Rogue Wave

by Isabel Jolie

  * * *

  I blared the radio at deafening levels the entire drive from Florida to North Carolina, drowning out thoughts while singing along to the classic greats. After buying my ferry ticket, I called my parents to let them know I arrived unharmed.

  “Honey, you go knock it out of the park with the rest of your assignment, okay?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Honey, I love you. I know you’re hurting, but you’re strong. I raised you to roll with rogue waves. You can do it.” One thing about my parents, I might question how their marriage worked every single day, but I would never again doubt they were both in my corner.

  “Love you, too, Mom.” Dad came on the phone, and we exchanged love, too.

  The ferry horn bellowed out, warning a smaller craft. The choppy, dark whitecaps hinted of frigid waters. I huddled against the bone chilling February breeze on the wooden bench at the ferry terminal, my bare fingers ice cold.

  Myself, a family, and an older couple handed over our tickets and boarded the ferry to return to Haven Island. I found a window seat below deck and stared out over the whitecaps as the ferry sliced through the wake.

  Four months had passed since I’d last seen Tate, and I still bore a dull ache. I missed Tate. One night, I told Brandon all about him and how he left.

  “If he doesn’t see you for all you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.” He proved himself a great friend, coming around every day to check on me. My parents were concerned him being around so much was responsible for my sad face, my dad’s words to describe my mood. For years, I’d thought my dad preferred Brandon to me, but he proved me wrong when he asked Brandon to not come around. I smiled as I remembered Nova tentatively knocking on my bedroom door and fiddling with the throw on the bed nonstop as she explained that she hadn’t meant for anything to happen, but she and Brandon were secretly dating. Secretly, because they didn’t want to hurt me. I laughed because, really, it couldn’t have been more perfect. Brandon and I had a history, sure, but all I wanted was for him to be happy. And maybe it was a little odd for my sister to be dating my first love, but Brandon and I had stayed together so long because it was easy, not because we were in love.

  Brandon and I had a long talk. He’d missed the idea of us far more than us. He found himself leaning on Nova more and more while I’d been gone. Together, they concocted a scheme to see if him dating an old friend would upset me. It became clear to them both I really was over him, and he began to accept it. Without even realizing it, he fell for my sister, who had become his first call in the morning and his last call of the day.

  Alice had been right. Things did have a way of working themselves out.

  The captain swiveled the boat around the corner and up against the pilings with practiced ease. I deboarded with a handful of other passengers, and we all congregated in front of the baggage claim, cold and impatient. The clatter of the luggage cart banging the metal ramp reassured us of a short wait. Exhilaration stirred—a new season, a new spring.

  “Look who’s back!” Tony bellowed from across the asphalt parking lot.

  “Hey, Tony. How’ve you been? You working today?”

  “Half day. Headed home now. As soon as the contractor ferry decides to show. You have a good holiday?”

  “I did. It was good to be with my family.”

  “You’ve got a nice tan. A glow.”

  “It’s a lot warmer in Florida.”

  He looked me up and down and licked his lips. I pulled my coat tighter around me.

  “You know, your lover boy is back.”

  “Back…Tate’s here?” I didn’t think I heard him right.

  “Yep. Must’ve gotten in with the help ’cause he came back with a daughter about a month ago. Looks like he knocked someone up when he was pretty young. Something must’ve happened to her ma, and now he’s saddled with her.” He clucked his tongue and whistled. The contractor ferry horn announced its impending arrival and overshadowed Tony.

  “What’ve you been up to?” he asked, nudging me to regain my attention. “Thought you’d up and left for good. Dr. Wilton has been back since January.”

  “He gave me permission to work from home. After all, no one’s really here in December and January. I’ve been working on building connections for the conservation center with a few of the Florida universities…” I trailed off as Tony’s focus centered in on his phone.

  If Tate returned here, then he wasn’t hiding from me. He never responded to my texts, but knowing Tate, he might’ve lost his phone and had no way of even finding me. I’d written him off. Assumed he’d gone back to Asia to deal with his exploding boat issue. Maybe he did. Maybe he saved someone and came back. No matter what Tony assumed, I couldn’t believe he had a daughter. The notion sounded absurd.

  A tram driver approached, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Ma’am, is that your luggage?” He pointed.

  “Yes, it is. I’m sorry, I just…” spaced. The uniformed man ignored me and gathered up my luggage, throwing it into the back of the truck bed.

  The blue trams transported visitors and luggage to their cottages. I climbed into the back of my assigned tram and before long zipped past Tate’s cottage. Two rusted beach cruisers leaned against the outside of the golf cart shed. The open garage door exposed his golf cart and the small grill he wheeled in and out.

  I threw open the doors to my little cottage, dumped my luggage inside the door, and sprinted down the hill.

  Alice had assured me he’d be back. I hadn’t believed her. There’d been no sign or evidence he’d return. I’d believed his letter. I’d believed I wouldn’t hear from him for years—maybe not ever again. And he was back. He owed me answers. Did he come back for me? Had he expected me to be here?

  I jumped up the steps to his porch and froze in front of the screen door. A woman with long dark hair stood before a clean cut, short-haired version of Tate, her hand on his shoulder. He gazed intently down on her.

  I watched. Comprehension filtered through my pores. A crushing pressure around my chest cavity made it hard to breathe. So naive. So stupid. In all my what-if scenarios, never once did I think he’d found someone else. Or would bring her back to Haven Island.

  My eyes stung, the world blurred, and I spun around and ran.

  Chapter 25

  Tate

  * * *

  “She’ll be ready to go to school in the fall. She’s dedicated. She works hard. It’s like I told you, kids learn a language through immersion so much more quickly than adults. Keep talking to her in English. She’ll get it.” Cali spoke to me like a patient teacher repeating herself. We had some form of this conversation almost every day. The idea of pushing Jasmine, my adopted daughter, into the U.S. school system terrified me. When Cali responded to my ad for a tutor on the island, and she was available to work with Jasmine full-time, and was fluent in Arabic, it had seemed too good to be true.

  “I hear you. But if she’s not ready, will you consider keeping her on through next year?” I wasn’t paying Cali enough to live on, but she was recently divorced and didn’t seem to be worried about her income. I needed her to remain here, helping us. I didn’t like having a deadline for Jasmine.

  Cali laughed and slung her backpack over her shoulder, signifying the end of the conversation. “That’s, what? Eight months away? You’re going to be blown away by her progress. But of course, if you need me, we’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

  Jawaahir had asked about an English name. Actually, I wasn’t entirely sure she came up with that idea on her own. I thought Laura might have planted the concept. Nevertheless, through a disjointed conversation pointing at photographs and drawings, I got the point across that my grandmother’s name was Jasmine Pearl Tate, and she and I agreed she’d go by Jasmine, or Jazz, for short.

  I fell in step behind Cali and halted when she unexpectedly turned. “Have you arranged for Jasmine’s therapy yet?”

  “I’m working on it.” We’d been back for less than
four weeks. Any therapy options were on the mainland, and I hadn’t had time to do the appropriate amount of research.

  Cali placed her hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezed. She meant it as a comforting gesture, but her questioning me felt like censure. I couldn’t blame her. My parenting was hardly a safe bet.

  “Hey, I’m not criticizing. You’re doing a great job with her. But it’s easy to put off scheduling therapy. Sometimes there is fear it will hurt more than help. But I suspect she’s experienced a lot. Talking about it, or even her emotions, will be good for her.”

  “Will a therapist even be able to help her if she can’t speak English?” The chances of locating a Somalian or Arabic speaking therapist on the coast of North Carolina were slim. Callie spoke five languages, and she didn’t know Somalian.

  “She’s going to be learning English more quickly than you think. If you find the right therapist, it can be more of a language lesson to start, and they can build a relationship, and as she becomes fluent, she’ll have a trusting relationship with someone. I’d expect the chances are good she’s been raped, or witnessed a rape, based on how you met her. Even if she hasn’t, watching her sister die, and then moving to another country—I can’t begin to imagine all the emotions she might have. At the very least, therapy will be one more tool in your arsenal to help her adjust to life here.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t saying anything new to me. The adoption agency also recommended a therapist. Cali had been a godsend for me. Gratitude for her help, for having someone else to weigh in, overflowed. I said thank you to her every single day. The word felt woefully inadequate, but I didn’t know what else to say. I squeezed her hand that rested on my shoulder, trying to silently convey all the appreciation I felt.

  Movement outside the screen door caught my attention, and I looked over Cali’s head in time to see Luna running. Her hair whipped in the wind as she sprinted away. A heavy weight held me in place. I hadn’t done right by Luna. In typical Tate fashion, I’d closed the door and not looked back.

  Cali patted my shoulder and inched away, her movement bringing me back to the living room.

  “We’d better get going if you’re to make the next ferry.”

  My thoughts ran rampant as I drove to the marina. When I returned to the island, I’d expected she’d be dating someone else by now. Life at twenty-two went like that. Or, well, twenty-three. I’d missed her birthday.

  But twenty-two and twenty-three were both the same. One door closed and another opened. Sometimes all in the same week. Hell, more than once I’d said goodbye to a girl on a Saturday, moped around on Sunday, and discovered a new girlfriend on Monday. That was life in a place with summer renters on constant rotation.

  It wasn’t like Luna and I were meant for forever. But I’d be lying if I said relief didn’t fill me when I found out she hadn’t yet returned. I didn’t want to see her with someone else. I also didn’t want to have to face how I’d left her. Saying goodbye sucked. But hello after pretty much running away had the potential to suck more.

  When I pulled up to the marina, Cali tucked her hair behind her ear as she stepped off the cart. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll text you confirmation when I’m on the ferry, but my plan is to catch the nine a.m.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t wait for the ferry to dock. I drove straight to Luna’s. The way she turned and fled bugged me. She deserved an explanation.

  As I drove up the familiar Long Wynd Road, it occurred to me she might have thought something was going on with Cali and me. I was sure if I walked up to her cottage and a man was standing close to her, I’d assume the same thing. But Luna and I…we were supposed to be carefree. A relationship in the moment. She could be upset for how I left, but not if I were dating someone else. Not now. Months later. But that didn’t mean I didn’t owe her an explanation.

  Once she learned about my new responsibility, she’d understand. She wouldn’t want a part in raising a teenage daughter. She’d broken up with her first love because he wanted to settle down, and that wasn’t the life she wanted. I saved her the pain of having to be the one to end it. Because, without a doubt, settling down with a kid in tow wasn’t anywhere on her agenda.

  The ache that had become my normal lessened as I approached her home. Nerves fired off. My breathing quickened through the bite of the bitter cold wind. I had missed her far more than I’d anticipated. More than I’d missed anyone, and given my past, that said something. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t think about her. We weren’t building toward forever, but we were more than a series of hook-ups. I owed her more than my cop-out note. I owed her both an explanation and an apology. The way I acted, you’d think I was the twenty-two-year-old in our relationship.

  I’d known this day would come—if she returned. Haven Island was too small for avoidance to be any sort of solution. Even if it had been a metropolis, Luna deserved more.

  I parked in front of the lifeless board and batten cottage. I’d walked by it almost every day since my return. The garage shed remained closed. I bent down and tugged on the silver handle. The door stuck, and with an extra heave, it lifted, exposing a dusty golf cart.

  I knocked on her doorframe. The screen door remained shut, but the heavy wooden door was ajar. I peeked inside. Two suitcases and an open tote bag with towels spilling out rested against her bed.

  I ventured along the sandy path out to the ocean, searching. Far down the beach, close to the point where the ocean and the inlet crashed together, I found her. Her long blonde hair blew behind her, just as I’d remembered for these months away. The frigid ocean air gushed down the beach, and she gripped her coat tightly around her, huddled as she rambled along the water's edge.

  I caught up to her and slowed, letting my feet fall into her sand indentions.

  Sensing a person approaching, she glanced back. Her hair whipped around in the wind, flowing toward me and partially covering her tear-streaked face. Her honey brown eyes raised to meet mine. Deep inside, warmth and remembrance surged.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets to prevent myself from reaching out to her and pulling her against me. My throat constricted, and my eyes burned. My chest ached. An urge to crush her against me and breathe her in, to comfort her and dry away those tears grew, and I fought it. I hunted her down to explain, not to reunite.

  “Who is she?”

  It took me a moment to place her question. “A tutor.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and she stepped back.

  “My daughter’s tutor,” I amended. I looked around the vacant beach and gestured to a dry location closer to the shelter of the dunes. “Sit? I’ll explain.”

  She crisscrossed her legs, taking a space about a foot away from me on the sand. I fought the desire to pull her onto my lap. I tried to not remember how she felt against me, how it felt to hold her close as we talked. I shoved it all down. I pressed against my sternum, seeking to alleviate the building pressure. Get on with it.

  “Do you remember when I told you about the girl in Somalia, the one who died?”

  She nodded.

  “I adopted her sister. I wanted to give her a different life.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think it would work out. I couldn’t legally adopt her from Somalia. The U.S. doesn’t allow it. My lawyer had some ideas. She pulled some strings. In some parts of the world, with enough money, anything is possible. I knew this, but I didn’t think it would really apply to me. I thought by pursuing the adoption I was keeping her alive and safe. And, I mean, it’s good it all worked out. It probably sounds like I’m not happy about it?” I questioned. Her blank expression reminded me to get on with it. “I’m just trying to explain that it didn’t really feel like something that would really happen. Not any time soon. And then it did.”

  “Why leave like that? With a lett
er?”

  A white seagull flew overhead, squawking high above us.

  “I…I don’t like goodbyes.”

  “That’s a shitty excuse.” She pushed her shoulders back. Her hands lay still in her lap.

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. And besides, telling you…how was I supposed to tell the twenty-two-year-old girl I’m seeing that I adopted a twelve-year-old girl?”

  “Just like that.”

  “It was a nail in the coffin. There was no point in hashing it out.”

  “Why? Because I’m twenty-two? I’m actually twenty-three, but…” Her hands waffled in the air for a moment. “Why are you so caught up on age? Why does my age matter so much to you?”

  I scooped sand into my hand and let it filter through my fingers. My throat tightened, and swallowing became a chore. I gazed out over the ocean, seeking the calm it brought me, matching my breaths to the roll of the inbound waves.

  “It’s not your age, per se…it’s that you have so much in front of you. It’s all that you have in front of you. I refuse to get in the way of that.”

  “So, your fear is that I’ll fall for you so hard I won’t finish my master’s? I’ll follow you around in hopes of becoming your stay at home wife? Something like that? Is that your fear?”

  Shame threatened to drown me. I’d never put it in words, but hearing it said made me feel foolish. Egotistical. Conservative.

  “I’m a single father. You need to be out having fun with kids your own age.” Even as I said the words, I hated every single one of them and on some level recognized them for what they were—an ineffectual defense.

  “Right,” she said, drawing it out, calling me out with one slow word. She stood and dusted the sand from her legs. Tiny grains flew at me, biting my raw skin as they hit. “For the record, how you treated me was incredibly immature. At a certain point, age becomes a number and nothing more. I’d say I’ve been the more mature party in our relationship.” I bowed my head and dug my toes into the sand. “When I got that letter, I didn’t know what to think. I assumed you were in danger. That you had to leave. I would’ve been beyond panicked, except Poppy spoke to Gabe, and he told her you were safe. But he didn’t think you were going to return.”