Chapter Thirty-Six Rose
We pack the car with everything we’ll need: paddles, beach towels and chairs, running sneakers, a change of clothes, and binoculars.
First off is the pickleball tournament, which starts at nine. Item four on Lottie’s bucket list.
We slather ourselves with a thick layer of sunscreen, tie our hair into tight ponytails, and put on white visors.
“Ready to crush the competition?” Lily asks, coming out of her room wearing eye black. The streaks look comically out of place with her white tennis skirt.
“Is the war paint really necessary?”
“It’s supposed to reduce the sun’s glare,” she says in an academic tone. “Plus, it’s really intimidating.”
I smile. “We’re going to do so well. First place, for sure.”
“We’re going to crush the competition, obliterate them. When we’re done, everyone on the island will know the infamous story of the Gardner duo.” We high-five.
Two hours and three defeats later, we are back in the car, out of breath.
“Okay, so I guess we need more than a few weeks of practice to win a tournament,” Lily admits.
I take a long drag from the water bottle. In the rearview mirror, my face is flushed. “No kidding. That other team was really good.”
In the shade of the clubhouse, our opponents take a break, waiting for their next match. They’re both white-haired and look around Lottie’s age.
“Beatrice is a killer,” says Lily, still struggling to get air in. Her eye black has smeared off from the sweat. “They were totally cheating, though.”
“They were not.” I pull out of the dirt parking lot.
“I’m just saying, Beatrice’s ‘bad eyesight’ was a little convenient when it came to her line calls.”
“Lily,” I chide. “We lost eleven to three. And Beatrice has glaucoma.”
On the drive to Nobadeer Beach, we regain our energy. A cappuccino later, and Lily is a whole new woman. “I think we could’ve had them,” she says, referring to our last game. “Actually, they were a little slow.”
We drive up a sand road and pull over to the side, practically in the brush.
My father and sister are waiting in the parking area when we arrive.
My dad is in some ridiculous swimming getup that looks like it’s from the twenties.
There’s a matching blue-and-white-striped shirt and swim bottoms. My sister has on a large, floppy hat that keeps almost flying away.
In her arms is an elaborate cat carrier, Mrs. Clay inside.
“Quite the spectacle the other night,” notes my father when we catch up to them.
“We live to entertain,” says Lily.
To my surprise, my dad grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
The gesture is slightly marred by the glaring sun and his bizarre outfit, but the sentiment is not. I can’t remember the last time my dad asked me a question like this—like he really wanted to know the true answer.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, emotion making my words thick.
He gives me a firm pat on my left shoulder, almost knocking me over. Sometimes I forget how tall he is, and surprisingly strong, too. “I’m here for you.”
Irrationally, my throat gets tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
“So, how does this work?” interrupts Elizabeth. “We just wait and hope we happen across a whale?”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“That feels like a tremendous waste of time,” she grumbles. Her hat tries to take off again, lifting inches into the air.
Lily grabs it and pats it back down on her head. “Have some faith, Elizabeth. We’ve got Lottie’s magic on our side.” She looks at Mrs. Clay’s carrier. “Also, don’t cats, like, notoriously hate water and beaches?”
“Mrs. Clay is no ordinary cat,” says my dad in a solemn, serious voice.
We lug our belongings down the street to the beach path, resting the hot metal of the chairs against our shoulders. As soon as we are planted in the sand, Lily runs off to jump in the ocean. When she returns, her hair is wet and tangled, and she looks giddy, like a little kid.
“Are you really going to complete the entire bucket list in one day?” asks Elizabeth. She is lathering herself with tanning oil. It gleams on her skin.
“Doesn’t that cause skin cancer?” asks Lily. She’s covering her face with a baseball cap. Compared to my sister and dad, we look like marble statues. Elizabeth ignores her.
I pull out a copy of Lottie’s list to show her:
Watch the sunrise at Siasconset Beach.
Drive to Great Point Lighthouse.
Get onstage at the Chicken Box.
Win pickleball tournament.
Go whale watching.
Visit the Loines Observatory.
Have a beach picnic.
Name the cottage.
Crash a wedding.
Do something brave.
“We already finished number one, number two, number six, number seven, and number nine earlier in the summer. Number four didn’t exactly work out, but I still consider it a valid attempt. So, all we have left is number three, number five, number eight.”
“What about number ten?” asks Lily.
I lift an eyebrow. “I think we’ve done enough brave things this summer.”
She looks doubtful but shrugs, returning to inspect the ocean.
“But as you told me this morning, Lottie didn’t even care about this bucket list, right? She wrote it on a lark, basically,” Elizabeth says.
We both turn to watch as our dad takes Mrs. Clay out of her carrier and cradles her like a baby in the shade, giving her water from a porcelain bowl he packed.
The old me would wonder if he likes that cat more than he does us.
But the new is trying to be more generous.
I am trying to give people the benefit of the doubt going forward.
When Lily said that I ditched both her and Lottie for being imperfect during our fight the other night, it struck a chord. I don’t want to be that kind of person.
“Yes,” I admit to Elizabeth’s point about the list. “But I still think it’s worthwhile. Maybe Lottie didn’t need it, but she still wrote it. It’s still her words.”
I wonder if I’ll feel a sense of accomplishment when this day is over, after we’ve completed all of the items on the list. I can’t help but think that it’s the celebration of life Lottie would have wanted.
She would have hated her funeral and the dark, depressing dresses we wore.
She loved color, she loved life, she loved us, and she loved this island.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter what Lottie would think,” I say aloud. “Maybe it’s more important that we do this for ourselves.”
Elizabeth nods. “Well, it does sound fun, regardless. I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
I look at her in surprise. “You’re not coming?”
She looks equally baffled. “I’m invited?”
“Of course,” I say. “She was your aunt, too. Besides, we want you there.”
Elizabeth looks like she’s going to cry again, but quickly, she lowers her shades. “Fine,” she says, keeping the emotion away by squishing her lips in a short, puckered line. “I’ll come then if it means so much to you.”
I smile to myself. At least we’re making some progress.
“Lil, what do you think about names for the cottage? Let’s brainstorm,” I say.
Lily looks at me, a strangely panicked expression on her face. “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s save that for last.”
“Really? We might be here for ages, might as well debate some ideas now.”
What I don’t say is that I’m growing more and more doubtful that the whales will make an appearance at all. What are the odds, anyway? I’ve seen some before on tours, but it’s certainly not every day.
“Um,” Lily says. “Later, okay?”
I decide to let it drop. To our left, a volleyball match has begun, and we all fall into a silence as we watch the white ball bounce from one side of the net to the other.
“When’s your boat home, again?” I ask Elizabeth.
She’s spread out on a pink towel, baking in the sun. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Do you think you’ll come back again this summer?”
She sits up to look at me. “Seriously, what has gotten into you lately? You want us to come back?”
A girl in a red one-piece hits the volleyball out of bounds, and it lands a few feet away from our chairs. Lily stands to throw it back at them.
“Why not?” I say. “Life is too short.”
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow and then lowers herself back down. “Maybe,” is all she says, but there’s a curve to her mouth.
The sun is beating down, but the breeze keeps the heat from being overpowering. I lean back into my chair, letting the sound of the waves soothe me. Sure, the fundraiser wasn’t the evening I had planned, but the sun still came out. It always does.
Now that I’m free of William, I keep thinking of what to say to Tommy. Maybe it’s time for number ten, after all.
As we soak in the sun, I think: If Lottie is anywhere, if heaven is real, I bet she’s right here, on one of the many beaches she loved, sitting back with a good book. Charlie by her side.
The thought lulls me, and I’m on the edge of sleep when Lily’s scream startles me awake.
“MOM!” she shouts. “Look over there.”
She’s pointing toward the horizon, but all I can see is the reflection of the sun on the sea and the white foam of waves breaking. “What?”
“I saw a tail. I swear,” says Lily, standing up now and pointing to the distance.
I follow her line of sight. The volleyball match has paused, too, a few of the players looking out at the water.
Then, in the distance, I see something myself: a flash of black and white.
It’s only visible for a second, but I can hear the other beachgoers begin to yell and point.
The shape emerges again, the unmistakable outline of a black tail rising and then slapping the water.
Wordlessly, all four of us walk closer to the water to see.
“I think there’s more than one,” whispers Elizabeth.
For a long pause, nothing happens. People begin to walk back to their chairs, losing interest. Then, the smooth body of the whale breaches the water once more, jumping in the air. When it twists, we can see its entire torso, a long patch of white.
“My God,” says my dad. “Is that…?”
“I think it’s an orca,” I say in wonderment.
“Is that even possible in these waters?” asks Elizabeth.