Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
T he early morning sun slowly climbed in the sky as Romy finished writing a note for her aunt. Gone for a drive. Won’t be too long. She got into her car and drove into town. The streets were empty, the center of town quiet.
Romy walked slowly down Main Street, her sneakers scuffing against the cobblestones with every step. The town’s familiar sights blurred together as she moved, her thoughts spiraling deeper into the memories she had worked so hard to bury.
When she reached the edge of the square, she stopped and looked out toward the pier. The wooden structure jutted out into the sea, its weathered planks bleached by years of sun and salt. It had always been a place of laughter, of dares and summertime adventures. But for Romy, it was also a place of tragedy—a site that had irrevocably changed her life.
The wind picked up as she approached the pier, tugging at her hair and carrying the scent of low tide. She hesitated at the foot of the steps, her pulse quickening. Memories of that fateful day years ago flooded her mind: Jenna’s nervous laughter, the teasing words Romy had thrown so carelessly, the sound of the water swallowing her friend whole.
Romy hugged herself tightly, as if the gesture could shield her from the weight of the guilt that pressed down on her. She had avoided this place for years, but something about being back in Periwinkle Shores made it impossible to ignore. The pier was more than just a structure; it was a symbol of everything she had lost—and everything she had taken.
She climbed the steps slowly, her footsteps echoing on the wooden planks. The wind grew stronger as she reached the end of the pier, the waves crashing against the posts below. Romy gripped the railing tightly, staring out at the endless expanse of blue.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words barely audible above the sound of the waves. Her voice trembled, and tears blurred her vision. “I’m so sorry, Jenna.”
The apology felt hollow, inadequate. How could words ever atone for what she had done? She had been relentless that day, pushing Jenna to jump even when it was clear she was terrified. And when Jenna had disappeared beneath the surface, Romy had stood frozen in shock, unable to do anything to help.
A seagull’s cry broke through her thoughts, startling her. Romy wiped at her eyes, taking a shaky breath. She had spent years running from this moment, from the memories that haunted her. But standing here now, she realized that the past would never truly leave her. The only way to move forward was to face it head-on.
She closed her eyes and let the wind wash over her, carrying her whispered plea out to the sea.
“I hope you’ve found peace, Jenna. And I hope…one day, I can find it too.”
Lucy sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by a scattering of old notebooks, journals, and shoeboxes. The soft glow of her bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, giving the clutter an almost surreal quality. She hadn’t planned on going through Jenna’s things tonight, but once she’d opened the closet and seen the familiar shoebox, she couldn’t stop herself.
The box had been sitting on the top shelf for years, untouched and gathering dust. Lucy pulled it down carefully, her hands trembling slightly as she placed it on the floor. Inside were the remnants of a friendship that had been both fleeting and profound. Journals, short stories, and sketches filled the box, each one a testament to the bond she and Jenna had shared.
Lucy opened the journal on top, her breath catching as she read Jenna’s neat handwriting:
Lucy,
Promise me we’ll always keep writing. No matter what happens, let’s keep sharing our stories. One day, we’re going to look back and see how far we’ve come. Writing helps me feel brave, and you’re the only one who really understands that.
Lucy closed her eyes, the memory rushing back with startling clarity. She and Jenna had spent hours together after school, filling their notebooks with short stories and critiquing each other’s work. It had been their shared escape, a way to carve out a space that was theirs alone. Jenna had dreamed of writing fantasy novels, weaving intricate worlds with her words. Lucy had leaned toward romance, drawn to stories of connection and redemption.
As she flipped through the pages, snippets of Jenna’s stories came to life in her mind. There were tales of brave heroines, enchanted forests, and battles between good and evil. Jenna had always been so imaginative, her writing brimming with hope and wonder.
But beneath the whimsy, there had been hints of her struggles. Lucy paused on a passage that struck her like a blow:
Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere, like I’m just waiting for someone to tell me I’m not supposed to be here. But when I’m writing, I feel like I matter. Like I can create a place where I do belong.
Lucy’s throat tightened, and tears welled in her eyes. She had known Jenna felt out of place, but seeing it written in her own words made the pain sharper, more real. She ran her fingers over the ink, as if touching the words could somehow connect her to the friend she had lost.
At the bottom of the box, Lucy found a bundle of loose papers tied together with a faded ribbon. It was a collection of Jenna’s unfinished stories, their edges worn and fragile. Lucy untied the ribbon carefully, her heart pounding as she read the title scrawled across the top page:
The Girl Who Found Her Voice.
She remembered this one. Jenna had started it during their senior year, but she had never finished it. It was about a shy girl who discovered a magical quill that brought her stories to life. Jenna had been so excited about it, sharing each new chapter with Lucy and asking for her feedback. But after Jenna’s death, the story had remained incomplete, a reminder of all the things she had left undone.
Lucy leaned back against the wall, clutching the pages to her chest. For years, she had avoided this box, afraid of what it would stir up. But now, with Romy back in town and the past pressing in on all sides, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
She reached for her own notebook, opening it to a fresh page. If Jenna couldn’t finish her story, maybe Lucy could. Maybe it was time to honor their promise—to keep writing, no matter what. Her pen hovered over the page, her mind racing with possibilities. And then, slowly, she began to write.
Once there was a girl who felt invisible, until she discovered the power of her own words. Those words changed everything.
The words came haltingly at first, but as she wrote, they began to flow. Each sentence felt like a bridge, connecting her to Jenna and to the memories they had shared. Lucy didn’t know where the story would lead, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was moving forward—one word at a time.
Lucy recalled how she’d felt sharing her writing with Jenna. It was special to have someone else understand how important words were. She’d be in her bedroom for hours writing in her journal and then her short stories. She closed her eyes picturing herself in her room at seventeen years old.
Her hand cramped as she wrote, but she couldn't stop. The words poured out of her like a confession, filling page after page. The next thing she knew she was back in her bedroom, seventeen years old.
A soft knock at her door startled her. "Lucy?" Her mother's voice was tentative. "You've been up here for hours. Are you all right?"
Lucy glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was nearly midnight.
"I'm fine, Mom," she called back, her voice hoarse. "Just working on something."
"Can I come in?" her mother asked.
Lucy looked at the mess surrounding her—the scattered papers, the raw emotions spilled across fresh pages.
"Not tonight, Mom. I just need some time."
"Okay, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late."
Lucy listened to her mother's footsteps fade away, then turned back to her notebook. The story she'd been writing stared back at her. Only a few years later her mother would be gone, her father, Silas, off to California, leaving Hannah, who was still in high school, alone since Rachel had already moved to Andover with Brian. Their Aunt Kathleen was the only person keeping the family from falling apart completely.
Now, back in her bedroom, Lucy struggled, as different words pressed against her consciousness.
She flipped to a new page and began again:
Dear Romy,
When I saw you in town, walking toward the pier. I wanted to call out to you, but what would I say? I wasn’t sure that you’d want to see me, but I’m glad you agreed to spend a few minutes to talk over coffee, even if the truth of what we needed to say stayed hanging in mid-air, afraid to surface again.
It's been over fifteen years since we last spoke. Fifteen years of silence and questions and grief.
Remember how the three of us used to sit on that pier, sharing our dreams? Jenna with her stories, you with your photography, me with my endless romantic plots. We thought we had it all figured out.
But we were just kids, weren't we? Kids playing at being grown up, not understanding how quickly everything could change.
Lucy stopped writing, her hand trembling. She hadn't intended to write to Romy, but now that she'd started, she couldn't seem to stop. It was her way, placing words on paper when she couldn’t say them out loud. The words flowed faster, years of unspoken thoughts finding their way onto the page:
I blamed you for so long. It was easier than facing my own guilt. Because I was there too, wasn't I? I heard Jenna say she was scared, but I didn't speak up. I was so angry at you for suddenly turning on her. Were you jealous of our friendship? Of the one thing Jenna and I shared that you and I couldn’t? I’ll never understand what happened because you won’t talk to me. Does any of this matter? I watched it all happen and said nothing, so I’m as much to blame regardless of why it happened.
Lucy stared at the words she'd written, her vision blurring with tears. She wouldn't send the letter—couldn't send it—but something about writing it felt important. Like taking a step toward something she couldn't yet name.
Then, she remembered Romy’s words— Only one of us paid the ultimate price for it. What did she mean by that? What ultimate price?
Lucy shook her head and then gathered Jenna's papers carefully, returning them to their box. But she kept out the unfinished story, placing it on her desk alongside her own notebook. Tomorrow, she would continue writing. Tomorrow, she would try to find the ending that Jenna never got to write.
Later, when she finally climbed into bed, Lucy could hear the distant sound of waves breaking against the pier. The pier was nowhere near her house but her mind played tricks on her, the kind that were designed to torture. The sound she heard were the waves that had taken Jenna, the same waves that had driven Romy away, and the same waves that would keep the three of them bound to a tragedy forever.