“There’s a reason I never left after college.” She gently sets her mug down on the white wicker table between us and smiles. I glance at the book in her lap; judging from the cover it looks like some kind of fantasy romance novel.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I was going to swing by the diner and grab breakfast for us and check in on them. My better cook is working this morning and I need to get groceries.”
“Yes,” I say, my stomach grumbling in agreement. I didn’t eat dinner the night before so breakfast is a welcome treat.
“Bacon or sausage?” she asks as she stands.
“Uh, bacon,” I reply, staring up at her.
She nods and then dashes inside to change out of her pajamas. She’s changed and back out the door in an instant, leaving me alone with the comfort of the crashing waves. There’s not many folks out on the beach this early. A few lone seagulls leisurely soar through the sky, talking to each other in their own language.
I’m not sure how long I spend outside consumed by my thoughts, but Beth is back before I know it. She jogs up the porch steps, plastictakeout bag in hand. I get out of the chair and follow her into the house, letting the screen door slam behind us.
“Were they surviving without you?” I ask as we walk into the kitchen.
Beth smiles as she sets the bag on the counter. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she laughs. “Barely,” she says before getting two plates from the cabinet. “I trust them, I do, but I just feel better if I’m there.”
“You can go,” I say. “I can unpack by myself, it’s okay.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Beth turns to me. “I want to be here with you. They just tend to do better if I’m there. It’s fine, really.”
I nod as she plates our breakfast. I sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Beth shuffles over to the refrigerator and pulls out a jug of orange juice before grabbing two glasses from the dish drainer in the sink. A huge grin stretches across her face as she presents breakfast to me — a smorgasbord of treats.
“Call it a homecoming breakfast,” she says as she sets her own plate down and sinks down in the chair opposite of me.
My mouth waters at the aromas floating up to my nostrils. There’s pancakes, hashbrown casserole, bacon, eggs, and biscuits. A true feast. We eat silently for a few moments before she starts telling me more about the diner, the staff members she wants me to meet, and about her day to day life in Driftbay. Our forks clang against the china as we talk.
“I want you to feel at home here,” she says as she clears our plates from the table. “Truly. I know you’re legally an adult now but I want this place to be your safe haven, somewhere you can always come back to.”
I think it always has been. Sure, Mom and I didn’t get out here a ton when I was younger, but some of my best memories from those days belong to the sand and sea. I would daydream about the next time we would get to see Aunt Beth and visit this piece of paradise before we’d even left it.
We spend the day unpacking my belongings and making her house feel like my home. By the end of the day, it’s like I’ve lived here my entire life and Seattle is nothing but a distant memory. Aunt Beth plays some of her favorite records on her vinyl player in the living room and we end up dancing throughout the house as we unpack. It’s nice getting to spend quality time with her again. Before Mom’s celebration of life, I hadn’t seen her since my high school graduation. We order pizza in and spend the night talking about Mom, having placed her urn in the center of the mantle in the living room — a focal point in the house and in our lives.
Beth plays one final record that evening — a Fleetwood Mac album she and Mom loved when they were teenagers. She pours herself a glass of wine and we dance and sing along to the melodies pounding through the house. We dance together well past sunset, for Mom and in honor of her. For a moment, I begin to feel lighter, like the weight of her death isn’t crushing me.
Like maybe there’s a reason to live.
Chapter Two
Aunt Beth is gone the next morning when I wake up. I trudge into the kitchen and spot a note on the table, her handwriting scribbled across it. She’d gone into the diner, so after a quick shower to help fully wake myself up, I decide to head there as well.
The diner is just a couple of blocks from the house, a short walk that I use to accustom myself to the neighborhood. It’s quiet, filled with cottages like Beth’s and tall-standing condos. A couple of kids are playing in a sprinkler in one front yard. They giggle and shriek with such childlike wonder it almost makes me jealous. I smile at them as I pass by, wishing I could revisit the days where bedtime was my biggest rival.
Beth Ann’s Diner comes into view as I round the last corner. Like her cottage, it’s quaint, but definitely not small. The outside of the diner is painted a lovely shade of blue, like her eyes, with white shutters on the windows. The parking lot is already full for nine in the morning but I’ve gathered that it’s a pretty popular place on the coast. Tourists flock to it and of course, her regulars do, too.
A bell rings above my head as I push the door open and I’m blasted by a gush of air-conditioning. I glance around the diner; it’s still the same from my memory, frozen in time. The walls are a light blue and decorated with lighthouse wallpaper, along with framed nautical posters and images. There’s a jukebox in the corner and framed newspaper clippings line the wall behind the counter. It’s homey and the kind of place you know you’ll get quality service.
I spot Beth behind the counter and walk over to it, taking a seat at one of the bright blue barstools. Her uniform is simple — jeans, a white T-shirt, and black apron.
“Morning!” she says cheerfully as she sees me.
“Good morning,” I offer in return, taking another glance around the place. There’s a variety of customers in this morning. I see a tall and slender waitress at the corner booth, taking the order of a couple with two small children already clad in their swimsuits. The kids are climbing all over the booth, anxiously pointing out the window at the distant shore, ready for the beach day that awaits them. The waitress smiles as she talks with them and pops her bubblegum as she takes their order, her light-red hair gleaming in the morning light pouring through the window.
“Morning, Beth Ann,” a gravelly voice calls out beside me.
I’ve never known anyone to call my aunt by her full name, even though it is the name of her restaurant.
“Morning, Charlie,” Beth replies in a singsong voice. I can tell she’s had her coffee this morning with how chipper she is. She slides a mug across the counter as Charlie swings a leg over the barstool beside me and sits down.
