Tapping the toe of my shoe against the tiled floor, I checked my phone once more, frowning as I looked at it. He was more than an hour late. What a great way to start our unfortunate time together.
In all honesty, I should have known better. If what Mom had said about Dad and his punctuality was even remotely true, I ought to have planned to tell him the plane was arriving two hours earlier than it actually was. It'd been so long since I'd seen him, though, I couldn't remember if she'd been exaggerating or not.
The issue was this: my father was legitimately, one hundred percent crazy. He spent all day digging in the ground, looking for some lost treasure he was convinced lay just beyond his reach. Each night was spent planning to do the same thing when the sun rose again. Because of this obsession, he won himself a divorce after three years of marriage and shared custody of his only child—me. He used to come visit me in Arizona every spring, before returning to his stupid quest, but that all stopped after my tenth birthday. Becoming so involved in the search, he slipped further and further from us, spending more time away, quitting his day job, and eventually disappearing from our lives. We wrote every now and then, but there wasn't all that much to say. It'd been twelve years since he last visited and the basics of what we'd said to each other over that time could probably fit on a piece of notebook paper.
Something had changed when Mom got sick, though. Suddenly, she wanted Dad and I to talk more, to really know each other. She instigated a few video calls, insisted I write letters about school, and even invited him to my high school graduation. He hadn't been able to make it, saying something came up about a swamp he was swimming in. I think.
“Why are you defending him?” I’d practically demanded from my mom, not wanting to admit I was hurt he'd missed my big night.
“He's your father, Samantha,” she answered simply, just like she did any time I asked why I had to stay in touch. “I spent so many years keeping you from him, wanting you for my own. When I'm gone, I want you to have a parent to go to, even if it's someone who believes in buried treasure.”
“He's the one who stopped wanting to see me! That stupid hole in the ground is more important to him than I ever was.”
“That’s not true. I—I asked him to stop coming,” she replied softly, sadly.
Shocked, I stared at her for a moment, feeling guilty when I noticed the slight paleness to her skin and the way each breath seemed to hurt. Her light brown hair had been curled for the occasion, brushing past her shoulders, the red fabric of her dress hugging her skinny form. “Why would you do that?”
“You used to get so excited when he talked about that treasure. I just knew that if he kept coming and telling you those fanciful stories, one day you would go with him when he left. I didn't want that for you. There is so much more in store for you than spending your life trying to dig up something that doesn't exist.” Tears in her brown eyes suggested to me she'd only done what she thought was best, but in that moment I felt a rage like I'd never known toward her.
“But that wasn't your choice to make! If that's what I wanted to do, then you should have supported it! You’re always telling me that everyone should be free to make their own decisions, even if we don’t agree.” Hands balling into fists, I yelled at her, my own hot tears building up. “I spent years feeling like my own father didn't love me. And now, thanks to you, he probably doesn't, because he hasn't seen me! No wonder he didn't come to graduation!”
“I'm so sorry, Sam,” she said, her voice shaking as a single tear slid down her cheek. “I just didn't want you to—”
“What? Be like him? Would you hate me then, too?”
“I don't hate your father,” she snapped, a nerve obviously hit. “He's a good man. He was a good husband and father, too, before that pit entrapped him. He spent every dime we had trying to figure it out, and even after the money was gone, he kept going. It's a miracle our finances ever recovered. He’s the one who stopped spending time with us. He was obsessed. And he probably still is, since he's not found one thing of worth on that island, yet, just like all the men before him. It's not healthy! I was tired of being second best, of feeling unloved. Another woman didn’t replace me, I was replaced by a hole in the ground that people have tried to get to the bottom of for two hundred years. Can you really blame me for not wanting to stay with him? For not wanting you to be sucked in by that as well?”
Her chest heaved as she spoke and, fearfully, I suddenly realized how worked up she was becoming. Rant finished, she began coughing, and small flecks of blood came from her mouth. Hurrying to her side, I helped her to lie down, grabbing a bottle of water from the bedside table and offering it.
“I'm sorry.” I cried softly as she drank. “I don't know what came over me. I’m just upset with him, I guess. I feel a lot like you said—like the pit is more important than me.”
“It's not,” she said, placing her palm against my face. “You’re the most important person I've ever had the privilege of knowing. There are great things in store for you, Sam. I'm proud of you.”
She lived for another four years, just long enough to see me graduate from our local university. I thought she was still in remission, but it turned out she’d known the sickness was back for a year and refused to go through chemo again. Instead of telling me, she planned a two-week vacation to Hawaii that September and invited me along.
“Samantha Greene, you’re the most beautiful woman on the beach.” She laughed, watching as I tried to build a sandcastle.
“Whatever,” I scoffed, shoveling more wet dirt into the childish pail. “If anything, you are. All anyone ever tells me is how much I look like you, therefore, you are the prettiest one here.”
She laughed, long and hard, until the terrible, hacking cough I knew so well started. When she uncovered her mouth, there was blood on her hand.
“Mom?” I couldn't even stand to ask the question, but I didn't have to. The answer was in her eyes.
“Oh, Sammy,” she said mournfully, her voice catching. “I simply wanted to end with some happy memories.”
That February she was gone, like a whisper on the wind you thought you heard, but weren't really sure of. She was asleep in her bed and I'd gone to get myself a glass of water. As the liquid poured into my cup from the faucet, it was if the air in the house suddenly changed and I knew she'd left. Hurrying back to the room, I found her with a small smile on her face, her body finally spent from the battle it'd waged.
When she first became sick, we took care of the sad details of what would happen after her death together. Insisting that she didn't want to be stuck in a hole for all time, she asked to be cremated, so that her ashes could be spread and she would see the world. That request, along with a sneaky little note left in her will, was what had landed me here in Maine, waiting at the tiny Seaport airport for my father to pull himself out of the hunt long enough to come pick me up.
Sighing, I glanced down at the urn resting on top of my luggage. It was red, her favorite color. “Oh, Mom,” I muttered. “Why did you want me to spread your ashes with Dad? You must have known that would mean I had to come here. Did you really want to be so close to that stupid Treasure Pit?”
Personally, I would’ve much preferred to keep her with me. She was all the family I had and it was comforting to feel like she was still so close, but the last thing I wanted to do was dishonor her final wishes, so here I was. Originally, I'd called Dad, a feat that took much more effort than it should have—owing to the fact that I hadn’t spoken to him by phone or video since graduating high school—and told him what happened.
“Was she in a lot of pain?” he asked quietly.
“I'm sure, but she really tried to hide it. I think Mom wanted everyone to remember how she used to be, not as the sick, dying person she became.” A long silence followed and I waited, somehow knowing he would speak when ready.
“Thank you for telling me,” he finally said, his voice sounding somewhat choked. “I wish I could have been th
ere. When is her funeral? I'd like to come, if you don't mind.”
“That's the thing.” I sighed. “She wanted to be cremated and for the two of us to spread her ashes together. I didn't know if you wanted to see her before she was . . . you know.”
“Oh,” he replied, shock obvious in his tone. “I would, truly, but I don't think I'm going to make it in time before—uh—she, well . . .”
“I understand.” He had a point there. They could preserve her body, but not for very long. “When can you come to spread her ashes?”
“Maybe in a couple months?”
Sucking in an angry breath, I paused, trying to keep from exploding at him. “A few months! Dad, you've got to be kidding! Is that pit really so important you'd put off a dying woman's last wish? Because that's what this is. She didn't even tell me herself, she wrote it into her will.”
“It's not that,” he rushed to reply. “It's just that, well, I don't have enough money. I spent the last of what I had on some new equipment, recently. My next payment doesn’t come in for a while and a lot of it is already tied up in other things. There’s a couple guys coming out to survey the island before we start up again this season, too. If I leave now, someone else will come in and take my permit or the land owner will grant permission to another to come dig. I can’t leave my team high and dry, not when we’re so close to getting started again. I could try and cash out some stocks, but that would take a lot of time and I’m not sure that they would approve the request. I didn't know about Lucy or I would have come before she passed, I swear.”
“You are unbelievable.” He couldn't see me rolling my eyes, but I was pretty sure he heard it in my voice.
Checking my phone again, I pressed my lips into a thin line. He was now an hour and a half late. At this point, hiring a cab and renting a room for the night sounded like a good idea. Grabbing the extended handle of my rolling bag with one hand, and safely tucking the urn into the crook of my opposite arm, I started for the door, eyeing the few taxis waiting by the curb outside. Just as I was about to pass through the exit and into the spring air, I heard someone call out.
“Sammy! Samantha!” Turning, I saw my dad running up behind me, apology written all over his face. “Sorry I'm late! I lost track of time and then the car had a flat—look at you! You've grown into a woman!”
Having finally reached me, he gave me an awkward hug, apparently not knowing if such an action was acceptable or not. Studying him, I realized he resembled most of my memories; tall, with wispy blonde hair that stuck up off his head, as if he'd just been caught in hurricane force winds. His face was well tanned from years of being outside, with blue eyes that sparkled whenever he smiled. I'd inherited his thin lips, but thankfully none of his apparent clumsiness.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, smiling tightly.
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 2
