Awakening

by Jacqueline Brown

  “This view is incredible,” Thomas said as we stepped onto the beach. It was close to high tide, which meant all that remained of the beach was a thin strip of sand and an even thinner layer of rocks fronting the ocean waves.

  “I never get tired of it,” I said, feeling such gratitude for the beauty of the ocean. Its waves gently moved in and out of our tranquil cove.

  “I think if I lived here I’d spend all of my time right here, watching and listening to the waves.” Thomas inhaled and exhaled deeply.

  “I do spend a lot of time out here,” I said, leading him toward the middle of our cove.

  “You’d be a fool not to!” he said enthusiastically. “As nice as it is by yourself, I bet it’s even more fun with friends. I’d definitely have a ton of parties out here,” he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and took several pictures. “These will look amazing on my feed.”

  “Your feed?”

  “Social media. I looked for you Sunday, but couldn’t find you. What platforms are you on?”

  “Oh, I’m not on social media.” With no friends in real life, I didn’t need to have no friends in a virtual life too.

  He stared at me and then blinked. “You are really so unique,” he said kindly.

  I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s nice of you to say unique instead of freak.”

  He laughed. “You are definitely not a freak. You simply live life differently than the rest of us, which is awesome. Though you should totally throw some parties here. My friends would love it and they’d love to meet you.”

  “I never thought of having a party here,” I said, realizing only part of the reason for that was the lack of friends. The other part, maybe even the bigger part, was because this place was special to me, sacred. It’s where my mom and I came almost every day when she was alive, and where I still came almost every day. This beach was the constant in my life; only the worst of weather kept me from it.

  “Are you kidding? This is the perfect party beach. Secluded, no one would bother us. It’s awesome.”

  “It’s not the easiest place to get to,” I said, the thought of strangers here making me nervous.

  “There’s no road?” he asked, turning back to the trees and then to the far end of the property.

  “No,” I said. “The trail we took used to be wider so people could drive a wagon or a truck to the old inn. That was a long time ago. The trail we were on is all that’s left of that road.”

  “That would make things more difficult,” he said pensively. “But I’m sure my friends wouldn’t mind walking, especially for this,” he said, opening his arms toward the waves.

  “Maybe next summer when the weather warms up,” I said. “It’s getting to be the time of year when only the most die-hard beachgoers brave the cold winds.” I hoped that was enough to put an end to the conversation of his friends invading my beach.

  “Okay, next summer,” he said. “It’s a date.” His eyes showed his excitement.

  I turned away to watch the waves; they were becoming larger as the clouds far off above the ocean darkened.

  We walked a bit farther before he spoke. “So, you said there was an old inn?”

  “Yes, that’s the reason my family lives out here in the first place and the reason our house is so big. It was built to be a hotel,” I said, hoping that would help him and others understand my grandparents didn’t build the castle we live in, that Gigi’s grandparents had, and they did so as part of their business.

  “I never knew that,” he said, as if this was the first information about my family he wasn’t already aware of. “So, your family were innkeepers? How unusual,” he said with true interest.

  “Gigi’s grandparents. No one since then,” I said.

  “Still, that’s interesting and it’s how your family got their start,” he said.

  “Sort of,” I said, deciding not to tell him about how much Gigi hated her grandparents and how she and her mom ran from this place. I was fairly certain everything I told him would, in one way or another, be repeated and the entire parish would hear it. People didn’t need to know this part of our family history.

  “That’s really fascinating,” he said, stopping and turning his body back and forth. “Where is it?”

  “Over there,” I said, pointing to where the inn was built against the base of the cliff on the northern part of the property. It was difficult to see from where we stood. The trees had grown thick around it.

  “Oh, wow, that’s awesome!” He began striding toward it. “I love old buildings. They’re so eerie,” he said with childlike enthusiasm.

  My eyes darted to him. I watched his back. He was going straight toward the inn. Spookiness appeared to attract him; this was definitely not something we shared in common.

  “What’s it like inside?” he asked, barely turning to look back at me.

  I picked up my pace to catch up with him, and said, “I’ve never been inside.”

  He exclaimed, “How is that possible!”

  “My dad says it isn’t safe.”

  “Your dad isn’t here,” he said, sounding confused.

  “I still believe him, even when he’s not next to me,” I said with matched confusion.

  “Hmm, okay,” he said, stopping to allow me to catch up. “If he thinks it’s so dangerous, why doesn’t he have it torn down?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not something we talk about. The inn has always been there and we’ve always been told not to go near it. I guess, growing up with it like that, I’ve never thought much about it.”

  Not until Luca started asking about it.

  Thomas stared at me. “You’ve really never been inside?”

  “No,” I said, feeling like a child. Why hadn’t I been in it? I was seventeen and I came to this beach practically every day. Why had I never been interested enough in the old inn to explore it?

  “Want to go in it now?” he asked, with a mischievous grin.

  An image of my mom appeared in my mind, a memory I had forgotten. We were standing, facing the inn, exactly as I stood now, the sun hitting my eyes and the smell of wild roses and saltwater soothing my senses. The wind was cool, the same as it was now. She was holding my hand. Our words echoed in my mind:

  “Never ever go inside the inn, Siena. Do you understand me?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It’s very dangerous.”

  “It doesn’t look dangerous, just old.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. Trust me, sweet girl, it is very dangerous.”

  “Have you been in it?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head and putting an arm around me, holding me against her body as if she was afraid of letting me go.

  “Then, how do you know it’s dangerous?”

  “Gigi told me. You trust Gigi, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. I trust her completely and her warning alone would be enough to keep me from it. But I can also feel it.”

  “Feel what?”

  “The danger … the darkness.” Her body shivered against mine.

  “I’m not afraid of the dark,” I said.

  She bent down, touching her forehead to mine, and smiled lovingly, her eyes close to mine. “First of all, dear child, you are afraid of the dark and that’s just fine. You’re seven, and at seven, almost everyone is afraid of the dark. But that’s not the kind of darkness I mean. This is the kind of darkness you should fear no matter how old you are, or perhaps fear is not the right word. You should avoid it. Yes, that’s a better word. You should avoid it with all your heart, mind, and spirit. It’s the kind of darkness that exists solely to cause more darkness.”

  “Does it scare you?” I asked. The thought of my mother being scared of anything was unimaginable.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “Yes, it does scare me.”

  I turned my head and looked at the old building. My mother’s arms were wrapped protectively around me.

  “If
it’s so bad, then why doesn’t Daddy tear it down?”

  “We talked about it a long time ago. He wanted to tear it down. Gigi and I said no. We decided until the darkness is gone, the building needs to remain so the darkness remains in it and does not come up to our house.”

  “To our house?” I blinked up at her with fear.

  “Long ago, before Daddy and I even met each other, there was darkness in our house. Gigi and Grandpa got rid of it and now it’s a lovely house, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I said tentatively, feeling suddenly afraid of my house.

  “I’ve said too much. Your father always tells me I tell you too much, but—”

  “But you don’t listen,” I said, and my mother laughed, hugging me tight, kissing me on the cheek.

  “No, I don’t listen much about things like that. Daddy and I think differently about how to raise you and Lisieux. I think you should both know as much as you possibly can, and he—”

  “He thinks we should be protected as much as we can be protected.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I’m almost eight,” I said, putting my hands on either side of her face.

  She laughed again, her face disappearing into my mind.

  “Siena?”

  I blinked. The sun was in my eyes. Thomas stood a couple yards away. I wanted to return to the memory. To the time when my mother held me, laughed with me, and taught me about things she thought she needed to teach me.

  “Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted to go into the inn.”

  “No,” I said.

  “No, you didn’t hear me, or no, you don’t want to go?”

  “No, I don’t want to go,” I said, turning from the building.

  “Why not?”

  “My mother told me not to,” I said, keeping the sadness out of my voice.

  Thomas was silent for a moment and then came to my side as I searched for a flat rock to place the blanket on. “She told you that when you were a kid,” he said softly.

  I took the blanket from the side of his basket. “Yes, but she told it to me for life, not just for when I was a kid.”

  “How can you be sure?” he said.

  I thought of her words of caution and her telling me she’d never been inside the old, run-down building on the edge of our property. “I just am.”

  I flipped out the blanket. “This is a good spot,” I said, done discussing the inn.

  He hesitated, still entranced by the oddly shaped two-story building. Then, as if a switch was flipped, he turned to me, cheerfully, and said, “The perfect spot.”

  The shift was startling and it made me uneasy, though I wasn’t sure why.

  Thomas sat near one corner of the blanket and I sat near the other, both facing the ocean. He began to pull items from his basket.

  “Can I pour you a cup of blueberry lemonade?” he asked, unscrewing a thermos.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He handed me the cup.

  I took a sip. “Mmm, it’s good,” I said, thinking of the blueberry lemonade that we often enjoyed in the summertime.

  “My mom made it. Actually, she made most of this, but I did help,” he said, like he was proudly telling a secret. He handed me a plate and a fork, then opened the containers.

  “Thank you,” I said. I scooped food onto my plate.

  “So, you don’t go into the inn and you don’t throw parties. What do you do out here?” he asked as he filled his own plate.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, surprised the answer wasn’t obvious. Sometimes I spent hours staring at the waves; how could anyone not?

  “I mean, you’re here on your land all day, every day, so what do you do? It’s pretty, but I’d be bored being alone all the time.”

  His voice had the slightest hint of sadness in it. Like he felt sorry for me.

  “I’m not alone,” I countered. “I have my family and there’s always something to do.”

  Thomas laughed. He must have realized his laughter hurt me because he quickly said, “I’m sorry, I meant for me, I’d need a little more, um, social time.”

  “It would be nice to see friends,” I conceded, though I didn’t have any. “But I’m okay out here for now.”

  “For now? You only get one life. Don’t you want to live it?” He took a bite of sandwich.

  “I guess I think I am living it,” I said, blinking up at him.

  “Oh, of course you are. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, pushing away the hurt he’d momentarily caused me. “I suppose we don’t have quite as much in common as you thought.”

  He held his lemonade with one hand and gently touched my knee with the other. “We have a lot in common, Siena. It’s just that our lives are different and so we are different, but at our core we are practically the same.”

  His touch felt nice. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. In my mind, our similarities were on the outside, not the inside, as he said.

  “What about you?” I said, shifting the focus. “What do you do for fun?”

  He removed his hand and grinned. “Whatever I want. Spend time with friends or go out. I can’t stand being bored, so I’m always doing something.”

  I watched the growing waves. Though distant, the dark clouds were moving closer. I was now sure our similarities were not as deep as he thought, or at least not as deep as he said.

  “It was nice of your mom to make food for us,” I said, ready to again change the topic.

  “She was excited I was coming over here,” he said, tossing an empty plastic baggie into the basket.

  “She’s very kind,” I said, thinking fondly of the tall blonde woman who always said hello to my family at church.

  “She’s all right most of the time,” Thomas said.

  “Why did she go to all of this trouble?” I asked, choosing to ignore how much he was taking his mom for granted.

  “Are you kidding?” Thomas said. “She loves this kind of stuff, and she has always liked you and has always encouraged me to spend time with you.”

  “Why?” I asked, with a tinge of guilt, knowing my own family was indifferent at best about my spending time with Thomas.

  He took a bite of his ham biscuit, chewing slowly, as if purposely delaying answering the question.

  “Who’s that?” he finally said, with a nod, after he had swallowed his food.

  I turned. Luca emerged from the trail, carrying his fishing pole and net.

  “My neighbor,” I answered.

  Luca noticed us and seemed startled, unsure if he should continue toward the beach or return to the trail. I offered him a slight wave to tell him his presence here was fine.

  “You have a neighbor our age?” Thomas said, sounding slightly jealous.

  “Yes, remember I told you Sam’s nephew moved up here.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “I guess I didn’t think about how old her nephew would be.”

  I took a bite of deviled egg sprinkled with shredded lobster meat—his mom’s specialty. She brought them to every pot-luck church gathering.

  “Where did he move from?” Thomas said.

  “Florida,” I answered as Luca moved in our direction.

  “How come?” Thomas asked, keeping his focus on Luca while I returned mine to the ocean.

  “He experienced a death in the family. He moved here to live with his aunt and uncle.” I was doing my best to keep my voice even and not think of Luca’s mother … or mine.

  “I’m sorry for his loss,” Thomas said in a low tone, his attention now on me.

  I wondered if he could tell I was thinking of my mom.

  I forced a weary smile. “It’s sad how hard life can be at times,” I said, absently brushing crumbs from my jeans.

  “Yes,” Thomas said, reaching his hand to mine, gently squeezing and releasing it. We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us watching the waves.

/>   “Would you like some more?” Thomas asked, holding the plate of deviled eggs.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  “What’s he like?” Thomas asked, gesturing toward Luca, who was at the far end of the cove now, nearing the edge of the water.

  “I don’t really know.”

  “So, you don’t spend much time together?” Thomas asked in a casual tone.

  “No,” I said. “We’ve only talked a few times.”

  This seemed to relieve his fears, and his fascination with Luca ended.

  After we’d folded our trash into the baggies and placed them in the picnic basket, he said, “Would you like to take a walk?”

  “Sure,” I said, always happy to stroll along the beach.

  Thomas stood and offered me his hand. I took it and he helped me up. He held my hand longer than he needed to. I didn’t mind. We walked with our backs toward Luca.

  “That storm is impressive,” Thomas said as we stood just short of the lapping waves and peered beyond the cove.

  As he spoke, the wind increased, pushing my hair away from my neck. I said, “One of my favorite things to do is watch storms approach.”

  “How long until it reaches us?”

  “You can never tell for sure. Sometimes they rage while they’re above the ocean and then disappear when they reach our cove. If this one comes here, I doubt it will be here anytime soon.”

  He stepped lightly over some rocks. “Wonderful. Then there’s no rush.”

  I followed him, the air cooler than when we had started our walk, yet still far from cold.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been in there,” Thomas said, referring to the inn. “It’s like a mystery in your own backyard and you’re not even interested in solving it.”

  “I guess there’s not much that’s mysterious about it,” I lied. “It’s an old, falling-down inn that will probably collapse during this storm or the next one.”

  “It was built by your great-grandparents. Aren’t you at least a little interested in what it looks like?”

  “It was actually my great-great-grandparents, and, no, not really. They weren’t nice people, so I suppose that has taken away any interest I might have had in what they created.” I crossed my arms across my chest as the wind grew chillier.