Page 80 of Beacon

“I think of that day often. It was only the beginning; you’ve come so far since then.”

With only a handful of words at my disposal, I felt I’d barely embarked on this long journey, but with each step, the next became easier to take.

I considered what my next word should be. There was another name I wanted to speak, so when my pet octopus eventually scurried over, I scooped him up to snuggle him close, my newest word already prepared on my lips. “Octavius.”

My octopus peered up at me almost in wonder before wriggling about excitedly in my lap.

Owen chuckled. “I think he likes it. Did he not know his name before now?”

I shook my head, for I’d befriended my dear companion shortly after my voice had been taken. “Octavius,” I crooned. My octopus snuggled even closer in obvious pleasure, a reaction that caused my heart to swell; he seemed fond of the name I’d chosen.

Owen reached out to pat Octavius’s head, a gesture he seemed content enough to allow. “One day I’d love to hear the story behind his name. It’s much more sophisticated than I’d expect for an octopus, such a contrast to the nickname I christened him with.” Owen chuckled as I wrinkled my nose. “In all the time I’ve used it, I see you have yet to become endeared to my chosen nickname.”

“No.” I spoke the word without thought, the first I hadn’t prepared as carefully as the others. The sound of my own voice caused me to still, not only from shock I’d spoken the word so easily but because it wasn’t one of the treasured ones I’d wanted to be the first to gather for my still-small collection.

Owen blinked before grinning, seeming amused by my surprise. “It seems intense emotions bring out your words as strongly as your desires—you must really dislike my using anything other than your dear pet’s proper name.” His amusement faded as he better studied my expression. “Marisa?”

I could only sigh, the emotions raging within me too confusing to even attempt to explain, even if I’d been inclined to. He rested his hand over mine and my breath caught.

“Don’t begrudge any word you speak; they’re all precious considering each is another step closer to reclaiming your voice.”

Even after speaking his gentle words, he didn’t withdraw his hand; his touch lingered, causing the usual sensations of warmth and happiness to spread over me and soothe my anxieties until none remained. Owen observed me carefully so that he saw the moment my tense posture finally relaxed, inviting him to speak again.

“While I think no is an important word to have in your possession considering it allows you to more easily share your valuable opinions, speaking it distressed you, so perhaps you can gather some other words that mean more to you.”

His gaze caressed the shore until he found what he was looking for. He handed me a seashell unbroken by the waves. I grazed my thumb across its lilac-grey ridges, each caress strengthening my courage.

“Seashell.” At my tentative whisper, my fingers closed around the shell, a treasure as dear to me as this new word itself. It was enough to break through the fear usually guarding my words so that by the end of the afternoon I’d collected many more lovely ones: sea, lighthouse, octopus, rainbow, sunlight, waves, star.

Silence settled back around us, leaving the only sound the rushing waves. But even though we said nothing more, unspoken words filled our silence as we basked in one another’s presence.

That was one of many days we spent on my secret island, the perfect place to reclaim my words. The more I collected, the deeper my desires to share my stories and secrets with Owen grew…desires still held back by the fear that sharing the hidden parts of myself with Owen would taint the peace we’d created together. The closer we became, the more desperate I was to keep him. I’d already lost so much—Mother, the sea, the lighthouse, Father—that I couldn’t bear to lose him too.

But despite these reservations, my yearning to finally overcome this obstacle blocking the remainder of my words grew ever stronger. The more I spoke, the more Iwantedto speak, to finally break free from the dark memories keeping me entangled in the guilt tainting my past. Chains from which I wanted nothing more than to finally escape.

Surely Owen would understand my burden considering it was so similar to the one he’d borne all of these years. He would accept my secret and keep it as devotedly as he’d protected each word I’d tentatively spoken.

But sharing such a story would require more words than I currently possessed. I tried every day to gather the ones I needed and silently practiced stringing them together into short sentences. After a week I’d finally gathered enough courage.

I took a wavering breath. “Owen?”

He immediately heard the difference in my tone—that I wasn’t just speaking his name but opening the door to invite more conversation. He turned to face me. “What is it, Marisa?”

The force of his deep blue eyes briefly faltered my resolve. It’d been easier to prepare my words when he hadn’t been looking at me so intently…even if it was this very look that reminded me I could trust him, my safe haven, providing the strength I needed to finally reach the summit of the mountain I’d been steadily climbing.

As arduous as the climb had been, I knew it would be worth the effort. Reaching the peak would allow me to see a view my silence had kept me from and would guide me further on this often frightening but exhilarating journey with Owen. Although each step would be difficult, the promise that he awaited me gave me the strength to continue, a thought that finally unlocked the rest of my words.

I considered how to begin this long-awaited conversation until I found the perfect, safe opening. “I like your stories.”

“I enjoy sharing them with you.” He hesitated. “I wish…I could hear your stories in return.”

There were so many joyous ones…as well as heartbreaking ones that needed to be the first I shared to ensure he’d even want to hear the others. I stared across the ocean as I carefully strung my next words together in my mind like beads on a necklace so I could more easily speak them.

“I have many…to share…with you.” It was my longest sentence yet.

His eyes widened, undoubtedly impressed with not only the number of words but with how sorted they were, so unlike my usual simple phrases. Though he looked pleased, wariness clouded his expression; he knew how difficult each spoken word was for me.

“Are you sure you’re not rushing yourself?”

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