I try to be positive. This is a whole new life for me. I want to make it work, because there’s nothing back at home for me anymore, nothing but heartbreak.
Nick has a couple neighbors, but they’re through the woods a ways. His place is about fifteen hundred square foot. The upstairs has two matching bedrooms with a bathroom in between. It’s nothing fancy. The raw materials are the same as the outside. Cedar lines every exterior wall. Paneling that matches frames out the rooms. The open floor plan on the first level makes the space look larger. The high ceilings in the living room follow the spiral staircase to the second floor. A woodstove with timber stacked on either side sits in the corner of the room. A large cast iron kettle is on top of the flat cook service. The furniture is dated, but looks comfortable. It’s the old print of pheasants with what looks like a handmade frame. I think my dad had the same kind in the eighties. He’s got a flat screen television hung on the wall with surround sound and a gaming system underneath. The kitchen is one long wall of counter and cabinets. The gas stove and refrigerator are together, while the sink overlooks the only window on that side of the cabin. Made of wood, the counters are covered in boxes of crackers and cereal, so I have no idea what he keeps in the cabinets. There are a couple dishes in the sink, and as I look around I don’t see a dishwasher. That’s going to suck. As soon as we go to town I’m buying every paper product I can find, because I don’t do dishes. Ever.
I meet the captain of the ship I’ll be working on and fill out my paperwork. There are loads of safety warnings and precautionary gear I need to get familiar with if I want to come back in one piece. I remember watching shows about the guys who do these dangerous jobs and now I’m about to be one of them. Dad wasn’t happy about my choice. I think the whole family assumes I’m doing this to end my life. They think I’ve come up here to Alaska so they couldn’t stop me. Even Bristol begged me stay, not that anyone was going to change my mind. The only thing to keep me there is gone, my other half, my everything.
My first adventure, as I’d like to call it, came several weeks after the move. In that amount of time I caught up with Nick, met some of his co-workers, and even people from town that hang at the local tavern. We drink a lot. I’m pretty sure we’re alcoholics, because it beats being cold all the time. The alcohol helps with the memories, though I think Nick would beg to differ. Where it numbs my soul, he gets a earful, apparently sometimes lasting all night long. It seems when I’m drunk I talk about her more, and weep like a baby. When I denied it he recorded me on his phone. As embarrassed as I was, he didn’t give me too much shit about it. He knows my demons and why I’m in Alaska. He knows what I’m running from, and how hard I’m trying to forget.
The boat is a massive crew of eighteen, but that’s nothing compared to the amount of work they put forth in order to make their catch loads. Two days in and I’m beat. The only good thing about the whole job is the amazing scenery. In all my life I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than huge waves of the rolling sea, with a picturesque landscape backing it. I’ve seen carcasses of whales, and even live ones that come up for air, huge schools of massive beasts living within the dark frigid waters.
I’ve never had to sleep on the water, not unless I was taking a girl out for a good time. This is a whole new ballgame. There is no calm on the rough water. We’re constantly rocking back and forth, and I swear in all my years I’ve never been as seasick as I become that first two weeks. When we arrive back at the docks my legs can’t adjust. For the next week I feel like the world is still rocking. While I’m trying to adjust to my new occupation, the differences and beauty of it all, I start to hear from family who want to know I’m still among the living. I make a pact to speak to Dad at least once a month. I don’t think he’s happy about the idea, but my schedule doesn’t always promise I’ll be near a phone.
Six months go by, and slowly I feel like I’m getting into a new routine with my life. Nick and I are assigned to different crews, so for the most part we rarely see one another. The good thing is that I’d met lots of locals before being left to fend for myself. It took one big storm to come in to force me to clean a dish. The paper products ran out and there was no way for me to dig my way out to a store. I let them pile up for three days first. Each time I glanced at the heap, I’d picture Brice making fun of me for not wanting to wash them. That’s not the only time I see her. Sometimes it seems so real that I swear she’s with me, especially when I’m out on that boat putting myself in danger. I can’t let go, no matter how far I get away from the island.
Chapter 13
Weston
It’s almost summer when I come home to discover mail addressed to me. Since I haven’t forwarded anything from Chincoteague I assume it’s family. I mailed Dad a card for Bristol once. With no return address, I quickly open the envelope. The handwriting doesn’t seem familiar. I start from the beginning of the two paged note.
West:
I hope this letter finds you well. I wasn’t surprised you left town considering everything that happened. Words can’t express how sorry I am for you, for everyone Brice loved. I’m not writing this today to ask for some kind of forgiveness. I know that’s something I’ll never get.
I stop reading. This letter is from Kimber. Why would my dad give her the address? Why would anyone think I’d be okay receiving anything from that family? Before finishing, I crumble the paper and toss it into the fire. There isn’t a damn thing I want to hear from that girl. She ruined my life. She took Brice away. She destroys all that she touches.
I’m in a fowl mood for the next few days, but don’t call home to ream my dad a new ass. I’d rather ignore the whole ordeal and pretend it never happened.
Sometimes as much as we think we can push problems under a rug, they seem to find their way out again.
Almost exactly a month from the first letter, another arrives. This time I'm wise to the handwriting and toss it before wasting the time to open something I have no interest in.
They keeping coming.
Every month a new letter replaces the one before it. Seven letters in total, all unread. My monthly talks with Dad never mention them, and he doesn't lead on that there's anything I need to know. His only concern is that I come home for Thanksgiving in which I sadly decline. I'm not ready. It hasn't been a year. I'm not even sure if the grass has had enough time to grow around her grave.
I like being alone, away from landmarks, especially that damn lighthouse we shared so many memorable times in. Maybe I'll get myself a dog for Christmas. That's all I need. Nick won't care. He'd probably like sharing the responsibility when I'm out on the water. I haven't seen much of him lately. He's been spending time with a certain someone in town. He stays at her place a lot on his off time. It's cool that he's found someone. Everyone deserves to be happy at least part of their lives. I had my happiness. I experienced a love like no other. I can't outrun the never ending emptiness I feel on a daily basis. Maybe I'm torturing myself. Brice wouldn't want this life for me. The shrink in her would tell me keeping my feelings bottled up only makes the problems worse. She'd tell me I could be happy again if I let myself. She'd tell me to stop hiding from everything that hurts and face the things until I'm able to move forward. I know, because we went through this before. I'm fully aware of everything I'm doing wrong. Admitting she was right doesn't make getting there any easier on me. If I don't want to be happy without her, how am I supposed to move forward?
Christmas in Alaska is white. It's quiet, like an eerie silence that's beautiful but depressing at the same time. Nick is spending the holiday with his local girlfriend’s family. They invited me along, but I kindly declined. I’m not one to intrude. Instead I make plans of my own. I go on an adventure in an old pickup I got a good deal on a few months back.
A litter of Great Pyrenees pups are ready to go to good homes. Best thing about this particular breed is their love for cold weather. Thick coats provide them with a thermal layer that easily adapts to both frigid and
warm conditions. They're huge dogs, with lots of fuzzy white hair and a protective demeanor I'd want in a constant companion.
One female stands in a litter of six, all kept in a fenced area outdoors. They're like baby polar bears, needy eyes begging for attention. I crouch down and watch as the female with a gray patch on her left eye comes right over to me. I weave my hands through the rails and pull her into my arms. She licks the side of my face with her sweet puppy breath and my heart begins to beat again. It's the best money I think I've ever spent. We're halfway off the farm, her on my lap, when I come up with her name. "I'm going to call you Bee, after the other woman in my life. What do you think of that, sweet girl? I think Brice would love you to pieces."
Her tail wags while I focus on the snowy road, so we can pick up dog food and some toys before going back to the cabin and introducing her to her new home.
It's never felt like home to me. It may be where I reside, but it's not really home, and it never will be.
I spend my Christmas with little Bee. We eat an elk roast and hang out on the couch watching the festivities on the television screen. I've opted to take a few months off. It's about to be halibut season and I've banked enough money to be comfortable for a while. Some weeks I cleared over five grand, and since my bills are minimal, I've been saving the rest. Part of me wants to buy my own fishing boat, and build a house here in Alaska where I can leave my past behind in Virginia. Then I think of my family. I miss them, every single day that passes.
Christmas was depressing, even with a puppy to make me smile. Bee is a great companion. She keeps me occupied and fills the once empty spot in the bed next to me, but it's not the same as cutting up with my brothers or getting advice from my dad. I miss Alice's cooking, and the way she sets my dad in his place when he's being a grouch. I miss my sister's smart mouth, and the way the twins drive me bat-shit crazy. The island holds more than memories of Brice. My whole life is there, waiting for me to return.
The only obstacle is me.
Another two months of living a solitary life passes me by. I do one rotation fishing and miss Bee so much I decide I’m going to take another break, maybe only work when it’s crabbing season. I’m pretty set with cash. For the most part we hunt and fish for our meat. I think Bee eats more than I do, so groceries haven’t run me much. For the most part we tittle around the cabin or go into town for a meal or a drink. Bee waits in the back of the truck like a good girl, getting the attention from anyone that passes. The kids love her. Once she jumped clear out of the pickup to chase after a group that was pulling a sled with a four-wheeler. By the time I tracked her down she was a few blocks away, frolicking and soaked to the bone.
I’ve met some women. Getting hit on and asked out isn’t as bad as it used to be. I decline all the offers. Sure, it would be nice to feel the comfort of a woman again, but it wouldn’t be right. I’m not interested. I may never be.
Don’t get me wrong. I have friends. They’re the people we hunt and fish with. Some co-workers are cool company as well. I’m not entirely alone. I just find solace in the peace and quiet of being by myself. I want to watch the bear standing in the lake to catch fish and drink. I want to look outside and see a moose staring back at me. It’s nothing like being at home where wild horses run across the beaches. It’s surreal.
Since moving it’s been a real bonus not to have to worry about money, and much like my hometown, Alaska life is completely laid back. People aren’t struggling. Even the folks living off the land, who some would assume were poverty stricken, are happy. They appreciate the little things, and respect nature for what it is and how much it gives back.
Speaking of giving back, Bee is getting huge. She’s already nearly sixty pounds in weight and the vet says by the time she’s done growing she could weigh nearly one fifty. Her parents looked like miniature ponies, so I knew all along what I was getting into. She may be big, but she’s never in the way. I’ve taught her to retrieve and she loves to play. No matter where I am, she’s by my side. I can’t imagine how sad she’ll be when I have to spend two weeks out on the water. She’s gotten spoiled with me being off for while.
My family keeps badgering me to come home for a visit. I’m thinking I might take them up on the offer come spring. It would take me about a week or so if I drove, and that would be my plan if I wanted to bring Bee along. After a nice Sunday morning phone call to my father, Nick walks in the door with a pack of mail he picked up from the post office. He hands me two letters with familiar writing. They’ve been coming more frequently. I toss them in the trash and shake my head.
“How many of them have you thrown away?” He questions.
“I lost count.”
“Who are they from? Did you have a honey on the side or something?”
Shooting him a dirty look, I feel the need to explain further. “No. Never with Brice. The letters are from her sister. You know the one that she was with in the accident? The one who is walking around with her sister’s organ inside of her. That’s who the letters are from. A good-for-nothing-hoe.”
“Don’t you wonder why she keeps writing them?”
“No. I really don’t give a shit. Unless it’s a copy of her obituary I don’t give a damn. She ruined my life. Nothing she could say would change that.”
“Damn. I can see where you’d be bitter, man. It’s understandable. I just wonder why she keeps writing when it’s clear you’re never going to return anything back.”
“Because she thinks the world revolves around her. She’s a selfish little bitch. She’s probably writing to brag about how good her life is without her sister, or how much healthier she is with her kidney.”
“I’m not taking up for the girl, but I’m sure losing her sister hit her hard. I don’t see anyone gloating about the death of a sibling. If anyone feels to blame it’s her. Imagine living with that kind of guilt for the rest of your life. I’m sure it’s changed her in ways most of us will never be able to comprehend. Maybe she’s reaching out.”
Nick sounds exactly like Brice. I almost feel like she’s standing behind him telling him what to say.
“I don’t need a shrink, man.”
He tosses his hands in the air. “It’s your life. I’m just speaking as someone on the outside looking in. I’m not saying you should run out and forgive the chick, but maybe seeing what she has to say could give you closure. It’s been over a year, and even though I like you being around, there’s going to come a time where you have to go home for something. Wouldn’t you rather it be on your terms and not because someone was sick or has died?”
Nick shakes his head.
“You’re right, but that still doesn’t mean I’m ready.”
“Ready for what, West? No one is giving you a time limit on how long you can grieve. Hell, it would take me a lifetime to deal with what you’ve lost, but at least face it. Visit the people who care about you. You’re lucky to have them. All I’ve got is a drunk for a dad who I go years without hearing from. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
That’s true. I’ve taken them for granted when all they wanted to do was support me. I nod, settled on the fact that I’m going to have to return to town, and maybe even dig these last two envelopes out of the trash to see what the hell is going on with Kimber. We were never close, so her reaching out to me is definitely something new.
Chapter 14
Kimber
She’s been gone for one year and two months and one day. Not one of those days have gone by where I wished it wasn’t me dead in the ground.
After my kidney transplant, I went home to a warzone. Mom and Dad have since split up. The house is for sale. All of our memories are being packed away in boxes. The amount of tears I’ve shed can’t be healthy, nor will they change all that’s been lost. It’s like one day I woke up and the world changed before my eyes. I’ve pleaded with God. I’ve begged anyone who will listen. I’d make a deal with a demon just to turn back the clock and change that horrible night. What makes every
thing come full circle is the person I would go to in order to figure this out is the one who is buried in the ground at the local cemetery. She’s the only person who could give me some sort of purpose. I sure as hell can’t find it on my own.
Everything that’s happening, all this pain, is directly my doing. I’m the culprit; the reason everyone looks at me with disgust. I’m that nuisance girl who took the good doctor from them. I’m selfish and only care about myself.
They’re half right to feel that way. I used to be that person, the one who grew up in the shadow of her big overachiever sister. I usually got what I wanted because my parents wanted me out of their hair. I bet if they never had me they’d still be happily married.
Since I have so much time to reflect on life, I’m aware of what a crappy person I used to be. That all changed the night of the accident.
One can’t comprehend what it’s like to wake up and learn that you’ve killed your own sister, or that your parents will never be able to look at you with love in their hearts again. People might say I’m overreacting, but the people who brought me into this world are different now. They’re distant and cold.
I could say I’m sorry a thousand times but it will never bring Brice back. For that reason my heart will constantly ache. I’m the last person who ever talked to my sister. I’m the last person to hear her gentle voice comforting me, telling me everything was going to be okay. I’m the last person to hear her say that I wasn’t to blame, but I am. I always will be the reason she’s gone. Nothing I ever do can bring her back. This is more than a constant torment.
Waves of Despair: Oyster Cove Series Page 8
