The women acted impressed by Miller's knowledge of the lighthouse point. He rambled on about the history of how it all began with bonfires lit by the Narragansett natives to deter ships from crashing into the rocks. How British loyalists thought to construct a taller signal in 1749, a fire tower of Babel if you will. The light was fueled with whale oil until the wooden structure burned to ash. The next tower, erected of stone in 1779, was fueled by whales, gas, and lard until it burned down in 1856. The third “Newport Light,” whose whistle house would be destroyed by a hurricane, was fueled with fossil oil, kerosene, and then powered with new electric technology. This final lighthouse was referred to as “wretched,” "the worst construction of any in the state." At this point of Miller’s braggadocious spill, the women would giggle, and he would propose a toast, “to the worst in the state,” and the women would reply, “to the worst in the state.” Miller would then lean over to kiss each woman on the cheek, and if she was keen to be kissed on the cheek, he could usually kiss her on the lips. If the woman seemed taken aback, not much harm was done, and Miller would know where he stood.

      It came as no surprise when Linda, Donna, Lucy, Virginia, Hedley, Cary, and Casey (who he often called Cary) would allow him to kiss their lips. The kisses turned into tipsy laughs, and the lady, whoever she was, would invite Miller over for another drink. The night would evolve into two sleepovers a week until the lady friend invited him to stay for a while – and save a bit of money. The two would grow comfortable until they settled into discomfort. Something would grow out of place, something that neither of them could put their fingers on.

       It would not be too long after this settling that Miller would make his second visit of the year to the Beavertail Lighthouse. This trip Miller would make alone when he was feeling especially contemplative after he had just ended things with the lady friend. This trip happened when things had grown too intense, when the woman started wanting more out of the relationship, when she  – whoever she was at the time – began asking "where is this going?’  It was usually when, for Miller, the relationship had stopped going anywhere.

       Miller forgot to pace himself between the fifth and sixth cigarette, getting lost in the caress of the salty breeze and the lull of Conanicut Island. He thought about Cary who, if he bothered to be bothered, would have been alright to buckle down with. She made him laugh more than the others. When he first told her about the lighthouses that burned down one after the other, Cary said, “You notice that that which lights the house is that which burns it down?”

       Miller chuckled to himself at the memory, and watched the two sailboats float further and further in opposite directions. Then, he lit a seventh cigarette, taking a long drag before he uttered aloud, “That Cary. She was a clever one.”