Chapter One #2
A queen-size bed sits in the middle of the room and looks like the most inviting thing after my long day of travel — two connecting flights and an hour drive back to the cottage.
A dresser and a vanity line two of the walls.
Boxes scatter the floor, full of my belongings, but a few stacked on top are open.
“I wasn’t going through your things,” Beth begins quickly, seeing me eye the boxes. “I just wanted to have the bed already made up for you. Figured you could use a good night’s rest after the day you’ve had.”
“Thank you.” The duffle bag I’m holding hits the floor with a soft thud. “I appreciate it more than you know.”
I walk towards the dresser in the corner of the room and notice a framed photograph on top of it.
I pick it up to look at it closer — it’s Mom, Beth, and me on the beach from our last trip together.
A younger version of myself smiles back at me through the glass.
I must have been in eighth grade or maybe a freshman in high school during that trip.
I remember that trip fondly, spending the week lazily laying on the beach.
My heart swells at the memory and I set the frame down before the tears can come. You never know the last time is the last time.
“Do you want help unpacking?” Beth asks. “I’m not going to the diner tonight or tomorrow, so I can help with whatever you need.”
“I’d really like a shower first, if I’m honest,” I say. I feel gross from the airports and being around so many strangers.
She nods. “Towels and washcloths are in the closet in the bathroom, help yourself.” She sticks her hands in the pockets of her jean shorts. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She turns to leave and it hits me just how vastly different my mom and aunt are.
Mom was short, but like Shakespeare said, “though she be little, she be fierce.” You didn’t want to challenge Caroline Calloway.
She cursed like a sailor when she was mad, something that secretly always made me giggle.
She was brilliant; she saved lives on the daily.
Her eyes were the brightest green I’d ever seen, the kind that caught golden flecks of sunlight.
She kept her reddish, caramel brown hair short, hitting just in line with her chin.
She liked to garden in her limited spare time.
Mom was loud, expressive, and ferocious; a force to be reckoned with.
Aunt Beth, on the other hand, is more guarded than her counterpart.
She’s soft where my mother was rough. Beth has the prettiest light blue eyes — the kind of blue that burns cold, sharp as ice.
It’s hard to look her in the eyes for long, especially when she’s angry — something she uses to her advantage.
Her hair falls past her shoulders and is a dark, chocolate brown.
She’s taller than me and a half a foot taller than Mom.
While Mom was poised and polished, Aunt Beth is less put together.
She’s quiet, inquisitive, and pensive. She thinks before she speaks.
Beth is the calm and my mother was the storm.
I pick up my duffle bag and pull out a sweatshirt and leggings before I head down the hallway. A hot and steamy shower is calling my name.
A delicate rose wallpaper covers every inch of the wall space in the tiny bathroom.
There’s a white porcelain vanity to my left.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet above the sink and sigh.
Whether it’s the grief that permanently resides in my face, or the day of travel, or both, I look like death warmed over.
My green eyes, so similar to my mother’s, lack their usual sparkle. I think my spark died with her.
I rub my face and then pull my hair tie out, letting my hair fall down my shoulders before I turn the water on. I let it warm up a bit before I strip my clothes off and toss them into a pile on the floor and climb in.
I wake up the next morning, faced with my new normal.
I stare at the ceiling fan above me, watching as the blades lazily make their laps.
It takes a moment to orient myself, to realize that after months of daydreaming about it, I am finally in Driftbay.
Early-morning sunlight spills through the sheer curtains onto the hardwood floor.
I get out of bed and stretch before going to the windows and opening them.
The floor is cold beneath my feet. It’s still cool outside for mid-June.
I take a deep breath in and pause for a moment, letting the salty air fill my lungs.
The crashing waves conduct a calming melody, and I time my breathing with them.
Seattle was a loud, upbeat tune — one I’m glad to no longer be hearing.
I stare at the boxes for a bit, knowing I need to unpack, before I decide to go in search of Aunt Beth.
I find her outside on the back porch, curled up in one of the navy Adirondack chairs with a cup of coffee and a book, still in her pajamas.
She startles briefly at my presence before closing her book, tossing her bookmark in haphazardly. I settle into the chair beside her.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning,” I echo back. My voice lacks the cheerfulness hers does.
“Sleep okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I pull my legs up to my chest. It wasn’t a total lie; the serenity was going to take some getting used to.
For quietness, it sure can be loud. I don’t tell her about the nightmares I’ve been having; the images of the crash still haunting me in my slumber.
“This is nice,” I add, nodding my head toward the white sandy beach that makes up her backyard.
“There’s a reason I never left after college.” She gently sets her mug down on the white wicker table between us and smiles. I glance at the book in her lap; judging from the cover it looks like some kind of fantasy romance novel.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I was going to swing by the diner and grab breakfast for us and check in on them. My better cook is working this morning and I need to get groceries.”
“Yes,” I say, my stomach grumbling in agreement. I didn’t eat dinner the night before so breakfast is a welcome treat.
“Bacon or sausage?” she asks as she stands.
“Uh, bacon,” I reply, staring up at her.
She nods and then dashes inside to change out of her pajamas.
She’s changed and back out the door in an instant, leaving me alone with the comfort of the crashing waves.
There’s not many folks out on the beach this early.
A few lone seagulls leisurely soar through the sky, talking to each other in their own language.
I’m not sure how long I spend outside consumed by my thoughts, but Beth is back before I know it. She jogs up the porch steps, plastic takeout bag in hand. I get out of the chair and follow her into the house, letting the screen door slam behind us.
“Were they surviving without you?” I ask as we walk into the kitchen.
Beth smiles as she sets the bag on the counter. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she laughs. “Barely,” she says before getting two plates from the cabinet. “I trust them, I do, but I just feel better if I’m there.”
“You can go,” I say. “I can unpack by myself, it’s okay.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Beth turns to me. “I want to be here with you. They just tend to do better if I’m there. It’s fine, really.”
I nod as she plates our breakfast. I sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
Beth shuffles over to the refrigerator and pulls out a jug of orange juice before grabbing two glasses from the dish drainer in the sink.
A huge grin stretches across her face as she presents breakfast to me — a smorgasbord of treats.
“Call it a homecoming breakfast,” she says as she sets her own plate down and sinks down in the chair opposite of me.
My mouth waters at the aromas floating up to my nostrils.
There’s pancakes, hashbrown casserole, bacon, eggs, and biscuits.
A true feast. We eat silently for a few moments before she starts telling me more about the diner, the staff members she wants me to meet, and about her day to day life in Driftbay.
Our forks clang against the china as we talk.
“I want you to feel at home here,” she says as she clears our plates from the table. “Truly. I know you’re legally an adult now but I want this place to be your safe haven, somewhere you can always come back to.”
I think it always has been. Sure, Mom and I didn’t get out here a ton when I was younger, but some of my best memories from those days belong to the sand and sea. I would daydream about the next time we would get to see Aunt Beth and visit this piece of paradise before we’d even left it.
We spend the day unpacking my belongings and making her house feel like my home.
By the end of the day, it’s like I’ve lived here my entire life and Seattle is nothing but a distant memory.
Aunt Beth plays some of her favorite records on her vinyl player in the living room and we end up dancing throughout the house as we unpack.
It’s nice getting to spend quality time with her again.
Before Mom’s celebration of life, I hadn’t seen her since my high school graduation.
We order pizza in and spend the night talking about Mom, having placed her urn in the center of the mantle in the living room — a focal point in the house and in our lives.
Beth plays one final record that evening — a Fleetwood Mac album she and Mom loved when they were teenagers.
She pours herself a glass of wine and we dance and sing along to the melodies pounding through the house.
We dance together well past sunset, for Mom and in honor of her.
For a moment, I begin to feel lighter, like the weight of her death isn’t crushing me.
Like maybe there’s a reason to live.