01 — A Map of Missing Places

The lighthouse had been dark for seven years when Mira saw a light in its window. She stopped in the middle of the harbour road, a rolled map beneath one arm and a bag of oranges beneath the other. The oranges slipped first. They went bouncing down the wet stones like a small, determined sunset.

Everyone in Bellweather knew the lighthouse was empty. Its keeper had vanished during the winter storm, along with the road that led to it. Mira had drawn that coastline a hundred times. Where the causeway ought to have been, there was only water.

Now, beneath a patient amber light, a narrow bridge was beginning to appear. It did not rise from the sea. It unfolded, stone by stone, as though someone were remembering it.

An old woman beside the fish market caught the last orange. 'You should take a coat,' she said.

Mira looked at her. 'You can see it too?'

The woman placed the fruit in Mira's hand. 'My dear, seeing a road is the easy part. It is deciding to walk it that changes your life.'