Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
T he waves lapped gently against the shore, a rhythmic, soothing sound that usually brought Becca peace. She sat on a large, striped beach towel, her toes digging into the warm sand as she gazed out at the horizon.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the water, and the salty breeze played with loose strands of her long blond hair.
It was the kind of day Captiva Island was known for—perfect in every way. For Becca, it was more than perfect, it was home. She knew every inch of the island, having grown up here. Her summers weren’t always spent relaxing on the beach or playing sports with her friends every day. Instead, she spent most of July and August working with her brothers in their family business, with an occasional day off here and there.
Powell Water Sports was the perfect place to meet new people, but it was a simple volleyball game on the beach with friends and a few tourist teenagers where she met her future husband, Christopher Wheeler.
So much had happened since that special day, and as she sat reminiscing about her childhood, the sadness returned without warning. Despite the beauty around her, Becca couldn’t shake the restlessness gnawing at her insides.
Christopher sat beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable on a lounge chair?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I wanted to feel the familiar sand under my body. I claimed this beach as mine when I was eight years old. My brothers made fun of me and said no one person could own this beach, but I refused to listen.”
Christopher laughed. “I can see you as that little girl, stubbornly insisting you were right. Not much has changed since then.”
Becca punched him in the arm. “I wouldn’t complain if I were you. As it happens, it wasn’t just the beach that I claimed. I remember telling them that everyone on the beach was mine too. And since I met you for the first time right here on my beach, I claimed you too.”
He smiled. “And look what happened. You made me marry you,” he teased.
“I’m pretty sure you came willingly.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, and then he interrupted her thoughts.
“You need this. I’m glad we came down early. You needed to unwind. I think we both did.”
She didn’t say anything, but shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but the unease inside her only grew.
“Are you okay?” Christopher asked.
Becca forced a smile and nodded. “I’m fine. Just…thinking.”
But she wasn’t fine, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
She sighed, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “I don’t know. I just feel…off. I should relax, but I can’t stop my mind from racing about all the things I need to get done for school and before the baby comes.”
She paused, swallowing hard against the lump forming in her throat.
“I wish I could turn my mind off for a little while.”
“That’s why we came to Captiva early. I hoped this would help. Does it?”
She smiled and lifted her head, nodding. “Yes, Chris. It does help,” she lied, but had no other choice.
“Let’s talk about Eloise,” he said. “I keep wondering who she’ll look like.”
The name of their unborn daughter hung in the air between them, a beautiful secret they kept to themselves until Christmas.
“I miss my mom so much, and I keep thinking about how she, Grandma and Gran will never meet Eloise. It breaks my heart.”
“I think…I think I need to go see them,” she said quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
“You want me to drive you to the cemetery?”
“No, I want to go by myself, I need…Actually, I’m not sure what I need. I’m hoping I’ll find that out when I get there. But I think…I think I need to do this alone.”
He nodded. “I understand, just promise me you’ll let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” Becca promised, squeezing his hand.
She kissed his cheek and then got up from the towel.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, giving Christopher a small, reassuring smile.
Becca had originally wanted to talk to her father to get some clarity on her feelings, but the last two days he was always busy with work. Ever since Becca was a little girl, she hated interrupting her father when he was working.
Although a casual, family-friendly business, Powell Water Sports was an important part of their lives. It afforded the Powell family an income to keep the family of six healthy and with a roof over their heads.
The business never took on loans or debt, and it was something Crawford was proud of. Learning to budget and live below one’s means was a lesson that served Becca well as she became an adult.
She felt fortunate to come from a close and loving family, and after her mother died, she appreciated how hard her father worked to keep the family together.
Being the youngest and a girl, islanders always assumed Becca was spoiled and treated differently than her brothers. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She was expected to work just as hard as her brothers, and there was nothing her parents ever did to single her out among their four children.
Some considered her a tomboy, although the label never set well with Becca. She was a girl and then a woman, and an accomplished one at that. There wasn’t anything her brothers did that she couldn’t do, and more than a few times she’d proven her emotional and physical strength to make a point.
For all the male dominance in her home growing up, Becca’s mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, whom she called Gran, instilled strong female confidence and wisdom in Becca’s life, and she missed them dearly.
It was a forty minute drive to the cemetery, and she found her mother’s grave alongside her Grandmother, Grandfather, Great-Grandfather and Gran. As she pulled up in front of their plots, she chuckled, remembering her Gran’s words.
“I need shade. You know how easily I burn. Make sure I get the shadiest part of our family plot.”
It had been months since she last visited the cemetery and she felt guilty for not visiting sooner.
The warmth of the late December sun gently warmed her skin. The sky was a soft blue, with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily above.
The cemetery was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of palm fronds and the distant sound of traffic from the nearby road.
Becca’s steps were slow, almost hesitant, as if delaying the moment when she would face the reality of their absence.
The green grass underfoot was well-manicured, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the warm, humid air, a reminder that even in winter, Florida held on to its warmth.
When she reached her mother’s plot, a small smile tugged at her lips despite the sadness weighing her down. She held her belly and stood on the uneven ground in front of the headstone. The headstone was simple, just as her mother would have wanted.
Julia Powell: Beloved Wife, Mother, and Friend.
The words were etched into the stone, a permanent testament to a woman who had meant so much to so many.
Becca knelt beside the grave, brushing away the leaves that had gathered around the base. She noticed the fresh flowers immediately--a bouquet of white lilies, her mother’s favorite. Her father must have been here recently. Even now, with his new life and new wife, he hadn’t forgotten.
“Hi Mom,” Becca whispered, her voice trembling as she spoke. She paused, the words catching in her throat. She felt the tears welling up, but she blinked them back, not ready to let them fall just yet.
“I wanted to come talk to you. There’s so much I wish you were here to share with me.”
She reached out and touched the headstone, her fingers tracing the letters of her mother’s name. “I’m pregnant, Mom. I’m going to have a baby. A little girl.” Her voice cracked, and she finally let the tears come. They fell silently, sliding down her cheeks and dropping onto the earth beneath her. “Her name is Eloise Julia Wheeler. I wanted to name her after you, to keep a part of you with us.”
Becca sat back on her heels, her eyes closed as she let the emotions wash over her. The cemetery was quiet, the only sound now the soft rustling of the flowers in the breeze.
“I wish you were here,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wish Gran and Grandma were here too. I feel lost without you all. I want to be strong for my daughter, to give her the same love and wisdom you gave me, but it’s so hard without you.”
The grief she had kept at bay for so long surged up, overwhelming her. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could somehow soothe the ache in her heart.
“I wanted to talk to Dad about how I’m feeling, but he’s always so busy with work. I know he’s happy with Ciara, and I’m glad for him, I really am. But it’s not the same, you know? I miss the way things used to be, before everything changed.”
She looked up at the sky, watching as the clouds shifted and darkened. “I’m scared, Mom. I’m scared I won’t be a good mother, that I won’t live up to the example you set for me. I’m scared that I’ll mess up somehow, that I’ll fail Eloise, then feel like I’m failing you.”
Becca took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of the ocean, and she closed her eyes, letting the familiar smell calm her.
“Chris is going to be an amazing father. He’s trying to understand how I feel, but the truth is there are some things that only a mother can help with.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bundle—a knitted baby that she had made herself, soft and pink, with tiny white flowers crocheted along the edge.
“I made this for Eloise,” she said, gently placing the hat on the grave. “I wanted you to have something from her to show you that she’s already a part of our family, even though she hasn’t been born yet.”
Becca stayed beside her mother for a long time, talking to her and her grandparents, talking about her fears and hopes, about the things that had happened since she had last visited. She poured out everything she had been holding inside, letting the tears come freely now, feeling a strange sense of peace even as the grief threatened to overwhelm her.
She stood up slowly, brushing the grass and leaves from her maternity dress, and looked down at the grave one last time.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered. “I’ll keep coming back, and I’ll bring Eloise with me when she’s born, I promise.”
With one last look at the grave, Becca turned and walked back down the path, her heart a little lighter than before. The cemetery was silent, the only sound now the soft whisper of the wind and the distant murmur of the sea.
Becca knew she wasn’t alone, not really. The women who had shaped her life were still with her, in her heart, in the strength they had given her. She would pass that strength on to her daughter, just as they had passed it on to her.
She got into the car and slowly drove toward the exit. As she reached the gates of the cemetery, she paused and looked back one last time.
Becca smiled softly, her heart filled with love and longing for her mother, Grandmother and Gran, and whispered into the wind, “Thank you for showing me the way. Stay with me. I’m going to need you all, every day…always.”