Page 45 of Somewhere You Belong

I mull over her points, still unsure as uneasiness rests in my stomach. “Can I think about it?”

Her shoulders deflate, but she smiles at me. “Of course.”

“When is it, by the way?”

“Two weeks from now.”

“Okay.”

“Mom!” Lilly runs up to us, her hands cupped as she holds something inside. “Look at all of these shells that Bentley and I found!”

“Those are beautiful, baby. And so many purple ones! Put them in the bag.” Astrid lifts a plastic bag from the wagon she used to carry all of her stuff onto the beach, popping open the seal and holding it open so her daughter can gently place the shells inside. “We’ll add them to the vase when we get home.”

“I’m going to go find more!” Lilly shouts as she races back toward the water.

“We have a vase in their bathroom full of purple seashells they’ve found over the years. It was Brandon’s idea, something fun that they would do together whenever we came to the beach. He told them the purple ones were rare treasures, little pieces of the ocean’s magic.” She pauses and then laughs lowly. “Really, we just didn’t want to bring the whole beach home with us every time we came. I don’t know what I’m going to do when that thing is full.”

I reach for her hand, knowing that even though our losses are different, Astrid’s grief and the underlying grief I hold onto are still very similar—a pain that comes in unpredictable waves just like the ocean before us. Sometimes it's calm, and memories gently wash over you, leaving you with a sense of peace and comfort. But then, out of nowhere, a wave of sorrow crashes over you, so powerful it knocks you off your feet and leaves you reeling.

I squeeze her hand in silent understanding. “You’ll just buy abigger vase.”

***

After my beach day with Astrid and a few more days of working from my house, I decide to venture out on Saturday, reminding myself that it’s not good to be alone all the time. Funny thing is, that’s exactly how I preferred to be before I came here. But like many aspects of my life recently…things change.

I stop by Keely’s, treating myself to one of her gourmet coffees that puts Starbucks to shame, and then find a cute little breakfast spot to enjoy a hot meal by the water. It’s a bold summer day at the end of August, so the temperature is quickly rising.

And even though a part of me knows better, somehow, I find myself driving around town looking for a park where soccer games are being played. It doesn’t take me long to locate a sports complex that is filled with cars and people, whistles echoing in the background and bursts of cheering grab my attention as I step out of my car and head toward the fields.

I don’t know why I’m here.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It turns out that curiosity is a powerful drug, and after my conversation with Astrid on the beach, I convinced myself that knowledge is power. If Dallas won’t show me this side of himself, perhaps I just need to discover it on my own. Plus, I need to thank him for the scarecrow, especially since I can already tell that it’s working. It stopped the geese in their tracks this morning when they attempted to ambush me as I left.

But I’m still riding the denial train as I walk along the grass.

I’m not here because the man intrigues me.

It’s not because every time we’re near each other my blood hums through my veins with electricity.

And it’s not because the man has been starring in one too many dirty dreams of mine that remind me how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed the touch of a man.

Nope. It has nothing to do with of any of that.

“Yes! Go toward the goal!”

Shouting to my right has my head spinning in that direction with recognition. I find Astrid jumping up and down as a young boy dribbles the ball toward the goal.

“Pass, Bentley!” Penn yells just before Astrid’s son sends the ball across the field to the one of his teammates. The other player moves past a defender and then passes it back to Bentley, who perfectly kicks the ball past the goalie and into the net.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”

My eyes shift in the direction of that voice, landing on Dallas with a proud smile on his face. His eyes are covered by aviator sunglasses, his head by a backward ball cap, and his broad chest by a lime green t-shirt that matches the team jerseys. It’s then that I notice the wordCOACHon his back and on Penn’s shirt as well.

“That’s right, boys. Let’s do it again!” Penn and Dallas share a small conversation after encouraging their players, and then the game picks back up.

I find a spot right next to Astrid, who’s seated in a folding chair and texting someone on her phone, oblivious to my approach. “That was a beautiful goal.”

Wide eyes peer up at me before her smile goes just as big. “Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?” Launching from her seat, she pulls me into a hug.

---