Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Tess
Despite thinking it’d never happen, I must eventually succumb to one of the waves of exhaustion that rises up between each bout of tears. The sound of a door snicking shut pulls me from sleep, and I bolt upright, half expecting to see Kit standing in my doorway.
But it’s not him, and I’m not where I expect to be. I’m in the living area, where the pull-out couch has been made up into a bed just for me. And my dad is taking a seat at the edge of the thin mattress.
“Daddy?” I blink twice in confusion, expecting him to disappear. Why? I don’t know. There’s just some voice in the back of my mind whispering, insisting his presence here is impossible.
The milky morning light brings out the silver that’s beginning to fleck his brown hair. He offers his signature smirk and reaches forward to ruffle my hair. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I figured you’d be awake by now.”
The strangest sense of déjà vu sends a shiver down my spine. “Did we have something planned?”
“No, but then, we never do.” He smiles, flashing the same effortlessly white teeth that my friends at school envy me for.
Or used to? Why does it seem so long ago that I last saw them? School only let out for the summer a couple weeks ago, right?
Dad’s silver-blue gaze roams my features, and the corners of his mouth dip. “What’s wrong? Today is a happy day.”
I shake my head. Nothing inside me feels happy. “But why?”
“Because”—he claps his hands together quietly—“we’re going home!”
I glance at the clock on the microwave, as though it will orient me to the right day rather than time. “I thought we didn’t leave until tomorrow?”
He sighs and folds his hands over one knee. “Sometimes you have to go before you think you’re ready. But it’ll be okay, kiddo. I promise.”
Confusion settles like a fog over my mind, submerging all my thoughts in heavy syrup until it seems as though I’ll never be able to pluck them out.
“I don’t understand,” I say, sounding younger than I expect to now that I’m listening to myself more intently. “Why is it a happy day if we’re leaving? You love it here.”
“I love it here because it’s where you and Mom are. Here’s the thing about that, though, Tess: you’re also everywhere else.”
My mouth tries to form a response, but before words can trudge from my mind to my lips, another voice interrupts.
“My two early birds.”
Dad and I glance up at the same time. Mom leans in the threshold that leads to their bedroom, arms folded over some faded T-shirt of Dad’s that she’s using as a nightgown. Her long legs are bare and tan even in the pale light. For some reason the sight of her makes my heart ache. I reach up to rub at the knot in my chest, and something on my hand glitters. Rings. My fingers are covered in rings, just like Mom’s.
She notices at the same time I do, shaking her head thoughtfully. “Isn’t it crazy, Ted? There’s so much of us in her, and yet she’s become someone else that’s all her own.”
Dad grumbles his agreement in a low timbre that’s heart-wrenching in its familiarity. “And all those parts that are so different are the ones I love the very best.”
I’m startled by a sudden knock. Mom’s fist rests against the doorjamb, and she looks just like me when she says, “I’m really sorry, Tess.”
“For what?” I ask, pulling the blanket higher up my torso.
“So sorry,” Dad adds. Mom knocks again.
“It’s okay. I’m okay with leaving. Just don’t go.” I don’t know why I add the last part. They wouldn’t leave without me, would they?
Of course not. It’s always been the three of us. Sometimes more, but never less.
“Sorry, but it’s time to go,” they say in unison, sounding at once so close and yet very far away. I squeeze my eyes shut so I won’t have to watch them go.
When I open my eyes again, the room is different. Right, but in its rightness, so wrong. My parents are gone. I’m back in the king-size bed in my normal room. And it’s Kit’s voice, instead of theirs, that drifts through the closed door to my hotel suite.
“I’m sorry, Tess. For everything.”
I wait, but only silence and my thudding pulse follows. Tears spill down my cheeks. I leap from the bed and pad over to the bathroom, where my blotchy, stricken face greets me. I haven’t dreamed of my parents in years. Not like that, where it felt as though I were living in a memory and the present all at once.
Cold water stings my puffy eyes. I splash my face quickly and wipe it down with a soft, white towel, then stumble from the room in search of something to wear other than my dress from last night. I peel it off my body and replace it with a T-shirt and jean shorts from the floor that seem clean enough, then stumble into the living area without sparing a glance at the couch, for fear and simultaneous hope that my parents will be waiting there.
The hallway is empty, save for a housekeeping cart parked across from my room. In front of Kit’s open door.
I’m so distracted by Magdalena’s presence, her signature music drifting into the hall, that I nearly trip over something solid and cold as I stumble forward.
A sharp sting shoots from my toe all the way up my leg, drawing my gaze downward. There, amid the blues and greens of the carpet whose pattern I could draw with my eyes closed, are my handprints. Mine and my parents’ and a sand dollar, all memorialized in concrete. I kneel on the floor, drawing my fingertips across the jagged edges where the chunk of pavement has been chiseled away from the patio. Then the tears return in earnest.
An envelope with my name scrawled across it sits on top of the slab. I gather both pieces in my arms, surprised at the weight, and slip back into my room. As the door slams shut behind me, I set the stone gently on the coffee table and tear into the envelope.
A simple note written on hotel stationery greets me, and a small flash of gold falls from its grasp.
You wanted a sand dollar, so I’m giving you two. One from me, but more importantly, one from them. Here’s to whatever comes next. For both of us.
-K
I laugh-cry into the quiet morning. My gaze shifts to the floor. What I now realize is a delicate gold ring lies prone in the carpet. I scoop it up and turn it over in my palm. Where there’d normally be a stone, a plate of gold has been engraved to look like a sand dollar, then filled with a shimmery blue inlay. I recognize it immediately as Angela’s work—it matches every other piece I’ve bought from her shop through the years.
All Kit wanted was something true. Something real. Why couldn’t I give that to him? Why did it scare me so damn bad to even consider it?
I lay my hand in my mother’s print, wishing above all else that I could feel her warmth in the stone. But she’s not in this stone, or even in the Carmen. Neither is Dad. They are nowhere and everywhere. They are in me and ahead of me and behind me, all at once. I’ve spent so long searching for them in my past that I forgot to look ahead. Was too afraid to, in case I didn’t like what I’d see.
I glance up at the doorway where she stood in my dream and I weep. I weep for the child who lost her parents, and all her hope right along with them. Who thought the world needed her to always be light and bright and perfect in order to not leave her behind as well.
Kit saw me even at my darkest, and he still chose me. Still loved me. Now I’m filled to the point of breaking with the love that was meant to be his in return, all because I was too afraid to let it happen. Well it happened anyway, and I’m irrevocably changed for it.
I go through the motions of gathering my things and repacking them neatly into my bag. I strip the bed for Magdalena the way I do every summer, throw my towels on the pile of linens, and open the windows to let the light pour in. Sunshine spills onto my skin and I tilt my head back to drink it in. It feels as much like a beginning as it does an ending, the way most important moments in life have a tendency to.
Jenna, Mara, and Mauricio are all huddled around the center desk when I step into the lobby. Alex is nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping off the one-too-many beers he indulged in at our family dinner, but that’s okay. Sometimes it’s better not to know the last time you see someone will be the last time.
The moment Jenna lays eyes on me, her face crumples into a rueful smile. “I figured you’d be leaving early, once Kit checked out.”
So he is gone. I knew as much already from the sight of his room being cleaned, but still, the confirmation that we’re no longer under the same roof hurts in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
It’s for the best. His parents need him right now. And this is one thing I always knew would be done alone.
Mauricio has deep purple bruises under his eyes, which are the shade of bittersweet chocolate this morning. His gaze dips to the slab of concrete held tightly to my chest, and he chuckles breathily. “I see you got your present.”
I glance down at it, then back at him. “Mo, how on earth?”
“Do not ask, querida. ” He nods toward the windows to the deck, where I can just make out a barrier of caution tape warding passersby off from the place the handprints once lay. “I cannot wait to hear my brother’s thoughts.”
“He’ll want to go ahead and rip up the pool deck a few months early,” Mara says matter-of-factly. Then she shrugs as she meets my gaze. “That’s a good thing, though. I hate dealing with the pool. Some kid poops in it at least once a week.”
Jenna elbows her. I laugh. “Have I told you just how much I’m going to miss you, Mara?”
She ducks her head, but I swear I catch a blush. “If you’d get on socials, you could keep up with me while I’m traveling. I’ll be vlogging the whole thing.”
“Vlogging. Got it,” I say while shaking my head in tune with Mo and Jenna, who seem equally as clueless as I do. The truth is, I mostly avoided social media so no one from high school could stalk me on random drunken nights when they pondered what happened to the girl whose parents died. But now I realize I don’t really care. Their opinion of me is just that. I shouldn’t let it impede my life anymore.
I set my keys on the counter, and Mo blows out a heavy breath. “So it’s really happening, huh?” He steps forward and throws his arms around me, his familiar tobacco-and-cologne scent flooding my senses. “Please remember, you do not have to give up every part of your old life in order to create a new one. And we are only a phone call away.”
I squeeze him tightly around the middle and draw in another deep breath. Until you’ve lost someone, you don’t realize how important things like someone’s smell are. But scent, handwriting, a voice: they’re what you lose first. And therefore, what you miss the most.
Jenna tugs me from his grasp. “No hogging Tess.” Then it’s her turn, with all her pointy limbs, to hug me tightly. Mara joins in from behind, sandwiching me between mother and daughter. “You’ll forever be our girl.”
“Love you,” Mara mutters into my hair.
“I love you all so much.” I force the words out through a tight throat. When they finally release me, it still feels like I’m being held. I hope it stays with me the whole drive home. “Give Alex my love as well. And some ibuprofen for the headache this will inevitably cause him.” I lift the stone in a shrug.
Jenna’s dark eyes glitter with amusement, and Mo huffs a laugh. Mara retreats to her space behind the desk, as much a fan of goodbyes as I am.
“Would you like help to your car?” Mo asks.
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
“How about the next?” he says with a wink.
Tears flood my vision, but I smile anyway. “That sounds good.”
I walk out of the Carmen without looking back. Under the mimosa tree, across the scalding pavement, to my waiting car, where I load my bag into the trunk and place our handprints gingerly in the passenger seat. Who cares if it dirties up the fabric interior?
As I drive away, I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the signature green roof, and I decide that’s how I prefer it. The Carmen will remain an image always in my peripheral, there if I choose to turn my head. There if I choose to return.
And everything else lies ahead.