Chapter Twelve
I Thought Heaven ~ mid-July
I stare at Sam’s text message, trying to decide if I want to respond.
Per Mom’s request, I’ve updated her and sent her my trip itinerary. Ashton and I just landed in Bora Bora, and the first message that came through was from my best friend.
Sam-I-Am: I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m sorry, Meme. Please talk to me. This is selfish, but I need you. I really need you.
She isn’t attempting to guilt-trip me into talking to her; Sam is not like that. Besides harboring the secret alongside my parents, she’s never once lied to me or manipulated me. Something must be going on, and so I begrudgingly decide to set aside my anger.
Me: Just landed in Bora Bora. Talk tonight?
I don’t bother to factor in time zone differences. If she needs me that badly, she can talk to me when I’m available. It’s harsh, I know. But I don’t have the energy to go out of my way for someone who lied to me. I’m practicing standing my ground and not giving over to appeasement tendencies.
Sam-I-Am: Yes! Text me when you’re ready for me to call. 3
Despite my frustration at Sam, I smile at the old-school heart emoticon. She has always preferred to use the millennial emojis rather than the new and improved emojis.
“Ready?” Ashton asks, grabbing the empty seat in front of him.
The flight attendants start motioning for us to exit, so we stand, grab our bags from overhead, and exit.
“Flying first class through all our flights was quite nice,” I say after we leave the tunnel and enter the Bora Bora Airport.
It’s small, especially compared to LAX, where I wanted to encase myself inside a bubble while we waited out our three-hour layover time.
We quickly make it through the space and step outside to a high, hot sun and a balmy wind.
“Like we never left the South,” Ashton comments, breathing in the wet, salty air. “Well, with the exception of salt in the air. We both live too far inland for that.”
“And crystal clear blue water, green mountains in the distance, and the smell of citrus wafting through the air.” I inhale deeply, focusing on my senses, willing myself to remember.
Nothing . I release my breath and carry on, following Ashton as he leads us to the boat ready to take us to the island and Forever Summer Resort.
Add more of these details into your novel, my little author. Stay focused and take notes. It’ll enhance your scene setting, fictional Noah says in a business-like tone.
He’s right, naturally.
We pile into the boat along with other happy vacationers, newlyweds, and friend groups. With every step, I’m silently pleading with God for something to happen to cause me to remember.
After a fifteen-minute loading time and a fifteen-minute trip, we exit the boat onto Mute Island where the resort staff are waiting to greet us.
After getting a rundown of the resort, safety instructions, and a few pamphlets, we are set free to explore, find our bungalows, and start our “vacation of a lifetime” according to one exuberant employee.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask Ashton as we stand in the main room of the resort while everyone else disperses. “How do we find Noah on this huge resort?”
Ashton scratches his head, looking around. Finally, he lets out an exasperated laugh. “Is it bad I kinda thought we’d arrive here and just… see him?”
I cover my mouth to hide my snicker. “Yes, Ashton.” But I can’t completely fault him.
I contributed to our lack of planning too.
With all my emotional spiraling and conflicting feelings, that is.
“I guess let’s start with getting our stuff in the bungalow, then maybe we just start asking around.
See if anyone has come across a man that looks like you. ”
We meet each other’s incredulous gaze and burst into laughter. “Okay, yeah,” Ashton swipes his hand through his hair, and a flicker of something flashes in my head. “Bungalow first, then harassing poor souls after.”
“Does your brother run his hands through his hair a lot?”
Ashton raises his brows, dropping his hand and staring at it. “Yeah, we both do. Habit, I guess.”
I follow Ashton as he leads us down winding boardwalk paths, attempting to come up with a more reasonable game plan until we stop outside a large bungalow sitting on stilts atop the glistening ocean.
I take in the view with a sense of awe and wonder.
Regardless of why I’m here, I’m glad I am.
It’s as if the ocean is calling me, beckoning me to take a swim in its cool warmth.
The sun acts as if it’s welcoming me to a place of retreat and healing.
The mountains in the distance wave hello, asking me if I’ve missed them.
Missed them?
I think a little harder, and an image of me sitting on top of a rock on the edge of a mountainous cliff flashes across my vision before disappearing.
Shaking my head clear, I walk into the bungalow after Ashton. Our luggage awaits us by the door. Ashton lets out a low whistle as he roams around the large, open space. “I regret not coming here with Noah last year. This place is heaven on earth.”
“I’ll say.” The room leads directly to an outside deck, and I step out, enjoying the sound of the light waves lapping against the bungalow.
There’s an outdoor table for dining, and tiki torches stand proudly at the two ocean-side corners.
Moving toward the edge, I notice a ladder that leads down into the ocean.
A school of small, orange fish dart past the bungalow, and I watch them fade into the water as they journey on. “Paradise.”
From inside, Ashton calls out to me. “Do you want the room with the connected bathtub or the one with the ocean view?”
“You decide. I don’t care,” I holler back, mesmerized by the sparkling water.
I slip off my tennis shoes and pull off my socks before sitting down on the edge of the deck and dipping my toes into the warm, surface-level water.
I’m here to find Noah, yes, but I also want to soak up every ounce of this experience as I can since the last time I was here feels more like a work of fiction than reality inside of my head.
And like the character inside my head commanded, I can use this as story fodder.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that the events I wrote in my book are actual memories. All that is left to do is have Noah verify it for me, but I know what the answer will be. I can feel it in my soul. I feel the memories now, percolating on the edges of my conscious thought.
“Whoa, this is nice.” Ashton’s footsteps sound from behind as he steps out onto the deck. He slips off his socks and shoes and joins me on the edge of the deck. We sit in silence, listening to the ocean waves and the slight rustling of the palm trees around us.
I want to stay here forever, but we have a purpose.
“We tossed around the idea of visiting the places I mentioned in my novel earlier while we made the trek here. So, do we want to walk the beach? Maybe check the cabanas and umbrella chairs?”
Ashton rolls up his sleeves. “Yeah, let’s do that. But first I’d like to change into my swim shorts.” He looks over at me and scrunches his nose as if he’s thinking of doing something he ought not to do.
Better run, sweetheart, fictional Noah teases.
My eyes widen in terror as I start to creep backward with my pointer finger up and out. “Nikhil Ashton Prewitt, don’t you dare—”
My words are cut short as I tumble into the ocean.
***
“ Y ou know what they say about payback.” I tighten my ponytail as we walk along the hot sand, the setting sun creating a road across the ocean.
“That’s why I needed to change into my swim trunks.”
I shove him lightly, but it’s like trying to move a wall. My stomach growls, and my hand flies to it as if that will make the stridulant noise stop.
“Should we press pause on our search and get something to eat?” Ashton asks. So far, we’ve found no trace of Noah. We’ve asked employees as we’ve passed them, snooped inside of cabanas, and searched the faces of relaxed humans lounging in beachside chairs. Nothing.
I sigh, fanning myself. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
“Let’s check out that restaurant you mention in the book. What was it called?”
I open the pamphlet and find the name of the Mediterranean restaurant I thought I’d made up. “Puaiti Moana.”
Ashton opens his mouth, and I peg him with a glare. “Don’t do it.”
A wicked smile stretches across his face as he starts to belt, “See the line where the—”
“Ashton!” Though I shout his name in flustered embarrassment as my eyes cut to onlookers, I laugh.
Seeing him so open and free, as if he’s shaken off his responsibilities and burdens, warms my heart.
I think that’s what I did last year. Shed the uptight version of myself in favor of a go-with-the-flow type of woman.
My stomach grumbles again, so I grab Ashton by the forearm and haul him toward the restaurant.
There is only one wall in the building, the rest being floor-to-ceiling windows.
Woven branches of wood meander around the columns that support the building with lights interspersed throughout.
It’s a romantic, dimly lit dining area with white Tahitian gardenias serving as centerpieces on the small, meant-for-two, round, wooden tables.
“Wow,” Ashton and I remark at the same time as we take our seats and receive our menus from a waitress. We look over the options and make small talk while we wait for someone to take our orders.
“I think I’ll have the mango fish tacos,” I say with a knowing smile. It’s one of the dishes I wrote about in my book.
Ashton runs his finger down the menu before stopping and pointing to a dish he can’t pronounce. We thank the waitress, and she leaves.
“Yeah, I’m so jealous my brother got to experience all this without me.” That strange, regretful sadness tinges his voice once more. I thought he had left it back on the plane, but it seems something caused it to come creeping back.