Page 21 of Me and Mr. Just Right

“The searchers brought the father to Petersburg, but he escaped to return to the island only a few days later, nearly mad with his efforts. People in town soon began to see a murky yellow light out here at night, when the sky was darkest—no moon, mist covering the stars. No one ever saw him again. To this day, people still see that light on the darkest nights and say that it’s that man, searching for his family.”

She frowned. “That’s really sad. Have you seen the light?”

He shook his head. “Rosie swears she has. We grew up on this story, and when the island came up for sale, I convinced my brothers to go in on it with me and buy it.”

“Why not Rosie too?”

“She was a teenager when we signed the papers. But she loves this place as much as the rest of us—if not more.” He helped her navigate through some particularly thorny bushes, his hand firm around hers. “I’d noticed the last few times we came that sometimes things were moved or missing, and I figured it was her coming to stay without telling us—not that she was renting it out.” He shook his head, but he smiled like he couldn’t help being proud of her.

Haydn used a stick to hold back a huge patch of leaves that were bigger than her head and almost reached to her shoulder, revealing the cabin. It was small—no bigger than the bedroom she was sleeping in back at the cabin—and dilapidated. Rotted wooden slats framed smashed-in windows, and the roof sank downward like a limp sun hat.

The eerie melody flowed through her mind again, this time with a few extra notes. She hummed it, playing with the sound until it sounded exactly how she imagined it.

“What song is that?” Haydn said.

She had to be careful. If he started to associate her with music, he might guess who she was. “Just random notes. Like doodling, but with chords.”

“Hmm. I can’t relate. My doodling—both in song form and written—is terrible.”

Bennett and Jules had already arrived and were leaning against a huge boulder while chatting. With both of them posed with their arms folded and legs crossed in an identical way, it was easy to see how much they looked alike.

She turned back to the cabin, a thrill zinging through her at the sight. The thick canopy of trees hung overhead, turning the steadily falling rain into a mist that hovered around them. It was like stepping into another world, one she hadn’t even known existed, so far removed from her own it was like being in another universe.

Haydn had pulled out his camera and was taking pictures of the cabin, pausing to look through his viewfinder now and again.

“Don’t you have enough pictures of that cabin yet?” Jules called out.

“I can’t ever have enough,” he replied. Lia wished she could relax at the sight of the camera. He was keeping it focused on the cabin, and nowhere near her. “I’m thinking about pitching a feature on the island for the magazine.” He knelt to take a photograph from a different angle.

“It’s about time,” Jules said. “Are you going to tell the ghost story?”

“I think so.” Haydn shrugged. “I haven’t even run it by my editor yet. He might say no.”

“Then send it to someone else. LikeNature,” Bennett said.

Haydn’s shoulders stiffened, something she might not have even noticed if she wasn’t spending so much time checking out those shoulders. “Um, yeah. I guess I could do that,” he said in a way that convinced no one that he was actually considering it.

Bennett’s eyes narrowed, but before he could reply, Haydn turned to Lia. “Want to see inside?”

Excitement buzzed through her. This was better on so many levels than the pity party she’d planned for herself. “Can I?”

“Yes, just be careful where you step. There’s a rotted-out porch, and the wood is questionable in some places.”

She followed him up the stairs and through the open, hinged doorway of the cabin. Inside, it smelled musty and earthy. A rocking chair sat in the corner, and bones of some kind were nestled beneath it. “Please tell me that’s an animal’s bones.”

“Critters like to bring their lunch in here.” Haydn crouched down beside the bones. “Looks like something small. A bird of some sort. A raven, maybe.”

She crouched beside him, feeling the closeness of him all along the side of her as she studied the bones and spotted a beak. He took a few pictures close up of the bones, and she looked over his shoulder to see how he was framing them.

The forgotten bones of who I used to be …

“More doodling?” Haydn teased.

She hadn’t even realized she’d started humming again. “I think in music,” she said. “And apparently, I think out loud.”

“I do my thinking through the lens, which might explain a lot. Two-dimensional, not very interesting thoughts …”

She laughed. “Not true. You’re a big deal. Remember that.”

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