by Jess Petosa
I look back at the house, and his mom has disappeared for the moment. "You better hurry," I say into his ear.
He throws back his head in a laugh and jogs through the sand with me bouncing on his back. He rounds the first outcropping of rocks and enters into a small, horseshoe shaped section of sand. You can't see the house or the docks from here, just the rocks, the sea, and the sky. I slide off Will's back and look around.
"Convenient," I say with an eyebrow raise.
"A lot of shenanigans have happened back here," he says as he looks at me.
"Oh really?" I tease and he grabs my waist to pull my closer.
"All that matters right now is you." Will's eyes are hooded as he looks down at me, and I stand up on my toes, planting a gentle kiss on his mouth. He deepens the embrace, using his hand to pull my head closer to his.
"This place can't be safe at high tide," I say once he pulls away.
"There is a small path in the back that leads back onto the beach, but yes, it can be dangerous at high tide. My parents didn't let us come back here as kids, and I don't think they realized just how much we came back here as teenagers," he says with a grin. "But I think we’re safe now."
He looks out at the water. “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to see the fireworks from here, though.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t mind.”
He pulls me toward him again, and this time falls back onto the sand, bringing me down with him. He is sitting with his legs out in front of him and I am curled in his lap, for once having the advantage of my head being higher than his.
I’m not sure what instinct fuels me, probably one that I have experience with in my lost memories, but I'm twisting and turning in his lap until I am facing him completely. My legs are on either side of his and our bodies are completely flush from our thighs up. The effect sends a wave of pleasure through my body. I press my forehead to Will's and close my eyes. We are both breathing hard, even though we are really just sitting in the sand. His hands find my bare thighs and he slowly drags them higher, bringing the hem of my dress with them.
I bring my lips back to his and feel, more than hear, a low moan emit from his throat. I’m not sure, but I think I do the same. It doesn't even matter. My fingers thread into his hair and I try to get closer to him, an impossible feat. His hands grip the backs of my thighs tightly and continue to pull the fabric up. I feel it slide over my backside and his hands travel up and over my underwear. They find their way to the dimples on my lower back. Our mouths move as one, quickly and then slowly again, frantically and then with less need. Will grips my back and flips me to the side, lowering me gently to the sand. He hovers above me on his forearms, his breath ragged.
"Jane." His voice is low and throaty.
I look up and meet his gaze, and I know that I’m wearing a similar look. A line is about to be crossed here, and that line is as jagged and dangerous as the rocks on either side of us. I want Will to cover my body with his just as much as I want him to stand and walk away. I don't know what to say, and instead just close my eyes, feeling embarrassment as a tear escapes down one cheek.
I feel Will shift above me and soon his body is beside mine, rather than over it, and he pulls me close. I bury my face into the warm crook of his neck. I breathe him in and throw my arm over his side, clinging to his shirt. I can hear his heart beating against my ear, louder than the sounds of the waves hitting the rocks or the seagulls giving their last caws as the first star appears in the sky. Neither of us speak, for words cannot heal this moment, nor can they ruin it. Will holds me tight until the seagulls are gone, the sun is to sleep, and the fireworks begin to burst in the distance.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It’s Monday and I’m sitting at a booth in the cafe, nibbling on a club sandwich. I am working a double today, and we are the slowest we've been since I started over a month ago. I don't blame people for avoiding the outside today. Angry gray clouds hang in the sky and rain pelts the windows in a furious pace. The edges of the awning flap violently against the window, and I think of the boats at the dock, the rough water rocking them back and forth.
Will stopped in for breakfast this morning to tell me that he would be at the docks until the heavy part of the storm passed. They needed to monitor the boats and make sure none broke free of their ropes. Not that there is much they could do if it did happen, but it is part of his job to watch these things. We both had busy weekends at work, and only had time for clipped conversations since Friday night. That evening loomed over us, and I knew that Will struggled with how to deal with it, just like I do. When he drove me home later that night, I assured him that I was fine.
"I shouldn't have pushed you that far," he told me.
"You didn't push me," I responded, the frustration in my voice clear. "I didn't want to complicate things further. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you."
He remained silent after that, and walked me to the door, kissing my cheek gently before hurrying back to his SUV. I was sure that he finally realized that same thing I had been thinking all this time. In the end, I would hurt him. I managed to have the best and worst night of my time in Hampton Harbor.
Now, as I sit in the booth, I try to picture him out on the docks, braving the wind and the whipping rain to check on the boats. I told him that I might stop by on my break, but I'm still in the cafe, picking at my food and sipping my water.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Katie, our lead hostess, drops a copper coin on the table and slides into the seat across from me. She is headed into her sophomore year of college, working over the summer to raise her spending money. She has chin length blond hair and startling green eyes, and I envy the self-confidence that she emanates.
I take another small bite of my sandwich. "I think my mood just reflects this crappy weather." I point out the window to further prove my point.
Katie looks out the window and then back at me. "At least we know the sunshine is just behind the clouds."
I fight the urge to reach across the table and throttle her. While I admire her self-confidence, I do not admire her continuous "glass-half-full" attitude. Right now I want to be in a bad mood. Right now I want to let it consume me until I'm as gray as the sky outside. Katie watches me for one full, uncomfortable minute before grabbing her penny and sliding out of the booth. Shelley finds me next, her mood mirroring mine.
"I don't think today is going to get any better. Get out of here," she grumbles before returning to the office.
She has to work extra hours with Charles and Marie gone, and even though I know she enjoys her job, she doesn't seem overly happy about the extra work. I count my measly tips and turn in my apron, pausing briefly by the back door as I decide where to go. I end up running across the street to the convenience store first, purchasing a small black umbrella.
I walk down one side of the street, deciding it’s a perfect day to explore a few more of the shops. I enter a small clothing boutique first and browse the racks. I try to picture myself before the accident, sifting through clothes and picking up different pairs of shoes. I don't feel any familiarity or sense of remembrance as I walk through the store, and neither of the sales associates show recognition when I approach them. I leave empty handed and walk a little further down the street, stopping in front of a Hampton Harbor tourist shop. Shirts, sweatshirts, and hats are displayed proudly in the windows, as well as mugs, magnets, shot glasses, and pens. I step inside and start to browse down the aisles, feeling a better sense of belonging in this store. I run my fingers over a snow globe, one with a ceramic beach scene displayed with in the glass. It is overly ironic, and I pick the globe up.
An image flashes to my mind, and at first I think it is déjà vu. Then I realize that I've held this snow globe before. I've admired it in the same way. A sales lady approaches me with a smile on her face.
"You know, you had that same look on your face the last time you were in here. You stared at that snow globe for the longest time." She stops beside me and points at the
snow globe in my hands.
I set it back on the shelf and turn to her. "Oh, you mean last month?"
She just nods. "Are you still happy with the Hampton Harbor hat you bought?"
Her eyes travel to my head, where the hat in question is obviously not located.
I nod. "I love it, thanks."
The sales lady cocks her head and I back away from the shelf of snow globes, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts.
"I better get back to work," I tell her.
I don't know why I lie, but I don't even think twice about it until I am out of the shop and a half a block away. Fishing into my past is turning out to be pointless, considering I don't know how to ask the questions that will get the answers I need. The shop workers that recognize me will assume that I remember the last time I was there, unless I tell them otherwise. And I have no plans to tell any of them what happened to me, or what I am dealing with.
Before I know it, I'm standing in front of the Davey & Sons Boating store. I get a glimpse of the marina as I walk by. The boats rock precariously on top of the unruly waves. I think about entering the main store, but instead take the ramp down to the boardwalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of Will. It doesn't take long to find him. He is standing on Dock A, next to the first yacht. He is dressed from head to toe in a yellow rain suit, but I can tell it is Will just by the way he stands. He talks to another worker, pointing toward something on the hull of the boat. I hold the umbrella tight as the wind whips around me. It’s stronger here than on the street.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, and lightening flashes out over the sea. I'm mesmerized by the storm as a whole, watching as it turns the normally peaceful water into a weapon. Another gust of wind comes by and pulls at my umbrella, and it flips inside out with a jolt. I wrestle with it for a moment before instinct tells me to turn it toward the wind. It pops back into place but two of the flaps are ripped, and in the process I've gotten myself soaked. I drop the umbrella into a nearby trashcan and then cross my arms over my black tee shirt. It clings to my body uncomfortably.
I turn back to the docks and see Will walking toward me, his eyes locked on mine.
"What are you doing out here?" He says over the rain. He has to speak louder than usual.
"I got out of work early and took a walk. I stopped when I saw you." I continue to watch him, trying to gauge if we are okay or not.
"You should go home, Jane. It isn't safe down here." As if to prove a point, the wind blows the yellow hood of his raincoat back. His dark hair dances wildly in the wind.
The rain falls harder and creates a deafening roar.
"I'm not going to get hurt," I yell back to him.
He regards me for a moment. His expression is taut and his eyes full of sadness. "You will, Jane. In fact, we both will.”
I realize then that he is no longer talking about the storm. He is using my words from Friday night, confirming what I feared after he pulled away from the house. He is afraid that I’m going to hurt him. He knows that I’m going to hurt him.
My mouth pops open slightly and I tear my eyes from his, looking back at the thrashing boats. They are mimicking my feelings right now and copying how my heart is thrashing back and forth in my chest. How my stomach is bobbing up and down. I turn back to Will and just nod, pulling my arm from his grasp. I turn and hurry back up the ramp, seeing a bus pull up to the stop just as I approach. I climb aboard and chose to stand and hold one of the poles, not wanting to get any of the seats wet. I look out the window as the bus pulls away and see the yellow of Will's raincoat. He is still standing where I left him minutes ago.
It isn't until I’m showered and in bed that I finally feel the emotional tide taking me over. I try to brush the tears away from my cheeks as quickly as they appear, but soon I give in and allow them to drop onto my pillow. I pull the covers up to my neck and burrow deeper in the bed, willing sleep to come peacefully.
"Mommy, when are we going to visit Grandma and Papa again?"
I look up at the same woman from the hill, except she seems a little older this time. There are more wrinkles around her eyes and there are splashes of gray on her hairline.
"We aren't," she says to me. Her tone is harsh.
I can feel the immense sorrow welling up on my insides. Tears spill onto my cheek and I’m sobbing like a child.
I am a child.
"Don't be so dramatic, Melissa."
The tears don't stop coming, even though I suddenly want them too. I know how much mommy hates it when I cry.
"If you're going to sit there and act like a baby, you can go to your room."
The woman points to the stairs and shoots me a threatening glare.
I hurry up the stairs, holding up the pink dress-up gown I'm wearing, and throw myself onto my bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The storm rages on for the remainder of the night, and knocks out power to the entire island. Shelley calls the landline in the morning to tell me that the cafe is closed until the power can be restored, and I feel relief at her news. I don't want to have to go back into town right now, not after yesterday afternoon. Not after my dream last night.
I remembered again, and this time it feels much more important than before.
For starters, I saw a glimpse of my home. The wallpapered living room, the old TV in the corner and the carpeted stairs that led up my bedroom. My bedroom that was painted pink and purple and had animated ponies on the comforter. I'm sure that by now, things have changed, and maybe we don't even live there anymore, but these details are still important.
Most importantly, my mom called me Melissa. She called me by name.
My real name.
Maybe it was a made up part of my dream. Maybe I'm so tired of being Jane, the unknown, that I willed my memory to give me something else. Just at a moment where I finally want all of this to be over, my mind has at last given me a clue.
I pull the big camping lanterns out of the hall closet, the ones Marie showed me one of my first days here. I take them downstairs and place them in multiple locations so that I’m able to fill the house with a decent amount of light. I do some cleaning, able to see enough to dust and sanitize surfaces in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. It is busy work, and it fills my mind for a while. I mainly try to focus on anything but Will.
Anything but Melissa.
I am finished cleaning by lunchtime, and I make a peanut butter sandwich so that I don't have to open the refrigerator. The clouds outside seem to thicken by mid-afternoon, and it looks more like evening outside than two o'clock. I sit on the bench seat in the living room and look out over the rough waters, wishing I had something else to keep me busy.
My thoughts overcome me and soon I am slumped back against the pillows, trying to dry the tears that seem unending. I feel a nagging "I told you so" within me. I knew that dating Will would be risky, and that our summer fling could end in heartbreak. We've been together for almost a month but it feels longer. I feel like I’ve spent a whole summer with him, a whole year. He makes me feel complete and unbroken, despite my fragile mind, but right now I feel like I’m in more pieces than ever before. I grip a pillow to my chest and let my eyelids droop, finding that the emotional exhaustion has seeped into physical exhaustion.
"I don't care what you think!" I scream before slamming my bedroom door.
I stomp over to my dresser and grab a brush off the top, running it through my hair roughly. I look up and I’m gazing at myself in the mirror, except I'm younger. More sure and confident, and a tad bit cocky. My dark hair is shorter and falls just below my shoulders. I'm wearing too much make-up. Blue eye shadow, black eye liner, bright pink blush, and a pinkish lip-gloss. I continue to brush the non-existent knots in my hair before finally throwing my brush to the floor.
My hand reaches for a picture shoved into the edges of the mirror. I'm in the image and I have my arms wrapped around a handsome boy. He has his arm around my shoulder and his head leans against mine. He wears a
baseball hat but I can see blonde hair creeping out around his ears. There is a lake behind us, and we are both suntanned and happy.
"I don't care what my mom says," I tell the picture. "She can't break us apart."
Lightening strikes and I sit up quickly, almost falling off of the window seat. It’s pitch black outside but thankfully the battery-powered lanterns are still burning bright. I stretch my neck back and forth, trying to ward off the stiffness from sleeping at an odd angle. I run my hands over my eyes and keep them closed, thinking of my newest memory. I go over every detail.
