The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse
Mary Schramski

I've never been close with my father…Even though I'm his only child. We were both held together by my mother, the warm, dancing flame attracting the quiet moths. Dad was always on the other side of the sun; I could never reach him.Now Mom's gone. It's Christmas. And my unapproachable father is chasing a wild, crazy, impossible dream. He's putting everything he has into restoring an old, abandoned lighthouse that Mom loved.Yet, after a while, something about restoring the landmark started to make sense. Because in the glow of that beacon, a wife and mother was not gone, but instead was showing her two most treasured people the way toward peace.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS…

Suddenly I was thinking about my dad and how I hadn’t spent many Christmases with him. We’ve never really connected, but as far as family goes, he’s all I have left. That’s when I burst into tears—a forty-two-year-old successful Realtor, crying her eyes out on her Pottery Barn couch. I sat there, thinking about how this year, if I didn’t go home, I’d be alone. I don’t have a boyfriend. Truth be known, I haven’t had a date in a year because I work too much and I’m picky as hell about the men I date.

Long story short—I bought an airline ticket online. Deep down, I was hoping I might get closer to my father over Christmas.

Then I called him.

Mary Schramski

began writing when she was about ten. The first story she wrote took place at a junior high school. Her mother told her it was good, so she immediately threw it away. She read F. Scott Fitzgerald at eleven, fell in love with storytelling and decided to teach English. She holds a Ph.D. in creative writing and enjoys teaching and encouraging other writers. She lives in Nevada with her husband, and her daughter who lives close by. Visit Mary’s Web site at www.maryschramski.com.

The Lighthouse

Mary Schramski

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

From the Author

Dear Reader,

I was inspired to write The Lighthouse because I believe:

There are people in our lives who guide us through the rough times,

Lighthouses are special,

And no matter what problems we face, there is always hope.

I also love the sound of the ocean in the morning, the veil of fog as the sun breaks through the clouds at sunrise and the happiness I feel when I connect with my family. The Lighthouse is the story of how a family deals with love, grief, past hurts—and how the light of forgiveness can bring us home, as a lighthouse does.

Come with me. We’ll stroll the beach, watch the sun set, laugh, cry and believe!

Mary

For my daughter

Jess—my light.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 1

The stars and the rivers

And waves call you back.

—Pindar

I feel invisible right now.

I’m sitting on an airplane next to an older man who reminds me a little of my father. And we are waiting to deplane into the Los Angeles airport. We never spoke a word to each other. At thirty thousand feet, when it got really bumpy, I wanted to say to him, Wow this is scary, but he was reading and I didn’t want to bother him.

Not saying what I feel isn’t unusual for me. Even when I have my feet on the ground, I don’t tell people what I think.

Like three weeks ago when I was watching TV. A Christmas commercial about cameras came on. In the middle, where the smiling, tearful mother says goodbye to her daughter, I started thinking about my mom, how I miss her, and how I wish I’d told her I loved her the last time we spoke.

Suddenly, I was thinking about my dad and how I hadn’t spent many Christmases with him. We’ve never really connected, but as far as family goes, he’s all I have left. That’s when I burst into tears—a forty-two-year-old, successful Realtor, crying her eyes out on her Pottery Barn couch. Twice I stopped, then I’d think about my mother, alone, in her smashed-up silver Camry. I’d start crying again. She called me the night before her accident. I didn’t call her back because I was angry about a million-dollar house I’d missed signing.