Chapter 21
Thursday
“Last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I went through some old photo albums you had on the bookshelf,” Diane said over breakfast the next morning. “I hope that was all right.”
“Yes, of course.”
Diane gave a relieved smile. “Good, because I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” She spread out a photo album on the kitchen table, flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for.
It was a faded black and white photograph of three young women, all standing in front of the restaurant on the pier.
“This is you, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing to the woman on the left.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, smiling at the memories that picture stirred.
“And that’s Judy?” she asked, pointing to the woman at the far right.
“Very good,” I said, shocked that she had recognized her. Her hair was longer then, her face soft with youth.
“That must make this Rosalie,” she surmised, indicating the woman in the center.
“Yes, that’s Rosie,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. I hadn’t laid eyes on this picture in years, and the sight of her—young, vibrant, full of life—pulled at a heartstring I thought had hardened over time.
“Can you tell me more about her?” Diane requested softly, her eyes studying the image. “For some reason, I feel this inexplicable pull toward her, as if she has some unfinished story to tell.”
A chill rose the length of my spine, but I did my best to suppress it.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and stared at the picture for a few seconds before I spoke.
“That picture was taken a long time ago, about six months after I moved to Kitty Hawk. By then, the three of us had become good friends.”
Kitty Hawk, NC
December 1962
“That’s a wrap, girls,” I said, shutting the door and flipping the sign to “Closed.” We had just finished a particularly grueling shift. The holiday crowd had swarmed the restaurant that day, leaving us with little time to catch our breaths.
“What's the plan for tonight?” Judy asked, pulling off her apron and hanging it on the hook behind the door. Her eyes were twinkling with the anticipation of a night out.
“Well,” I began, “we could head over to The Blue Lagoon. They've got a new band playing tonight.”
Rosalie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Not another band. The last one you dragged us to was dreadful. I think I might stay in and write a little.”
“Write? But it’s Friday and the night is still young. I want to go out and do something fun.”
Judy, ever the peacemaker, jumped in and suggested we try the movie theater in Manteo. “I think Lawrence of Arabia is playing. I’ll even buy the popcorn.”
It wasn’t drinks and dancing, but it beat staying in, so I agreed.
The drive to Manteo was filled with laughter and light-hearted banter, the radio playing softly in the background as Judy navigated the winding roads. The three of us had become more than just coworkers. We were friends. In many ways, they had become the sisters I never had.
We reached the theater just in time for the opening credits, purchasing popcorn and sodas before settling into our seats.
As the movie played out on the screen, I glanced over at Rosie and Judy from time to time, their faces illuminated by the flickering images.
Rosie was lost in the story, her brow furrowed with an intensity that made me smile.
Judy, on the other hand, was chewing her popcorn, her vacant gaze seemingly a thousand miles away.
I knew she was probably thinking about Steve, the man from the gas station she’d been seeing.
As the movie reached its climactic end, I felt a strangely fitting sense of melancholy wash over me.
Perhaps it was because I knew that these moments were fleeting, that the years would pass us by and our lives would become mere memories, or maybe it was just the inherent sadness of the film’s story.
I glanced at the girls, still engrossed in the movie, and felt a sudden surge of gratitude for their companionship.
Without them, I didn't know where I would be.
When the movie ended, we shuffled out of the theater, each of us lost in our thoughts. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the lingering scent of popcorn. We strolled down Main Street, past shuttered shops and empty diners, our footstep echoing in the quiet town.
“I think Peter might be the one,” Rosie said as we crossed the street at the stop sign.
Judy laughed. “Good lord, Rosie, you can't be serious. You've only been going out for, what, a month?”
Rosie shrugged, her eyes staring straight ahead as she walked. “I know it sounds crazy, but I just have this feeling.”
“You and your feelings,” Judy said, reaching over to give Rosie a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “Just don’t rush into anything, all right? I mean, Peter’s a handsome guy and all, but you barely know him.”
Rosie nodded, her gaze dropping to the pavement. “I know. I just... The fact of the matter is I’m not getting any younger, and I want to settle down. You know, build a life with someone.”
“Then that’s all that matters,” I chimed in, hoping to lighten the mood. “Trust me, when you know, you know. And if you think Peter’s the one, then who are we to tell you otherwise?”
If anyone knew about hasty decisions, it was me. My own past was riddled with impulsive choices. But I understood Rosie’s longing for a life of stability and companionship.
“Thanks, Sara.” She shot Judy a glance. “At least someone understands.”
“I was only kidding,” said Judy. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy, too.”
As the calendar flipped to January, the nights grew colder and our walks on the beach became less frequent.
But our conversations about the future were unending.
While Rosie focused on Peter and their budding romance, Judy and I were preoccupied with our own concerns.
Despite having lived most of her life in Kitty Hawk, Judy was contemplating selling the restaurant and moving to New York to pursue her dream of becoming a chef.
I, on the other hand, was still grappling with my unresolved feelings for Jack, wondering if I should reach out to him, or allow the wounds to heal on their own.
As time went on, I thought less of home and more of the life I was building in Kitty Hawk. My feelings for Jack still lingered in the back of my mind, but they were fading, like footprints washed away by the tide.
That spring, I joined a book club, something I had always wanted to do.
A small step toward self-discovery, yes, but a significant one, nonetheless.
And it was at this book club I met several more women about my age.
As it turned out, we had more in common than just our love for books.
They, too, had left their hometowns, some out of a need for adventure, but others to escape troubled pasts.
The stories they shared about their old lives were harrowing, how they had lived under the shadow of an abusive father or a neglectful mother or both, how they had slept in bus shelters and under bridges before finally managing to piece their lives back together.
The strength these women carried was inspiring, and I started to realize that if they could make it, so could I.