Page 1 of Tell It To The Waves

PROLOGUE

The sea breeze, salt air, and the sound of waves will always beckon me back to the place I had my first crush, heartbreak, and downfall… Driftwood Bay. Population four hundred in the off-season. I had spent every summer in this small coastal town since I was two years old, but now I’m lured back to the place I haven’t stepped foot on since I was twenty-two, letting my tears fall into the ocean while watching the one person I thought would love me forever slowly become a mirage as the ferry drifted away.

I sit in my car, trying not to look at the shoreline as it gets closer with every heartbeat that pounds behind my ribcage. The seashell that sits in my hand has been polished by my constant rubbing over the last eight years, my one remembrance of him that I kept.

Tossing it into the cup holder before pulling down my glasses, I hear the captain over the loudspeaker instruct us to make our way back to our vehicles or get back inside the ferry for our arrival at Driftwood Bay.

Everything in me wants to take the thirty-five-minute ferry ride back to civilization and say fuck it, but I can’t. I have to getthis done. And once it’s over, I won’t have to set foot back here ever again.

Summer is still a month away, so the traffic getting off the ferry is easy and smooth. Before I know it, I’m winding down the two-lane streets, trying to make my eyes stay focused on the road ahead of me, but a small part wants to see if we see him or anyone we used to know

My hands slip on the steering wheel, not from heat but from my anxiety-induced sweating. Anxiety about everything this town will bring back to the surface.

CHAPTER ONE

The bumpy, uneven road welcomes me as I’m jostled the whole way down the narrow drive. The view of the ocean is in front of me the entire way down, beckoning me to somewhere I never wanted to be again.

My heart feels like it stops, sending me into immediate panic as I slam my foot on the brake, putting my car into park next to the oceanfront cottage, my head falling to the steering wheel. “Breathe, August. Just a day and we're gone from here, never having to look back.” I promised myself. Hoping my mind will believe me.

Scooting my forehead up the steering wheel, I peek over it, my eyes homing in on the ocean. “You knew I never wanted to come back here,” I whisper to my father wherever the hell he is.

Looking at the time on my dashboard, I have almost an hour until the real estate agent shows up. I debate just sitting in my car, but I know I need to get out and check the cottage. My father hasn’t been here in over a year, so I’m not too sure what I’m walking into.

Fumbling through my tote, fingers blindly feel for the keychain I know is haphazardly lying in it. When my finger grazes the rough bark, it brings a timid smile to my face.I’ve held onto this key for eight years. Even though I said I would never return, I still held on to it. My baby-blue-painted nail follows the grooves of the carved words on the piece of driftwood.The place I was named after, August Cove,this little cottage that sits only yards away from the ocean.

This town, Driftwood Bay, and the cottage were my father’s first love. He spent the first two years of my life fighting to buy it from developers, finally winning and getting to introduce his August Cove to his forever August, me.

Hands trembling as I insert the key into the door lock, I’m surprised at how easily the lock turns, the sea salt being easy on it while my father was away.

Tentatively, I push the door wide open with the toe of my sandal. Not stepping foot inside, just standing on the porch, looking into the very familiar cottage I’d spent so many summers in.

My whole body feels like there is a current flowing through it. Anxiety or sadness, I don’t even know at this moment; they’ve been mimicking each other lately.

With one step, I’m over the threshold and engulfed in the smell of familiarity. Breathing deeply, I smell my dad and the comfort that once existed in this place. It’s soul-shocking.

My fingers roam over the back of the threadbare sofa before walking to the fridge, eyes scanning the twenty Polaroids that adorn the side of the refrigerator. All of me, in front of August Cove, from two to twenty-two. My eyes roam over them, me in every stage of life. My black hair standing out from each picture. I find the last picture I took here, pulling it off the magnet and inspecting it. She was a shell of herself, deep in grief and barely living. Those eyes showing what she wasn’t saying. My dad is taking the picture; however, my gaze isn't directed at him. All my attention is on the man that I know is beside my dad, the reason I was trying so hard at that moment.

I toss the picture onto the countertop, knowing that by the time that summer was over, I had lost almost all of myself with it.

Turning down the hall, I smile at the stained-glass window that sits at the end of the hallway, throwing prisms on the hallway floor.

Breathing deeply, my hand turns the doorknob; the door creaks open. I stand there, not moving. Remembering little August climbing into bed with my mom and dad when storms would roll through. Walking in, I sit on the bed, staring out the patio door, which gave them a perfect view of the ocean while laying down. “I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with all this.” My hands slap on the perfectly made bed. Anger wanting to erupt from me, but how can I be angry at them? I feel tears welling up, but immediately close my eyes, forcing them to stop.

Pushing myself off the bed, I walk to the room across the hall… My old room.

The door emits a loud squeak, and I have to use my shoulder to push it wider. The sea salt has swollen the wood, showing that no one had opened it after I left that summer.

Reaching for the light switch, the room illuminates, revealing the time capsule my father kept.

“Really, Dad?” I whisper to the quiet room, walking toward the window, throwing the curtains open. The sudden movement has set off dust particles that are now floating all around me.

Turning in a circle, I take in the room; my vanity decorated with old makeup, seashells, and books. My finger slides over it, revealing thick dust. Leaning toward the mirror, my eyes take in each picture. Almost all have him in them, even the ones when we were younger. My black hair wild and crazy, no cares in the world. Him always shirtless, tan and tall. Time is a thief.

Spinning on my heel, I head out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Locking those memories back where they belong.

Maneuvering the door lock, I’m able to jimmy it down, releasing the sliding glass door that leads out to the porch and right to the beach.

Minding the two stairs that lead to the porch, I stand there, watching the waves come to shore, getting sucked back in and reemerging again. It’s hypnotizing, a lull that calls to me and has me stepping to the porch railing. I haven’t stepped foot in the ocean for the last eight years, and I don’t plan to now, even though it calls to me.