Page 5 of Tell It To The Waves

When I fought for this place so long ago, I always dreamed of watching my grandkids run and play on that beach, sunburned with saltwater hair, like I watched you so many times.

August, I just ask one thing of you: please make sure it goes to someone good. Someone who will love August Cove as much as we all did.

I’m so damn proud of you, my girl. And know we love you so much. August, please find happiness. And we’ll miss you forever.

Love, Dad

I can’t stop the tears from falling; my heart breaks a little more rereading his words over and over.

He knew that once he left here, he would never come back. The cancer had progressed too far by the time they finally admitted him, ravaging his body faster than they ever thought.

I got to sit with him when he took his final breath. His funeral was small, but he was so loved.

“I love you,” I whisper to it as a wave emerges, hoping it’ll carry it to wherever he is.

The sun sinks, welcoming the night, while I sit there. The water coming up further to me, as if it’s welcoming me back.

I finally force myself up; sand sticks to my shorts as I grab the two empty beer cans, clutching the letter in a death grip, walking myself back to the cottage. It’s dark. I stop and look at it. The back porch light is the only glow coming from it. It sits so empty, just a shell of the loving place it used to be, like a ghost ship.

Making my way up the back stairs, bugs gathered around the light, being drawn to it, like I am to the cottage.

Taking the two steps up, I enter the house. It's so quiet and dark. Throwing the beer cans into the sink, I set the letter on the counter. Feeling itchy from the sand on my legs, I have to get out of these shorts. “Damn it,” I moan out. I brought nothing with me; this wasn’t my plan. Moaning once more, I patter my way into my old bedroom; the giveaway pile waits for me.

I reach for the shirt but stop. My hand itching for it. I’m able to change everything, donning clean panties and pajama shorts; my bare chest is on full display while I fight with myself. “It’s just a shirt.” Grabbing it, I yank it on, the smell engulfing me as I do. Hauling ass out of the room. “If you go to sleep now, you’ll wake up and can leave as soon as the real estate guy gets here.” I try to placate myself. It’s not working. Locking the front door, I leave the sliding glass door open but lock the screen so the sounds of the ocean can try to lull me to sleep.

I lay on the threadbare sofa, wrapped in my mother’s blanket, scrolling social media. When my hands overtake mybrain and start typing in Driftwood Marina, clicking on the Instagram page that pops up. Their smiling faces greet me as I push their pinned post: Mr. and Mrs. Westmore with their two sons, Bohdi and Kai, who has his arm around Baylee. Both men now grown, but so much of the boys I knew still remain. My chest aches at the sight of all of them. This is the first time since I left Driftwood Bay that I looked them up. And fuck, why did I do this? I want to look at all their posts, but force myself to turn off my phone.

I cry myself to sleep. That should have been me. That was supposed to have been me.

I toss and turn all night in a fitful sleep. Dreams of waves and undertows pulling me out to sea. Gasping for breath and being sucked under once again. Not knowing which way was up, confused and scared.

Seeing my mom sitting on her bed the day of the accident, and us never knowing she wouldn’t make it back home. That the sea would steal her from us.

A pounding sound jars me from sleep. I pry my eyes open, the cover over my head, forehead slick with sweat. Hoping whoever it is will go away until I remember where I am. I jump up too fast, falling back onto the sofa, trying to get my bearings straight. When the insistent knocking continues.

Annoyance and confusion cloud me as I yank the front door open, and then I lose my stomach when I see who’s standing at the front door. Hands holding two coffees and a smirk on her face.

“Baylee,” my sleep-filled voice says.

“If you think for one minute you’re going to leave this place again and not say goodbye to me, you lost your damn mind, August.” She brushes past me, and I turn after her, but I feel like I’m in slow motion while I watch her take in the house that held so many of our sleepovers. She looks at the icebox and notices all the pictures gone; slowly her eyes roam to me. “You’re really going to sell?” Her voice is low, tinged with sadness now.

I shrug. “Yep.”

Bay lets out a laugh; it’s anything but for comical reasons. “Come have some coffee with me; it’s the least you can do.”

I watch as she unlocks the screen, minding the two steps, knowing that they’ll get you, and sits on the bench that’s built into the porch, giving you the perfect view of the ocean.

She pushes a cup of iced coffee to the side of her, not looking behind to make sure I’ve followed.

Sitting down next to her, we’re both quiet, looking at the ocean. I don’t know what to say, so I just drink the coffee she brought me, tasting the vanilla, ignoring the flavor I now hate, but suck it down anyway. I need to wake up.

The only sound is that of the seagulls and the crash of the waves, us both speaking in our minds, but not letting the words out. I don’t even know what to say. I never thought I’d see Bay again. I’m a shit friend. Who let years go by, losing so much because of one night.

I can’t help but stare at the ring she’s wearing; the sun glinting off the pearl and the diamonds throwing prisms onto the wood. A ring that should have been mine. I turn my head fast when she turns hers. Me not wanting her to notice I was looking at the ring on her finger.

She takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me. “I could sit here and cuss you out, call you out of your name, but I will not do that. I’m going to give you grace because I know that time in your life wasn’t the best. You were a year out from losing your motherin a traumatic way, but the way you went about everything.” She pauses, pushing her red hair behind her ear. “You could have done it all differently. It was like you were looking for a way out but just didn’t know how. You needed to blame someone, so you didn’t feel like shit.” Her words are clipped, her eyes boring into me, so that I have to unlock mine from hers, rubbing the condensation from the plastic coffee cup, trying to busy myself. Is some of what she said true? I don’t think it is. What happened that night changed me, yes. But I wasn’t looking for a way out… I wasn’t.

“That’s not true,” I whisper out to her, hoping she can hear me.