* * *
There were so many things about Lyla’s funeral I longed to forget. Why would I want to remember how my gut clenched and my insides bled as they put the last piece of my heart in the ground? The way I squeezed Noah’s fingers when the first shovel of dirt was thrown on her tiny coffin. Why would I want to remember the sound the dirt made as it scraped over the shiny surface, covering it so that it would never see the sunlight again? I couldn’t see the sunlight anymore. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t see it, and I couldn't feel it. I doubted I would ever feel either again.
I hadn’t even cried. I was so numb. I was so far from feeling anything I wondered if I were even alive. I knew there were people there, surrounding me, but the only people I remembered were my parents and Noah and his hand and the way it held me to the earth.
And then I'd come home and I was back in my pink room. I couldn't move in with my mom like we'd planned. Not without Lyla. I couldn't face the half-finished nursery.
I unzipped my suitcase my dad had left on the bed. I reached inside for the picture I'd lain on top of my clothes. It was my favorite one of me and Jamie. We were on the beach and I looked so happy. I set it on my dresser, my finger running over Jamie’s face under the glass, wanting so much to touch his smile. I’d never taste that smile again.
I turned the frame face down. Some days I couldn't bear to look at Jamie's smiling face. Some days it brought comfort to see how happy he'd been, but not today.
I lay back on my bed, my fingers curling in the ruffled bedspread. I'd finish unpacking my things later. I had nothing to do but wait. Wait to feel something again. Eyes dry and unblinking, I stared at the stars on my ceiling.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Over the next few months, I learned what it felt like to be a ghost, drifting through life and not living. Having people surround me that loved me and touched me, and somehow I felt neither. I would wake up and experience the same day over and over. The same day of never-ending hopelessness. Eating only because I was forced to. Sleeping because that was what was expected when it was night, though the darkness of it never seemed to end. Hiding the grief because I knew people must be sick to death of seeing me cry. As sick as I was of crying.
I was seventeen years old, and I was broken and I didn’t know how to fix myself. I didn’t know if it were possible, and I still wasn’t sure I wanted to try because surely it would hurt, and I was so tired of hurting.
And then one day it happened. Something changed. Sitting in one of the lounge chairs beside the pool, I felt the warmth of the hand my dad laid on my back as he walked by. I felt the tender squeeze of my mom's hug a few days later when she came over to cook us dinner. The words “I love you” suddenly had a new meaning when they were whispered in my ear, and I tucked them away to be brought out later and cherished. Quiet days still passed, but the steadfast presence of those people who had stuck by me made it easier to get out of bed. To shower and dress. To step outside. I'd sit with Noah beside the pool and hold his hand in silence. It was a beginning. It was start.
And then one day I answered a text from Ally. I went to lunch with my mom and was able, for an hour at least, to carry on a real conversation. I finished a math assignment. I washed my Tahoe.
And then one day, I was sitting on the end of the dock with my feet dangling in the water, feeling the beat of the sun on my shoulders for the first time in longer than I could remember. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t content with feeling it, I wanted to see it.
I closed my eyes, my hands curling around the weathered wood, and made myself think of him. Made myself think of her and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't overcome with misery. The ache in my heart was still there, but it was almost bearable. Almost.
The wood underneath me shook as it took someone’s weight. It vibrated with the passage of footsteps, and I lifted my head to find my dad walking toward me. He was dressed for a run in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt and his well-worn shoes.
“I was about to go for a run on the beach. You want to go?” He’d been making this same offer for months, and I’d been giving him the same answer for months.
I shook my head, watching my toe track through the water. Like he always did, he stood over me for a few more seconds, giving me a chance to reconsider his offer—an offer to do something besides sit. He didn't press the issue. He simply waited before he finally turned to go, his shoes silent as he made his way back up the dock.
I drifted in a tide of indecision, of wanting something and fearing the something I wanted—a life. The courage to move on. The courage to let go of the grief that had been my constant companion.
With every step he took away from me it felt so much like that day I’d been caught in the rip current. Jamie had been watching me, and he’d been proud of my show of strength and my determination. I needed that same strength. I was in the process of being swept away, and I needed to find shore before it was too late. The longer I let my grief carry me away from the life I once knew, the harder it would be to break free. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I wondered if I would even make it, but I knew I had to try. I could almost feel Jamie watching over me. He’d want me to swim for shore. Fight my way out of this current of overwhelming sorrow and find my way back no matter if it took all my strength. No matter if it took every last bit of my will. No matter if it meant letting go of him.
You're not weak. You would have turned for shore and started swimming, and you would have kept swimming until you made it. It would have been that easy.
Jamie's words echoed in my mind. I imagined I heard him say them again. And like that day, I believed him.
I wanted the tears to stop. I wanted to smile again. I wanted to not only feel the sun but see it.
“Dad?” I called, looking back over my shoulder. My hands gripped the wood on either side of my legs. My heart was beating as if I'd just run three miles and I let myself feel each steady thump. Life would go on. One beat at a time.
“Yeah.” He stopped, turning half toward me.
“Maybe the trail through Deer Lake Park, just not the beach.” I didn’t think I could ever go back there.
“Sure baby, wherever you want.” He smiled at me.
I didn’t return it. I couldn’t do that yet. But I knew one day I would. One day I’d be able to think about Jamie and our baby and my heart would smile.
Summer's Last Breath is a prequel novel to The Emerald Series.
Books in The Emerald Series
Waterborn (Book 1)
Waterdreamer (Book 2)
Watermark (Book 3)
Look for Book 4, Sun and Saltwater, coming later this year.
Thanks so much for reading!
When not sitting at my computer writing, you can find me at the local Crossfit gym. I have four young adults of my own, three labs, and two cats. I like going to rock concerts with my better half. I have an obsession with french fries, and rarely wear any shoes other than flip-flops. I aspire to one day live somewhere that I can ride my bike to the beach and the grocery store. I’m thinking the Emerald Coast.
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Summer's Last Breath (The Emerald Series) Page 22
