The Lighthouse Keeper Wants His Jumper Back

How it begins

Lara wore the jumper to the meeting because it was the only warm thing she owned that did not smell of the evacuation boat.

Halfway through her presentation, a man in the second row raised his hand.

She expected a question about funding.

“Is that mine?”

The room turned toward her.

The jumper was dark red, too large across the shoulders and repaired neatly at one cuff. A stranger had put it around her after the harbor warehouse flooded. She remembered wet hands, a calm voice and very little else.

“Possibly,” she said.

“Hugh Navarro. Lighthouse maintenance.”

The man opposing her new rescue scheme.

Of course.

She finished the slide before answering again.

Afterward, he waited beside the door while the committee discussed biscuits. Lara took off the jumper, then immediately regretted it. The hall's heating had been designed for people with better circulation.

Hugh did not reach for it.

“Keep it until you have something else.”

“I've been trying to return it.”

“I've been trying to stop your launch platform blocking the maintenance route.”

They looked at each other.

“I sent the revised plan,” she said.

“I sent the photographs.”

Neither had seen the other's attachment.

Outside, the tide moved beneath the harbor wall. A gull balanced on a rail she had marked for replacement. Hugh pointed toward a narrow stair almost hidden behind the storage shed.

“That is how we reach the lower light.”

“It's not on the council survey.”

“No.”

Lara put the jumper back on.

For weeks she had thought he was protecting a routine. He had thought she was ignoring one. Somewhere between those conclusions lay a stair neither committee had bothered to walk.

“Show me,” she said.

He stepped aside to let her lead.

On the way down, she touched the repaired cuff.

“You did this?”

“Yes.”

“Good work.”

Hugh looked at her, surprised.

For once, neither of them had a document open between them.