Chapter 23
T he Shackleford Banks was a narrow strip of sand and coastal vegetation that extended from the Beaufort Inlet to Cape Lookout.
The island’s easternmost point almost connected with the next island, known as Core Banks.
The southern tip of Core Banks formed a sharpish elbow, one that framed Shackleford on three sides, forming the deepwater cove known as Lookout Bay.
Brody sailed them through the Bardon Inlet cut, then lowered the sails and motored them into the sheltered cove.
Rae feared the curving beaches that fronted the inland waterway would be jammed with holiday boats, but today was their gift.
A trio of motorized craft were anchored out past Catfish Point, but otherwise the inlet was empty, the waters a deep wintry azure.
Somewhere during the voyage, an idea had taken hold, strong as the day and the wind. Stronger. When sea oats and windswept pines formed a filigree against the morning sun, Rae knew with utter certainty how her day was going to unfold.
She breathed the sharp sea-scented air and waited impatiently as Brody drew them slowly shoreward.
When the sandy bottom became visible, he cut the engine and slipped into the waist-deep frigid waters.
Once Rae handed him the boat’s anchors he slung them over his shoulders and waded toward the beach.
Brody then returned to the craft’s leeward side and held out his arms. “Beachside taxi service. Today only, special price.”
As if in response, there was a soft splash off the boat’s stern. Amiya soon appeared, pushing through the waters beyond the bow.
Brody asked, “Was it something I said?”
“Give it time.” Mia reached down and allowed Brody to take hold. When she was comfortably set in a fireman’s carry, she went on, “She’s just being protective of Rae.”
When it was Rae’s turn, Brody started toward where Amiya stood with his mother.
A trio of dunes curved with the island, forming a natural barrier against the wind.
Rae tapped his shoulder and pointed them toward a solitary stretch further north.
The island flattened here, allowing easy passage to the other side.
But it also funneled the wind. Even as they approached the shore, Rae could feel the wintry bite.
There were so many things she wanted to tell Brody.
She knew he was troubled by Amiya’s silent wariness.
He needed to be reassured. But just then the pressure to knit the day together with the past clogged Rae’s throat so tight she could scarcely breathe.
Soon as the water was ankle-deep, she wriggled free of his grasp and bolted.
Rae heard Brody call after her and then Mia telling her son to let her go, give her space.
All that only made her run faster. Rae had to do this while there was still time.
The cloudless sky was a deep blue-black, the light clear and intense. The saddle ended where the island met the ocean. The beach was different here, the sand coarser and so deep she sunk to midcalf with each step.
She searched.
As she did, the memories crowded in. Rae did not resist the onslaught. This was why she came, alone and bereft. This long-denied wound needed to be exposed and cleansed.
She recalled that terrible teenage Christmas.
Growing into a new season of life, and shattered by all the losses she had been forced to endure.
Both parents, home, the security she had taken for granted.
Living now with Emma, who even then was partially crippled by arthritis.
Rae had discovered the power of screaming at the top of her lungs, filled with a rage so potent she had no alternative but to let it out.
Pouring wrath at the woman who had given this orphan a home.
Rae had no idea how long she remained in that dreadful state.
Weeks. Then on this very day, the morning before Christmas Eve, Emma had borrowed a motorboat from Travis, Brody’s uncle.
Rae had loved the water since birth. Much as she wanted to refuse, Rae had come along for the ride.
But she had remained isolated in the craft’s bow, separated by all possible distance from her aunt.
Emma had brought them here. To Lookout Bay. Soon as they were moored on the beach, she told Rae the secret of sea glass. How years of hardship and grinding forces and solitary turmoil fashioned those simple elements into nature’s finest gemstones.
She then told Rae they were staying here long as it took for Rae to find her an ocean jewel. One that marked the end of Rae’s transition to womanhood.
Of course, Rae had never thought of her rage in those terms. And hearing Emma call it that had stripped her bare.
Silenced her. Sent her ashore and running through this very same saddle to the oceanside beach.
Where she stood in the biting winter wind, under a crystal blue-black sky. When it all came crashing down.
Great torrents of fury and remorse and sorrow flooded through her, strong as the waves she could no longer see.
Rae stood at the shoreline and felt her life collapse and re-form, wave after wave, like this was the story of her life, to be repeated endlessly in her island world beside the sunlit sea.
She started her search.
She found six gemstones, all different shapes and sizes.
Two were ruby red, one smoky whitish gray, three in shades of blue.
The final piece was a rarity, a blue paler than the winter sky and large as her thumb.
Rae held it up, fascinated by how the tiny bubbles imbedded in the glass formed a series of circular prisms. They caught the light and spun it in magical precision.
Rae had hardly known she had fallen to her knees until the frigid water lapped against her thighs. She wept, only now there was an almost beautiful quality to her sorrow.
She remained where she was, long after the tears were finished, until her entire lower body was drenched by the incoming tide.
Rae felt bonded to the waves and the day and the transition, a kinship so intense she didn’t want to let the moment go.
But the chill finally settled into her bones, so she rose and walked back, clutching her treasures with both hands.
When Rae returned to the little craft, Emma welcomed her with towels and blankets and a thermos of hot cocoa and a long tender embrace.
They had held onto each other that entire journey home.
“Rae?”
She turned around, but all she saw were prisms. One silhouette moved closer. She realized it was Brody. “You followed me.”
“I wanted make sure you were all right.”
“I need to find Emma a sea glass. For Christmas.” She looked down, but everything was just a blur. “It’s so hard.”
She felt him step closer still, the sand grinding softly beneath his bare feet. But he did not touch her. Instead, he just remained there, in case she needed him.
Which she did. Desperately.
He said, “Can we look together?”
But his words only planted her more firmly in place. Immobile. “I feel like all my hope has drained away.”
He shifted so close his shadow blocked the light. “Rae …”
“What?”
“You’ve given me so much. And part of this is learning to trust that hope is real.”
She felt a tear slide down the tip of her nose and drop onto the sand. Wanting to wipe it away. But just then it was too much. “I’m so worried about Emma.”
Now he touched her. One hand on the nape of her neck, sliding under her hair and resting on her bare skin. Gentle as his voice. “We’ll care for her best we can, for as long as we have.”
She nodded, dislodging more tears.
“It’s not enough and it never will be. But it’s all we have.” He waited with her then, patient. Watchful. There.
“Thank you, Brody.”
“What was it you told me back on the boat? Something about never needing to speak those words?” His other hand reached for hers. “Come on, let’s find Emma’s gift.”