Beside them, the toddler—the youngest version of Cece that Grace has had the opportunity to see this week—digs for shells, clapping each time she discovers something new.
“Her father died,” Birdie states and looks at the girl. “My husband. This winter.” She turns back to the water. “A patch of black ice on the highway, and just like that, he was gone.”
It’s a version of her mother Grace never had the opportunity to see. At least not in any way she’d recall. Broken. Scared. Mourning not only her lost love but also the person she was when she was with him and the future she once imagined they’d build.
Grace’s mind floods with questions she wants to ask her.How are you here? What am I supposed to do?Before she can pose any of them, Birdie starts to talk again.
“We came here for our honeymoon,” she says and waves a hand at the air. “It was several years ago.” She laughs at some private memory. “We had the best time. The two of us were like fish. Every afternoon when we finally pulled ourselves out of the ocean, our fingers were all wrinkled up, like we were kids.” Birdie pulls in a big breath and then another, like she’s been deflated and is trying to fill herself back up. “We promised each other before we left that if we ever had a child, the minute we had enough money saved up, we’d bring her here for a happy family vacation.” With this comment, Birdie flips her hands up toward the sky. “So here we are. Me and my girl. Only without him.”
Grace was so young when James died. Other than stories her mother shared and a few framed photos around the house, she had no real memory of him. In turn, she had no real memory of her mother this way, either—alone, her grief still so raw, crying to a stranger on the beach. She only knew her as the strong, independent, and fearless widow she ultimately became.
“She’s so little.” Birdie swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “She’ll never remember him.” Her eyes close briefly. “I’m so worried for her,” Birdie says. “And if I’m honest, for me, too.” She casts her sight down on the sand. “A single mother,” she says through a heavy sigh, like she’s just realizing what the words mean. “This wasn’t the plan. Not at all.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, but the tears fall anyway. “I’m so terrified I won’t be enough.”
“You will be.” Grace chokes up at this unexpected symmetry. “You’ll be so much more than that.”
Birdie slowly lifts her chin. “Thank you.” Tears track down her cheeks. “Sometimes it helps just hearing that.” Just as she says this, the toddler waddles over and gifts her mother with a gray clamshell, then plants a kiss on her cheek. “My girl. Always discovering something beautiful.” Birdie clutches the shell tight in her palm. “It’s perfect, love.”
Above them, the sun pierces through the clouds, casting pockets of glitter on the water.
“Want to hear something very silly?” Birdie asks and turns to look at Grace. “Today’s our last day here, and I haven’t been out in the ocean once for a swim.”
“You should go,” Grace says, still in disbelief over what’s happening, and yet impossibly calm. “Before you leave.”
Birdie thumbs the shell. “Not this year.” She looks over at her daughter, who’s resumed her treasure hunt. “She’s too little. She’ll get scared if I bring her with me and go out too far.”
The realization settles on Grace like warm rays of light.
“I’ll take care of her for you,” Grace says. “I promise. I’ll sit right here. I won’t move.”
Birdie’s eyes narrow in contemplation. She looks at Grace, then at the child, and then at Grace again—not having any way of knowing that she’s looking at the same person. “Okay,” she agrees, brushing some sand off her slender calves. “Maybe just for a quick dip.”
She stands, kisses her daughter, then removes her timeless cover-up and her hat and sets them both down. When she reaches the water,she makes sure to look back to ensure all is okay back on the shoreline before she proceeds. Slowly, she steps in. The water rises past her ankles. Then her knees. Then her hips. She takes another look at them, then dips beneath the surface. A long moment passes before she pops back up, her whole body wet and cool and healthy.
“It’s wonderful!” she shouts and waves an arm. A smile spreads across her face. “I’ll just be one more minute.”
While Birdie swims, the child moves closer and passes over another find: a petite purple-tinged scallop shell. Once she gifts it to Grace, she sidles up and, with no real hesitation or restraint, takes a seat on her lap. For a moment that feels like it both lasts forever and not nearly long enough, Grace holds her as together they watch Birdie float and indulge in a temporary feeling of peace.
“We’ll be okay,” Grace whispers into the child’s ear. “Me. You. Her.” More daylight begins to break through the haze. “We’re all going to be all right.”
A few minutes later, Birdie dips again and then swims back to shore. She stands in the shallow surf for a moment, allowing the gentle swells to make contact with her legs. A look of contentment on her face, she bends and scoops her hand through the water, picking up a palmful of finds. From her place on the beach, Grace watches her sift through her discoveries.
“Huh,” Birdie says, her silver hair wet against her neck. “Look at this.”
At first, Grace squints, certain she’s not seeing things right. But as Birdie steps out of the water and back onto the sand, any sense of doubt fades away.
The necklace dangles from Birdie’s fingers, as if they’d always held it.
“Someone must have lost it while they were out there.” She draws closer, the glint of metal unmistakable. “Lucky I found it.” Her skin dripping with beads of water, Birdie holds it out for Grace to see. “Cece.” She taps the delicate pendant. “What an adorable name.”
Before Grace can react, the child—so happy to see that her mother is back—stands and runs into Birdie’s arms. She lifts her up, quickly twirls her around.
“Thank you so much for watching her.” Birdie sets the girl back down and then reaches for her belongings. “Getting to go out there like that lifted me up in ways I can’t describe.”
“Of course,” Grace states, not wanting this moment to end but knowing deep down that it must. “Don’t even think about it.”
Birdie nods her appreciation. She slides on her hat, then her cover-up, the fabric clinging to her wet swimsuit.
“I guess it’s time for us to get going,” she says. “Me and the little one still have a long drive.” She takes the child by her hand. “I’m going to leave the necklace up on one of the fence posts at the top of the dune, just in case someone comes looking for it.”
