Read Online The Lightkeeper's Daughter by Iain Lawrence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Iain Lawrence
Tags: Fiction
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breathe, can’t surface, can’t escape. Dad just
WILL NOT LISTEN!!!! Mom can’t persuade him and won’t
even try anymore. Thank God for Squid. It would be HELL here
if it wasn’t for Squid. I’m afraid to tell her that I think I’m
The page ended there, and she didn’t turn it. She closed the book, feeling dirty and ashamed. She felt just the way she had the time Murray found her sunbathing naked on the back porch of Gomorrah, feet together, arms spread wide across the hot red paint. She touched the book to her forehead; she rapped it on her brow.
But the book had a power. It called to her like a siren to a sailor, tempting her with all its secrets. She felt that she would not be able to set it down; it would cling like tar to her fingers. Or if she could, it would only leap again into her hands. She couldn’t possibly
not
find out what Alastair was too frightened to tell her.
I think I’m going blind.
I think I’m going insane.
She cracked open the book; her finger still marked the right place. She wanted to see that one sentence and no other. No matter what it said, she would not read any more.
Alastair’s letters slanted backward. They leapt over the page with no thought for the lines. They shouted at her, full of rage and frustration.
I’m afraid to tell her that I think I’m
She plucked at the edge of the page, peeling back the corner. And suddenly she hurled the book away. It hit the wall and fluttered down like a wounded bird. It crumpled on the floor, upright with the pages fanned toward her. And she sat, and she stared at the thing; she couldn’t betray him that way.
In her whole life she’d met no more than fifty people. But no one on earth could have a greater sense of righteousness than Alastair. “I have a rule,” he’d told her. “Don’t do something if there’s a single person—anywhere— that you don’t want to know what you’re doing.”
She collected the book, and she put it back where she found it. She was sitting downstairs when Alastair came in from the rain. He hung up his slicker. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. And then, hoping to make him smile, “Really, nothing at all.”
He never smiled anymore. He frowned at her as he took off his glasses and wiped the rain from the lenses. He went upstairs. And a moment later he was back, storming down the steps, waving the book in his hand.
“You read it!” he said. “I asked you and asked you, and you went in and read it.”
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You did!” He was whining. He trembled like a whirligig man. “I put a hair between the pages. And now it’s gone. And there’s no one on this whole stupid island who would do this except for you.”
“You put a hair in there?” she said. “You’re a nut, Alastair.”
“Don’t turn it onto me,” he said. “You went through my room, and you found the book and you read it.”
“I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. Inside, she felt awful, like an apple rotted below the skin. She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “He put a hair between the pages. What sort of a mind would think of that?”
Alastair breathed through his nose, a whistle and rasp. His hair stood up in tufts, and water dripped from the bony point of his chin. He sort of shrank inside himself, like a fan folding closed. “How could you do this?” he asked. “I trusted you, Squid.”
“You did not,” she said with a laugh. “You hid it away at the back of the shelves. And anyway . . .” She stood up. “I
didn’t
read it, so you don’t have to torture yourself. I found it, but I couldn’t read it.”
He didn’t believe her, not fully. And she knew there was nothing more to say. She went out in the rain, and Alastair went back to his room. He turned the radio on and set the volume as high as he could. They only got the one station, the public broadcasting, and the house shook with the sound of opera. The deep voice of a tenor vibrated in the
WILL NOT LISTEN!!!! Mom can’t persuade him and won’t
even try anymore. Thank God for Squid. It would be HELL here
if it wasn’t for Squid. I’m afraid to tell her that I think I’m
The page ended there, and she didn’t turn it. She closed the book, feeling dirty and ashamed. She felt just the way she had the time Murray found her sunbathing naked on the back porch of Gomorrah, feet together, arms spread wide across the hot red paint. She touched the book to her forehead; she rapped it on her brow.
But the book had a power. It called to her like a siren to a sailor, tempting her with all its secrets. She felt that she would not be able to set it down; it would cling like tar to her fingers. Or if she could, it would only leap again into her hands. She couldn’t possibly
not
find out what Alastair was too frightened to tell her.
I think I’m going blind.
I think I’m going insane.
She cracked open the book; her finger still marked the right place. She wanted to see that one sentence and no other. No matter what it said, she would not read any more.
Alastair’s letters slanted backward. They leapt over the page with no thought for the lines. They shouted at her, full of rage and frustration.
I’m afraid to tell her that I think I’m
She plucked at the edge of the page, peeling back the corner. And suddenly she hurled the book away. It hit the wall and fluttered down like a wounded bird. It crumpled on the floor, upright with the pages fanned toward her. And she sat, and she stared at the thing; she couldn’t betray him that way.
In her whole life she’d met no more than fifty people. But no one on earth could have a greater sense of righteousness than Alastair. “I have a rule,” he’d told her. “Don’t do something if there’s a single person—anywhere— that you don’t want to know what you’re doing.”
She collected the book, and she put it back where she found it. She was sitting downstairs when Alastair came in from the rain. He hung up his slicker. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. And then, hoping to make him smile, “Really, nothing at all.”
He never smiled anymore. He frowned at her as he took off his glasses and wiped the rain from the lenses. He went upstairs. And a moment later he was back, storming down the steps, waving the book in his hand.
“You read it!” he said. “I asked you and asked you, and you went in and read it.”
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You did!” He was whining. He trembled like a whirligig man. “I put a hair between the pages. And now it’s gone. And there’s no one on this whole stupid island who would do this except for you.”
“You put a hair in there?” she said. “You’re a nut, Alastair.”
“Don’t turn it onto me,” he said. “You went through my room, and you found the book and you read it.”
“I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. Inside, she felt awful, like an apple rotted below the skin. She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “He put a hair between the pages. What sort of a mind would think of that?”
Alastair breathed through his nose, a whistle and rasp. His hair stood up in tufts, and water dripped from the bony point of his chin. He sort of shrank inside himself, like a fan folding closed. “How could you do this?” he asked. “I trusted you, Squid.”
“You did not,” she said with a laugh. “You hid it away at the back of the shelves. And anyway . . .” She stood up. “I
didn’t
read it, so you don’t have to torture yourself. I found it, but I couldn’t read it.”
He didn’t believe her, not fully. And she knew there was nothing more to say. She went out in the rain, and Alastair went back to his room. He turned the radio on and set the volume as high as he could. They only got the one station, the public broadcasting, and the house shook with the sound of opera. The deep voice of a tenor vibrated in the
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