The Abalone Shell

by Suzie O'Connell

  Slowly, he uncurled his arms and lifted his head, wincing at the aches that had accumulated in his body from being locked rigidly in the same position. He had no idea of the passage of time, but the fire had burned down to a bed of hot coals. With stiffness in every joint and muscle, he rose and picked up the largest of his plastic buckets and headed down the beach to fill it. It took five trips to fully douse what remained of the fire. Then he picked up his things with a methodical listlessness, shoved them in his canvas sack, and headed toward the arch and Hidden Beach once he was satisfied the fire was totally out. He was in no hurry to go home to his empty house to face the older memories of his wife and son or the newer ones of Hope and Daphne, but the tide was coming in, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced to walk around the long way.

  When he passed beneath the arch, he habitually checked for abalone shells but as usual there were none. As he climbed the stairs toward the path, he felt like an old man, his joints creaking and stiff, his heart tired of the pain. He reached the top and stopped, frozen by indecision. Involuntarily, his gaze was pulled toward the St. Cloud cottage, and the sight of the glowing lights from within brought a fresh round of despair.

  An invisible force drew him out onto the point of rock that formed the arch between Hidden Beach and the main beach. The rocks were fractured, and climbing out across them was only for the foolhardy. He hadn’t been out here in three years, and when he nearly slipped, it occurred to him that he’d been lucky to make it out to the point that day without falling. That day, the rocks had been slick with rain and salt spray tossed up by the crashing, storm-driven waves.

  He sat in the same spot he’d occupied that day and set his canvas sack beside him. This evening, the sky was a clear, pale yellow as the sun reached for the horizon, and the surf lapped gently at the rocks. Bracing his hands on his knees while his legs dangled over the edge, he inhaled deeply, held it for as long as he could, and let it out, enthralled by the water foaming lazily far below him. As calm as the ocean was tonight, a jump from where he sat would still be dangerous. There were rocks hidden below the surface, and the current swirled around them strong enough as the tides moved to drag even a strong swimmer like him down to the bottom.

  “I’m lucky to be alive,” he murmured.

  The thought came with a rush of relief but also with gratitude, and he sat up a little straighter and opened himself fully to the memories in a way he hadn’t ever done. He allowed himself to feel again the crushing grief that had driven him out onto this point in the middle of an unusually powerful storm and to remember how utterly empty he had been standing atop the rocks as the wind buffeted him and how the icy current had embraced him and dragged him under. He acknowledged the miracle that had propelled him smoothly between the point and the tall rocks that had once been part of it. And he thanked Sam and Sean and everything holy for the abalone shell that had been the first thing his hand had touched when he’d dived under the waves after it became apparent that the ocean wasn’t going to do the job for him.

  He glanced down at his hands. He’d latched onto that shell as if it were a lifeline. No, not as if it were. There was no doubt in his mind about that. It had been a lifeline, a message from his wife as clear as any ever shouted at him.

  You must live!

  He’d pushed toward the surface and battled the current toward the beach and dragged himself up onto the cold sand. He’d lain there with the shell clutched in his hand for a long time with the grit digging into his cheek and the rain pelting him, and at some point as his body temperature dropped, he’d had the real epiphany. In trying to die, he was devaluing his wife’s and son’s lives, and right then he had promised them he’d fight for his life and hold on to their love and the wonderful memories they’d made together and honor their lives by doing so.

  Shivering so hard his teeth chattered, he’d begun crawling toward the sand dunes and the highway beyond. He hadn’t made it more than two dozen yards when Red had found him. What his mother’s beau had been doing out on the beach in that weather, Owen still didn’t know. Some would call it luck, but he knew it was Sam’s doing. Red had driven him home and stayed with him until his body temperature had warmed to normal. He hadn’t once asked how or why Owen had ended up lying on the beach soaking wet, nor had he mentioned the incident to Andra, whom he’d been dating only a couple months at that point, but Owen was certain the man knew.

  He scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face and was unsurprised when they came away wet. He wiped the tears away and his lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but a hint of one.

  And then movement out of sync with the waves washing gradually higher up Hidden Beach caught his attention. At once, disbelief washed through him.

  There was no way….

  Scrambling to his feet, he snatched his sack and stumbled back across the rocks to the stairs. He raced down them, keeping his eyes on the object. When he reached it, he hesitated, not trusting his eyes. Then he reached for it, and his hand clamped on a familiar shape.

  An abalone shell.

  It wasn’t chipped from being knocked against the rocks or pitted by countless tiny organisms like the shell he’d found that day three years ago, either. This shell was pristine, and its perfect iridescent interior shimmered in the warm glow of sunset.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Sam,” he whispered, awed.

  He sat heavily in the damp sand at the water’s edge, staring at the shell in his hand. With his fingers splayed, the tips of his thumb and pinky didn’t quite reach the edges.

  The message was undeniable.

  Fight for her.

  But he shook his head. He’d done the right thing. As much as it hurt him—and dear God, it hurt—he had to let Hope go. Even if, as she said, there was no possibility of reconciliation with her ex, building a firm, cordial friendship with Dan was going to be difficult enough without Owen complicating it.

  Silly man, he swore he could hear his wife say, that’s not your choice.

  A wave washed up over his feet, soaking him up to his waist, and suddenly, he laughed at the utter absurdity of it all. He felt as if his sanity had finally fractured beyond salvaging, but at the same time, everything came together with a breathtaking clarity. Is this what it felt like when sanity returned?

  He stood and shook the clumps of wet sand from his saturated shorts. Before he turned back to the stairs, he tipped his face to the sky, closed his eyes and smiled. And he took the next step in the healing process, one he realized now he’d been afraid to take until he’d met Hope.

  He said goodbye to Sam and Sean with a promise to not only fight to stay alive but to live.

  Because the life he wanted to live included Hope and her daughter. And he couldn’t give himself fully to them while he was holding on to a love that was lost to him.

  Seventeen

  Hope watched Owen crest the stairs to Hidden Beach and pick his way carefully out to the point over the arch, and for a terrifying few moments, she thought he might jump. Then he sat, and she forced herself to turn away. She folded her arms across her chest, consciously keeping them loose.

  Her emotions had run the gauntlet over the last hour since she and Daphne had left Owen on the beach, and she’d only just managed to subdue them. Seeing him out there on the point…. Her heart thumped wildly again.

  “Daph, what do you think about heading home to Montana early?” she asked, drawing the curtains closed so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch him. She couldn’t let him distract her right now. Sliding into the chair at the dining room table beside her daughter, she added, “Maybe we could swing through Colorado on the way back and you could spend a couple days with your dad.”

  “I don’t want to. I like it here,” Daphne replied, half-distracted by her crayons and coloring book. “And you said we could spend the whole summer here.”

  “I know I did, but….”

  Hope snapped her mouth closed, unable to come up with a reason to leave early.
She could say she needed to get back to work, but the truth was she’d been more productive in the last week here than she’d been in months back home. And she couldn’t exactly tell her daughter that she wanted to leave because Owen had let Dan get to him. Daphne wouldn’t understand that.

  Abruptly, Daphne sat up and looked at her mother. “Are you mad at Owen?”

  Was she? Not exactly, but he’d hurt her when he’d questioned the solidity of her decision to divorce her ex-husband. “No, baby girl, I’m not mad at Owen.”

  “But when I hugged him goodbye, he was sad. And you’re sad, too. Is it because of Daddy?”

  “It’s complicated.” Frowning, Hope wished she hadn’t put her head down at the ice cream parlor. She wished she could’ve seen what had transpired between Dan and Owen and Daphne. What had Dan said?

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “What do you have to be sorry for, baby girl?” She hugged her daughter tightly. “This isn’t your fault! This is just grown up stuff that has nothing to do with you.”

  “But it might. I told Daddy about all the fun things Owen does with us. Like building sand castles and having fires on the beach and cooking dinner with you. I like watching you cook with him. You’re so happy. I don’t think he liked me saying that.”

  “You told your father that?”

  Daphne nodded. “He said he was happy for you, but I don’t think he meant it.”

  “Do you….” Hope swallowed, choking on the words. “Do you still wish your dad and I were still together?”

  For a long time, Daphne didn’t answer, and just as Hope was beginning to think she was going to start crying and beg her to take Dan back so they could be a family again, the little girl stunned her.

  “No. I miss him, but he pays more attention to me now. And you’re happier. Especially with Owen. Will you marry him?”

  Because it was probably best to make the cut now, she sighed. “Owen’s a friend, baby girl.”

  Daphne shook her head. “You kiss him like you used to kiss Daddy.”

  Hope snorted. She’d never kissed Dan like she kissed Owen, and the comparison made her squirm with longing. She barely contained the whimper.

  Her daughter’s expression turned dreamy. “You kiss him like they kiss in the movies.”

  Was it getting hot and stuffy in the cottage, or was it just her? Hope stood and kissed the top of her daughter’s head as she passed by on her way to the French doors. It was a warm night out, and a little fresh sea air sounded like just the thing to help clear her mind. Besides, the sun should be setting by now, and having the curtains closed suffocated her soul. When she pushed over the thick curtains covering the French doors, she let out a shriek.

  Owen stood on the other side with his fist raised to knock.

  Without thinking about the consequences, she opened the door… but slowly. “What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t expecting me,” he observed, his eyes rounding with uncertainty.

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “I owe you an apology. And I figured it would be best to give it to you sooner rather than later.” He lowered his gaze. “I screwed up, Hope, and I’m sorry. I let old memories scare me.”

  She stared at him, hearing the words but unable to comprehend them. “What?” she asked dumbly.

  “May I come in? Or would you rather come out?”

  “Uh….” She glanced over her shoulder at Daphne, who watched her with curiosity. “Come on in. Daph, would you take your coloring book up to your room for a bit while I talk to Owen?”

  “Can’t I stay?” the little girl asked. “Owen?”

  “Listen to your mom. This may not be the kind of conversation you want to hear, sweet pea.”

  With a dramatic sigh at being interrupted, Daphne gathered her art supplies and took them upstairs. Hope stepped back to let Owen in and briefly considered closing the door, but now even more than before she needed the fresh evening air. He eyed her warily, and the shimmer of pain in his gaze tugged at her heart. Not trusting herself, she wandered into the kitchen and filled a glass with iced tea. She offered it to him, but he shook his head. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms across her chest.

  Tilting her head, she realized he’d changed his shorts since she’d spotted him out on the rocks, and at once, she noticed the abalone shells in his hand—one pristine and perfect, the other chipped and pitted. Noticing the direction of her gaze, he lifted them so she could see better.

  “Why’d you bring your abalone shells?” she asked, more than a little curious.

  “To help me explain why.”

  He was quiet for several moments as he stared at the shell.

  “Why what?”

  “Why I said what I did tonight. Why, for a moment, I couldn’t see anything but how much your leaving hurt Dan. And why I put Dan’s needs before yours.”

  Her mouth fell open, and his lips curved in a humorless, self-deprecating smile.

  “That surprises you,” he remarked.

  “Yes. It does.”

  “What about it surprises you?”

  “That you’re so… self-aware. And so willing to admit it.”

  He set the perfect shell on the counter behind him and handed the other to her. She skimmed her fingers over its ragged outer surface and caressed the chips around the edge. The interior was still smooth and beautiful, though, undamaged by the tides and organisms.

  “You asked me once how losing Sam and Sean didn’t break me. And I said it came close,” Owen said. “You remember that? I think it was our second date.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. That conversation was burned into her brain, and she doubted she’d ever forget it. Nodding, she continued her inspection of the shell and waited for him to continue, sensing that this shell had an important role in whatever he needed to tell her.

  “I lied. It did break me.”

  Her head snapped up, and for almost a minute, she stared into his eyes. The only time she’d ever seen anyone as vulnerable was the moment when Dan had reminded her of all the ways he’d changed… and she’d told him it wasn’t enough and asked for a divorce. She winced with that thought, and shook her head. No, not even in that moment had she seen anyone lay their soul so bare as Owen’s was now.

  “The darkest day was about a month after the accident,” he continued, his voice so low she had to lean closer to hear him. “I hadn’t made it in to work at the gallery for almost a week, and I couldn’t bring myself to build anything new to sell. I just sat in my house, staring at the walls, sometimes feeling nothing, sometimes feeling too much. That day….”

  He shook his head and the muscle in his jaw worked, and it took every grain of willpower Hope had to resist crossing the distance between them to hug him.

  “I remember catching a glimpse of myself in the window or a mirror, and I didn’t recognize myself. I saw that same wild, haunted look in Dan’s eyes at the ice cream parlor. It’s the look of a man who’s lost everything. His wife. His child. His will to drag himself out of bed every morning. His reasons for staying alive. Except that Dan still has the tiniest shred of hope. That is what I couldn’t un-see.”

  His voice had turned rough, so she took another glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. This time, he accepted it and drained half of it in a single swallow.

  “That’s why I pushed you away tonight. Because I know what it’s like to completely lose hope. I couldn’t get past the fact that I was snuffing his last spark of it. I couldn’t see that it was already lost because you wouldn’t have filed for divorce if there was any chance left that he might still become the man you needed him to be.”

  There was a lot more to his story, so she grabbed her glass of water and the ragged shell and gestured for him to join her at the dining room table. She held on to the shell, letting her fingers alternately play over its rough exterior and slide around its smooth interior. Frowning, she gave in to her curiosity.

  “Owen�
�� what happened that day?”

  “It was stormy, like it’s been for the last week. Just… black. For days on end. And the ocean was about as rough as I’ve seen it. I don’t know if the weather played a role, but it certainly didn’t help.”

  He fell silent, his eyes locked on the abalone shell in her hands without seeing it. The way he retreated into himself—into his memories—scared her.

  “I wanted to die. To be with Sam and Sean again. So I walked out onto the point over the arch… and I jumped.”

  She’d expected the answer, but hearing him say it sent a shockwave through her. However confused and hurt she was by his rejection earlier tonight, she reeled at the thought of this beautiful, compassionate man not only having the urge to end his life but acting on it. She pressed her fist to her lips and listened. Her writer’s mind had no trouble visualizing what he described, and she was as surprised as he was that he hadn’t been smashed to death on the rocks.

  “Then I felt this on the bottom,” he said, reaching for the shell she still held. She set it in his hand, and as he stared at it, a faint fondness eased some of the heartache. “And I swear, I heard Sam calling me, telling me I had to live.”

  He told her everything that happened after that, and by the time he finished his tale, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. No matter where their relationship headed, she vowed she would track down Red and thank him. Even though Owen had made the decision to cling to life by that point, he hadn’t been out of danger. She had no doubt that he’d had hypothermia, and if Red hadn’t found him, he might’ve succumbed to it and died right there on the beach.

  “I was ready to let you go. For his sake. And then I thought I had to let you go for your sake because you need to build a stable relationship with him and you wouldn’t be able to do that with me around.”

  “And what do you think now?”

  He picked up the other shell, and his demeanor shifted as he handed it to her. His smile was sad, but it had a touch of whimsy. “That it’s not my choice to make.”