The Lighthouse at Reed’s Point

Rosie Reed lives alone at the end of a slate point in Nova Scotia, in the shadow of the lighthouse her family kept for sixty years. She talks ships home for a living from a dark room in Halifax. She hasn't set foot in the sea since the night it took her mother.

Then, on a night of thick fog, three knocks sound at her door, and a man walks up out of the water carrying a lantern. He's soaked to the skin, he's furious that the light is out, and he's wearing the yellow oilskin coat that has hung untouched in her front hall for eighty-three years.

His name is Jonah Merritt. The plaque on her tower says he was lost at sea in 1942. He says he's been gone ten minutes. And the next time the fog rolls in, he isn't alone. In his arms is a half-drowned sixteen-year-old boy: her grandfather.

Every hour the boy stays, Rosie fades a little more. To send him home, she'll have to keep a light burning against the thing in the fog that counts the drowned, and walk into the water she swore she'd never touch again, even if it costs her the man she's falling for.