What The Light Meant
They were ahead of schedule one whole day the day Dennie LeGuin, hockey legend, died. So the director decided to give them the afternoon off, so they could give the Canadian icon his due.
"Another round?"
There were things to interfere with one's hearing. The surf was up. The outdoor heaters, to which they were as close as they could get, made a sound like an amplified whispering of mislaid souls. And of course there was cheering from both cast and crew.
Farhead had learned, however, that his wife and his attention had to go together if he wanted any kind of happiness at all. He watched her lips, he assessed her expression, then he ventured a reply, along with an unspoken prayer that it be the right one.
"We don't have to," he said, bending close. "I doubt anyone would notice."
Nearheart shivered in spite of the heater. The wind off the sea had a chill that was hard to keep out. But she had met the show's stars. She had met them and they had remembered her name. And the food was to die for. A golden beet soup and grilled tuna no chef in Toronto could beat, she felt sure.
"Well," she said. "Then I'll have another. But not you. We still have to get home."
The afternoon slipped into evening. The rotating beam of the lighthouse beyond the parking lot became more apparent, along with the storm that was gathering. Nearheart got up to go be social somewhere else. Farhead stayed on. He wished she would have too. His friend Driver appeared in her chair.
"That Eileen, she's right sociable," said his friend. "But where's your drink?"
"Have you ever noticed," said Farhead, "what it is that a guiding light does?"
Driver looked where he saw Farhead looking, at the lighthouse. "I reckon I have," he said laughing. He raised his beer in that direction. "Being as how I grew up here, on the land and on the sea."
"Then tell me," said Farhead, "what it is that it does."
"Well, it guides you," said Driver. "It guides you to safety. What do you think it does?"
"I think you may be wrong," said Farhead. "That is what I think. It knows of danger, yes, but not of safety. What is safety, that is what you have to know yourself. Lighthouse only tells you, sir, don't you come here."
"You are a thinker, that's for sure. I think you need another beer. That's what this guiding light is all about. I never shied away from nothin'. And I'm still here, ain't I?"
"You must be," said Farhead. "If not, how could I be? You got me work when I could find no work. And for that I am so very grateful."
Driver clapped him on the shoulder. When next he averted his gaze from the lighthouse, his wife was in the chair again.
"Let's go home," she said. "Or have you been drinking with Driver again? I saw him over here."
"We were having a discussion," said Farhead, "about guiding lights."
"I'm your guiding light, pal, and don't you forget it."
As he fastened her seatbelt around her, he was tempted to kiss her. And more. She looked and smelled so desirable. He brushed her cheek with his hand so he could feel her warmth. He was, as they would say here in the West, beside himself with longing.
But her eyes were closed.
Behind the wheel, hearing gravel pop under his tires as he turned, he gave a last look at the light.
"How can I remember?" he said to the shining. "I love her too much."
13 February 2022
Texas Jim
Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca