Page 84 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
The chuckle resonates again, but this time, a breeze blows between us, warm and soft, as it lightly ruffles Carol’s white curls. Her face fully relaxes, the slightest hint of a smile gracing her lipsticked mouth. When Carol closes her eyes with a satiated sigh, I can’t help my responding grin.
She harrumphs when she notices me smiling at her. “Who’s talking to you?”
Pain sears though my chest like someone pushed a hot poker through my ribs.
“My sister,” my voice cracks. “Taylor.”
“It’s a double-edged sword,” she says, pulling her lips to the side. “It’s nice to hear them again, but it’s not the same as them being here. Their voices are strongest at the beach and onlyduring hurricane season. Most of the time, I can’t bring myself to walk down, to—”
Carol suddenly looks small and vulnerable, not the spitfire who runs this town. Her shoulders, already curved from the hyperkyphosis that comes with age, now slump with fatigue. The worn creases of her face loosen as her scowl fades, grief creeping in.
I step forward to offer her comfort, but Carol snaps back to her usual self, batting me away with her cane.
“Back up, Tex. I don’t need your paint-splotched mess dirtying my clothes.”
“Van,” I correct for what feels like the ten thousandth time.
Carol tilts her head. “I like Tex better.”
Then, without another word, she cane-stomps over to her friend’s house, letting herself in.
I let out an openmouthed exhale, blinking. “I guess I’m going to the beach to talk to my late sister.”
My feet are leaden as I tromp over the deck boards of the beach walkway. Since there are several locals walking near the shore, I sit at the base of the dune, wrapping my arms around my knees before realizing I’m covered in wet paint. A chuckle escapes me as I rub at the pink now smeared on my arms, and I swear I can almost hear Taylor laughing along.
“Um, hi?” I say after several long seconds.
I rub my eyebrow with a knuckle, not sure I’m doing this right. None of this makes logical sense, but neither did fireflies swirling above Geneva and me as we finally admitted our feelings for each other.
The responding, “Hi,” brings moisture springing to my eyes.
All I wanted right after Taylor passed was to be able to talk to her again, to be able to tell her how much she meant to me, how much I loved her. I’d told my sister all the time, but not being able to have that final goodbye wrecked me.
But now, to have the ability to tell Taylor how much she meant to me…
Silent tears roll down my cheeks. “I miss you.”
“Van.”
Air swirls around me, affectionately wisping my cheeks, my hair, my brow.
A memory surges forward from when I was six and couldn’t sleep. I was supposed to start a new school for advanced children, and nerves kept me up. Taylor pretended that her hand was an octopus and had it crawl onto my forehead to suck out all the bad thoughts, like it was pulling a mollusk from its shell. She made exaggerated slurping sounds that made me giggle. When ‘the octopus’ had its fill, it slinked to my pillow and snored softly. I never slept better than I did that night, so naturally, I asked Taylor to do it whenever my mind wouldn’t quiet down.
I look into the clear blue sky. “Do you remember…”
Twenty minutes or two hours later—time seems to have suspended while I’ve told my sister all the things I wished I could have—Geneva sits next to me in her sleek pantsuit. She had interview training at OWRC today.
She rests her head on my shoulder, intertwining our fingers. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I drop a kiss on her temple. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Carol told me to check on you.” Geneva kicks off her heels and wiggles her toes in the sand.
“Did she now?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d intrinsically known how soft and sweet Geneva was despite her gruff armor. Carol is probably the same.
“What’s going on?” Geneva’s beautiful brown eyes survey my face, concern staining them an even richer hue.
