not scared,” I lied—but not well. “I’m going to run up. I told my father I’d be back from the beach soon. I don’t want him to worry or come looking for me.”
“I understand,” he said.
The words sounded sad. I’d hurt his feelings. I didn’t care.
He made me feel scared on my own property, and that made me angry. This guy—this man who was barely older than me had taken away the one place in this messed-up world where I had felt safe. Or maybe he had shown me how naïve I’d been to ever feel safe.