“Let’s see. I could be working with my father at his studio right now designing luxury apartments that cost thirty thousand a month for rich jerks. But instead, I’m tempting bankruptcy working on projects to improve other people’s lives. So yeah. I think I can give you advice.”
There was frustration in his voice. I stopped and stared into his eyes. I felt bad now for trying to dig at him that way.
“Sorry,” I said.
He came close and pushed my bangs aside, not losing his smile.
“My grandfather says we end up here by chance, because we happened to be born. But everything else is a choice. Yesterday, when you said that book made you want to be a writer, I wasn’t just listening to you. I felt you. The excitement, the urge. Then I saw you trying to suppress that, stuff it deep inside you, just like you’re doing now. And I don’t get it.”
That made me think.
I didn’t understand, either. He was right: writing was my dream. It had been since I was a girl. I’d just left that longing floating there. I’d tried to make it disappear. Yet it was still there, a ghost coming to visit me when I let down my guard, whispering that I’d never be complete until I made it happen.
As if someone had just turned the key to a lock, something opened up subtly within me.
The answer to the question why.
I was scared to fail. There was a stigma against failure in my family. And if I messed up, I’d be telling them they were right about me. And I couldn’t stand that, and I couldn’t stand thinking that I was letting the rest of the world, especially my father, decide for me instead of doing it myself. Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry in front of Trey.
“I guess I’m scared of trying and realizing I’ve got the desire but not the ability. I’m scared of rejection letters, of not being good enough, of not being able to accept the ups and downs.”
He was so close that I was waiting for something to happen, but instead his questions continued. “Is your fear really that strong? Do you really want to spend your life editing and publishing other people’s novels and dreaming of the book you’ll never actually write?”
Where did he get off? I suddenly saw him as a six-foot-tall Jiminy Cricket, even if his body looked like a Greek god’s and his smile was to die for. I shook my head in response.
“No,” I said softly.
“Trying to forget your dreams so they won’t destroy you isn’t the solution. My grandfather taught me that. He always says you have to keep fighting like a warrior even if you’re afraid you’ll lose the battle. Fate is always on the side of those who believe with all their heart.”
A warrior? Fate? What the hell was he talking about?
I thought about those words as we walked on. They sounded a little mystical, but there was something very basic in them that was true. It was strange for him to use such lofty language, though. It wasn’t like the Trey I knew.
“Your grandfather sounds like he’s full of good advice. I’d like to meet him some day.”
We reached the dunes. We could see the house not far from there. I crouched down to put my sandals back on and saw a tiny glimmer. I squealed when I saw it was a blue piece of glass. I lifted it up to look at it closely. It was slightly rough on one side, resembling a shard of ice. Precious.
“What is it?” Trey asked, behind me.
“A mermaid’s tear.” I looked back over my shoulder. “They’re little pieces of glass that spend decades in the ocean. The sand and the currents polish them until they look like this. They’re treasures. Adele uses them in her art.”
“Why are they called mermaids’ tears?”
“It’s a legend. They say these pieces of glass are the tears of a mermaid crying for the sailor she loves but can never be with because she was banished to the bottom of the ocean.”
“Damn. That’s sad.”
“Love shouldn’t hurt, but it does.”
“Not always, Harper. What hurts isn’t love; it’s everything around it that tries to stifle it.”
I turned back to look at him. “That’s pretty.”
“I can’t claim the credit for it, I read it somewhere. But I agree with it. So is that why you came here?”
“Is what why I came here?”
“To try and get over someone. Maybe you needed time or distance to get over a boyfriend.”
