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There’s a door in the lighthouse that neither Gem nor Grian dares to open. It is the same as the two others on this floor, with a carved abalone shell embedded above the doorframe and a simple pewter doorknob at hip height. The door sits quietly between the two as Gem and Grian pass through them day by day, but never do they linger by the door, and seldom do they look. It’s just another reminder of a truth they hate to remember: Pearl is not coming back, not because she doesn’t want to, but because she can’t.
Death is strange like that.
Despite the ache that hangs like an anchor around them, they keep on going. Gem carries in bundles of fishing nets to mend, and Grian hauls oil up from town for the lantern. Pearl would have wanted this, they tell themselves. Pearl would have wanted us to keep going. They repeat it, day and night, and yet it’s not enough to quell the grief that bubbles up inside.
Gem can’t bear it anymore, one day. She marches up to Pearl’s door, hand resting on an abalone crescent pinned to her cloak. Its design is modeled after the one embedded in the doorframe; a piece of Pearl they can bring with them. Gem goes to open the door, only for her hand to pause above the knob. She wants to feel the cold of the metal against her skin, the splinters of wood against her fingers as she pushes the door open, but as much as she wants to, she finds that she can’t. The thought of opening the door and no Pearl being there is too much to bear.
She falls to her knees, the shimmer of abalone blurring as tears gather in her eyes. Pearl was supposed to be here, Gem knows. She was meant to be part of their three, part of the Villies. She was supposed to be the best. At that thought, a sob escapes Gem’s chest.
Behind her, footsteps sound on the stairs. Grian settles himself on the floor beside her, an arm wrapping around her shoulders. She leans into him at once, letting his presence lull her back to safety.
“It’s not fair,” she whispers.
“I miss her too,” Grian says, his voice soft. Gem looks up at him, leaning closer when she sees the tear falling down his cheek. She wipes it away, only for Grian to grab her hand. He places it on her moon pin, being certain to look her in the eyes. “She’s with us, y’know?”
Gem nods, a small “I know” breaking through the ache in her chest. She swallows, then speaks again, her voice stronger. “I know, but it isn’t the same. Nothing’s the same anymore, Grian.”
Grian squeezes her hand. He grabs his own pin, rubbing his thumb in circles on it. “Ther’es one thing that’s the same,” Grian says. “We’re not alone.”
Pearl is, Gem wants to say, but she knows Grian doesn’t mean it that way. Instead, she leans against him and the two drift into silence. Sunlight crosses from floor to ceiling as they sit there, slowly fading until nothing but darkness surrounds them. When it is too dark to see, Grian pries himself from his place beside Gem.
Moments later, he returns with a lantern. He offers a hand to Gem, pulling her up when she accepts. “We can’t keep avoiding it,” he says, nodding his head towards the door. “Pearl wouldn’t want that.”
“I know,” Gem says. She looks to the door. She wants to pretend Pearl is still in there, but she knows that is not what she’ll find. She turns back to Grian, offering him her hand. “Together?”
“Together.”
With Grian’s hand clasped firmly in hers, Gem opens the door. Lantern light illuminates the room, revealing it be just how Pearl had left it, all those months ago: bed neatly made in the corner, a chest of drawers beside the bed, and on the other wall, a small bookshelf. A blanket of dust covers everything. Beside Gem, Grian pushes forward, each step leaving prints in the dust.
Gem drifts around the room, eventually ending up beside the bookshelf. The dust is thick over the books and especially in the corners, where it gathers into little balls. Gem tries to read the titles on the shelf, but in the dim light, she can barely see. “Grian, she calls, and Grian comes over with the lantern.
With a great breath, he blows at the dust, sending it billowing away. Gem starts to read the titles off the spines, only to shout as Grian pulls a book from the shelf. Its red cover is worn and patchy, but amidst the wear Gem can see the faint outline of a wolf.
“The Adventures of Tilly,” Grian reads aloud. He brushes a bit more dust off of it before opening the cover. “I remember Pearl telling me about this book. She said it was one of her favorites.” He looks to Gem, then to the bed. “Surely she wouldn’t want us to just leave it on the shelf.”
He makes his way to the bed, settling himself on the edge. Gem goes to protest, only to pause. Grian’s right. Pearl would want them to carry on. With that small comfort, Gem settles herself on the edge of the bed beside Grian. She reads over his shoulder until her head is heavy and she falls asleep against him.
Soon, both are propped against each other, asleep. The lantern flickers out and in the corner of the room a ghost appears. She smiles as she sees her two Villies there with the book. “I miss you,” she whispers, “but I must go. I’m sorry.” And just as suddenly as she appeared, the ghost vanishes.
In the morning, Grian and Gem wake to the book falling to the floor. Grian reaches down to pick it up, only to pause as he reads the passage. He leans over and shakes Gem’s arm, pointing her to the book. Gem scans it, a smile crossing her face as she reads it:
And when the valley her home lies in is far below her, Tilly lets out a great howl. “Oh how I will miss this place and my family, but there is much to see and much to do, and I must carry on. Whatever adventure is yet to come, all that I have seen and all who I have journeyed with will be beside me.”
Gem looks to Grian. “Pearl is still with us,” she says with absolute certainty.
“And we must carry on,” Grian says in confirmation. “It’s what she would want.”
And as they set out from Pearl’s room, a breeze pushes through the lighthouse, and, almost as if it’s in agreement, Gem swears she hears the faintest whisper on the wind: carry on, carry on.