“What do you say, Cliff? It’s been a while. Want to go up?” J.P. patted the dog on the head and pointed to the lighthouse.
The dog jumped to his four paws and tugged on his leash before J.P. rocked out of his chair. The two walked down the crushed shell path, along the wall of boats that docked in the circular marina, and he hoped he knew whoever was working the door. Dogs weren’t permitted to climb the 114 steps of the historical landmark, but he was confident he could pass off Cliff as a service animal. J.P. wasn’t one to pull strings or use his minor notoriety to his advantage, but this was a case where he was willing to bend the rules.
He gingerly opened the door and recognized the teen collecting money from one of the booths at the farmers market.
“Hey man! Service dog.” He glanced down at Cliff and slid the young man a twenty-dollar bill, despite the admission being seven dollars. “I don’t need change.”
“There’s hardly anyone up there.” The kid grinned wide and gave a reassuring nod toward the steps, to be interpreted as neither party would be in trouble for allowing Cliff to be in the lighthouse.
Despite the warning, J.P. was surprised, but relieved, he didn’t pass a single person on his trek up the narrow, steep steps that were marked every eight feet. He ran more miles in the last two days than he logged in the last year and his body was feeling the effects of being out of condition. When he reached the forty-two feet marker, he was ready to turn around. By the time he reached the top of the ninety-three-foot octagonal stucco tower, his legs felt like Jell-O, and he was ready to sit down. He regretted not staying reclined in his rocking chair closer to sea level.
“Remember, you’re not supposed to be up here, so behave,” J.P. gave Cliff a stern warning before going to the observation deck.
Once he regained steadiness in his feet and caught his breath, he opened the door. His instinct was to walk to the right, but Cliff pulled unexpectedly hard in the opposite direction and J.P. lost the loose grip he had on the leash, and sight of the dog.
“Hi, Cliff! What are you doing, boy?” J.P. heard a female voice say to the mildly disobedient canine.
He paused for a moment. It sounded like Kenny. Deep down he hoped it was.
“Does J.P. know you’re up here?” the sweet voice asked.
Confirmed. It’s Kenny.
For a split second, he felt nervous. Aside from admiring beach weddings from afar, he didn’t consider himself a romantic by any stretch of the imagination. But the thought of being on top of the lighthouse with Kenny during this magnificent sunset intrigued him.
“J.P. does know he’s up here,” J.P. said as he turned the corner. “He’s a service dog tonight.” He winked as he bent over and picked up the dog’s leash.
“I see the emotional support he provides you. He seems to know what you need,” Kenny lightheartedly laughed.
J.P. laughed because he thought it was the appropriate reaction but in the back of his mind found immense irony in what Kenny said. Since she had arrived on the plantation, Cliff led J.P. directly to her whenever the opportunity arose.
“How about this view?” He spread his arms wide, placed his hands on the ledge, and peered out over the water.
“It’s breathtaking. I’ve been wanting to come up here around sunset and can’t imagine I could have picked a more perfect night.” Kenny situated herself next to J.P. trying to find the right balance between not being too close but not leaving too much space between them. It was no longer just the view creating circumstances for a perfect evening.
“Catching a sunset from up here is one of my favorite things to do,” J.P. said. “There’s something so peaceful about it all, especially when it’s a sparse crowd,” he said, alluding to the fact that they were alone on top of this tower.
“When I’m having a bad or busy day, I try to get to the running path along the Hudson River at dusk. I’ve seen some beautiful sunsets. But, at the end of it, you’re still looking across the water to the chaos and bright lights of northeastern New Jersey. There’s something about the tranquility behind this vast view that is overwhelmingly serene.”
“It’s something else,” J.P. replied. “It’s not quite the pandemonium of the Garden State but you can get glimpses of life in other parts of the Lowcountry from up here. This body of water is Calibogue Sound.” He leaned over the railing and looked down. “Across the Sound is Daufuskie Island. You can only get there by boat and the population is less than a thousand.”
“Wow. There aren’t many city blocks in Manhattan that house less than one thousand people.” Kenny laughed.
“You want to see unique? Check out the chunk of land over here.” He led Kenny to the other side of the observation deck. “That’s Deer Island. It’s a community of tree houses.” He excitedly pointed to a group of elevated octagonal structures at the far end of Harbour Town.
“Tree houses?” Kenny questioned, although that’s exactly what they looked like from where she stood.
“Technically, they are referred to as Sea Lofts. But they’re circular homes built among the trees with panoramic views of Calibogue Sound and nature. I’ve never been in one, but I’ve checked them out on VRBO. They are high-end tree houses.”
“Huh. Some homes along the Jersey Shore were elevated to stilts following Hurricane Sandy, but they still look like houses, not life-size tree forts.” Kenny laughed.
“Down that way is the port at the mouth of the Savannah River. You wouldn’t know it from here, but it’s one of the busiest seaports in the country.”
“Have you always been such a fact junkie? Every time we run into each other I feel like I’m on some type of island education tour. The reporter in me usually needs to pry this information out of people.”
“You’ve been on this island long enough to know who Gregg Russell is, right? Everyone who has spent more than ten minutes on Hilton Head has heard of him.”
Kenny pointed to the other side of the lighthouse. “The child entertainer who plays under that big tree over there during the summer?”
