He looked up from the blueprints he’d gotten at the town hall. He’d been going over them for more than an hour, drawing new additions, making measurements. I’d been watching him, but I couldn’t make head or tail of what he was doing. For me, it was just lines and more lines.
“You want some company? I could leave this for a bit.”
“Nah, no need. I’m just going to go up and down the beach.”
“Okay.”
I walked out barefoot, stepping down from the porch to the damp grass, which tickled my feet. Once I was on the sand, I traced out the line of the shore, enjoying the coolness as my heels sank in. It was afternoon, and the sun had begun to drop on the horizon. I was ready to declare an end to the day and get some rest.
The sea murmured softly, and I got lost in memories that had been dormant for a long time, moments I had pushed aside to avoid the feelings they provoked in me. My dreams when I was a little girl and I still believed in magic and the impossible felt within reach. The time when I felt loved and protected, and a good-night kiss and a gentle look were all I needed to drive my fears away.
But suddenly there were no more kisses, no more smiles, and the fear came back. Fear of the dark, of solitude, of a world that had stopped all at once. Cold, unreal, without a trace of magic. Without meaning, without a center, because she had left it.
Ever since childhood, there were things I didn’t understand: my father’s cold looks, his shouting, his constant disapproval. Like an eraser, they blurred me at the edges and made me something vague and distant from what I truly was. As I grew older, I tried to rediscover all that. I drew myself from different perspectives, in different colors, trying to find an image of who I was that he would approve of. I never did, and I got lost on the way.
Maybe Grandma and Hayley were right. That was just a mirage. Trying to be everything others wanted from me, trying to be appreciated, valued, and loved, I distorted myself so much I couldn’t recognize the real me behind the mask.
But I needed to find that person now, rediscover her,listento her. Ask her what her dreams and desires were. Understand her. Get to know her. Help her to stop being a defenseless little girl. Learn with her to make my own decisions without thinking of anyone but myself.
Swimming against that current of thought, I reached the pebble beach. I remembered there what Adele had said. After a strong storm, you might find glass on the shore that had been cast up by the powerful waves.
Instead of thinking, I let my mind go blank and looked for mermaids’ tears among the stones.
I found a small green one and weighed it in my hand, stroking its edges with my thumb. It was round, but slightly rough. I put it in my pocket, along with several others I came across afterward. Not a bad haul.
In the distance, I saw the first star of dusk against the gray andpurple shadows of the sky. If I didn’t hurry, night would fall before I made it back.
I went inside and saw the table had been set for dinner. Delicious aromas came from the kitchen. Trey had been heating up the leftovers from the restaurant that Ridge had boxed up for us.
He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the oven, concentrating on something in his hands. I didn’t realize it was my book until I saw him turn a page. A million butterflies took flight in my stomach when he grinned at something.
I cleared my throat and he looked up, startled. He hadn’t known I was there.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I realize that.”
He smiled and closed the book, holding it up for me to see.
“I hope you don’t mind. I saw it on the mantel.”
“Not at all. You can borrow it if you like, but only while we’re here. I never part from it.”
With a curious expression, he told me, “It’s not my usual kind of reading, but it’s good.” He handed it back to me. “How many times have you read it?”
“I lost count a long time ago. But lots.”
“You can tell. The book feels like it could disintegrate at any time.”
“It’s in that shape because it’s a family heirloom. My mother gave it to me when I turned five. It had belonged to her before, and to my grandmother a long time before that. Mom used to read it to me at night. That’s my favorite memory of her. For lots of reasons that are hard to express.”
Trey’s eyes filled with compassion.
“I think I’m starting to understand some things. Like why your brother used to always call you Pumpkin.”
“You did, too.”
