Page 103 of The Words We Lost

After living six years without my father, and nearly two years without my best friend, sometimes the hard days are just ... hard. Which is why I know Wendy shouldn’t be alone on this double whammy of a day: Cece’s second birthday in heaven and the launch day ofThe Fate of Kings. A special scheduling request I asked the powers that be when I submitted the final, edited manuscript to Fog Harbor Books.Happy Birthday, Cece.

Wendy wasn’t up for another elaborate affair at the Campbells’ this year, and to be honest, I’m the last person who can fault her for that, as there’s been no limit on activity and event planning at the hotel as of late. Thankfully, Joel and I were able to persuade her—along with our small army of family and friends—that a peaceful adventure on the open water was the best way to celebrate our beloved Cece.

I smile at the sight of Wendy’s floppy yellow sun hat, bending and arcing in the breeze coming off the ocean. The stern, where she reclines on a white leather sofa, is perfectly situated underneath the shade cover of the upper deck, but still allows for fresh air and views. I’ve offered to store her hat inside the cabin multiple times, but Wendy, much like her daughter, is far too content soaking up the sights to be worried about losing something so frivolous.

It’s been hotter than usual for this part of the coastline—highs in the low nineties instead of the mid-seventies—and after a day spent picnicking on the water, we’re all a bit zapped from the heat. Honestly, before this week I’ve never paid such close attention to my weather app. Then again, I’ve also never been seven days out from becoming a bride, either.

Armed with a glass of lemonade and the small gift box in my pocket, I slip away from the happy chatter inside the living quarters of the main cabin and join Wendy for what I hope will be a couple minutes of alone time.

“Care for some company?” I ask after sliding the deck door closed behind me.

“Always,” she replies, scooting over to make room for me on the sofa.

Her smile comes quicker these days, the spark in her eyes brighter than it was a year ago, but the mark of sorrow isn’t always visible to an onlooker. And even though Wendy’s beauty is striking, with her wavy gray hair and her golden bronze skin from mornings spent combing beaches for sea glass, there’s a note in her voice that wasn’t there before. A minor key that used to be major. I hear it when she talks and when she sings and even when she laughs. A reminder that even though there are still things to talk and sing and laugh about in this life, there are also things to miss and lament and grieve, too. Both are welcome and both are necessary.

In the same way that Wendy taught me so much about love in my formative years, she’s teaching me now about the journey of grief, just by living her life one day at a time.

I snuggle into her side, and she puts her arms around me as if I’ve always been hers to hold. Apart from spending every day of these last three months with Joel since I said good-bye to my life in San Francisco and became a permanent resident of Port Townsend, living close to Wendy is a blessing I will never take for granted.

“I have a little something for you,” I say, tugging at the box in my pocket and placing it in her palm. “I’ve been waiting to give it to you until today.”

She sits up, her mouth shaped into a perfect O that makes me laugh. “You should have told me we were exchanging gifts on the boat. Yours is still back at the house.” Her eyes grow tender. “Cece always loved giving gifts on her birthday—I was hoping this would be a tradition we’d keep every year.”

“That was my hope, too. And seeing as today is both her actual birthdayandher book birthday, I knew my gift had to be extra special to fit both occasions.”

She hikes an eyebrow. “I’m quite intrigued now.”

She slips the bow off the tiny yellow package and turns inward as if to shield it from any sudden gust of wind—unlike her hat, which is still flapping freely. When she pries the lid open, she lets out a happy sob, which I match almost immediately. “Oh, Ingrid—how—where—it’s so beautiful.”

“I found it a year ago, directly out from Cece’s cottage. It was just waiting in the surf for me to find like a little gift from heaven. I measured one of the rings in your jewelry box so I could have it set for you.”

With care, she pulls the ring from the box it’s been in for weeks and slips the triangular black ocean tear onto her right index finger—the same finger I wear mine on. It’s a perfect fit and the perfect size for her delicate hand.

She touches a finger to the surface of the glass, and I can’t help but hold my right hand next to hers.

“No heartache unseen,” I whisper her words back to her.

“And no darkness light cannot overcome,” Wendy finishes. “Whata sweet kiss from God you are to me, Ingrid. Thank you. I couldn’t love anything more.” She presses her lips to my cheek just as the door opens to the deck.

“Is there room out here for one more?” Joel asks, eyeing us both with a smile. “I’m not sure how much more wedding talk I can take. Between my mother and Madison...” He rubs at his temples good-naturedly, and I stand to slip my arms around his waist. Even though I only saw my fiancé ten minutes ago sitting at the helm with his father—who is now only five hours away from his own captain’s license—I’ve turned into quite a fan of public displays of affection. Perhaps the nine months we spent sharing only every other weekend together are to blame. Or perhaps it’s the five years we lost between falling in love as teenagers and being in love now as adults. Either way, I’m not complaining.

He takes my hand and then promptly steals my seat next to his aunt, pulling me onto his lap as soon as he’s settled. He presses a brief kiss to the back of my neck and my entire body lights up in response. Again, no complaints to be found here.

“You should kindly remind them that nobody is supposed to be talking about the wedding today,” I chastise playfully. “That was the only rule I gave when we planned this special excursion.” Although, technically speaking, we are on our way back to the marina now. It’s not hard to guess who the rule twisters are in that bunch.

“Ah, let them have their fun,” Wendy says, admiring her new ring in the sunlight. “Weddings are supposed to be talked about—and Patti and Madison have such wonderful ideas for your big day.”

“That may be true, Aunt Wendy. But if I have to hear, ‘Well, what Carter and I did for our wedding was’”—he mimics in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like Madison—“one more time, I’m going to be the first man overboardThe Cardithia.”

I smile at the new name of the Campbell’s boat. They renamed it in Cece’s honor shortly after we’d discoveredThe Fate of Kingsin the library, and I happen to love it. Just like I know Cece would have.

Wendy laughs openly at her nephew as I point a finger at him.“You will not be launching yourself over any railings on my watch, Joel Campbell. I happen to need you in seven days for a very important date.”

“True.” He plants another kiss on my tanned shoulder. My sundress came from Madison’s Wardrobe—where I always receive the friends and family discount now—and the scalloped neckline dips just low enough in the front to show off the inked compass under my left collarbone. Joel very much approved of this purchase.

“Madison’s been such a huge help to us,” I reiterate for his benefit. “She was basically designing our wedding while walking down the aisle herself.” As well as running her own local business and attending the early planning meetings for the Cecelia Jane Academy: a foundation for writers of all ages, talent levels, and publishing goals. My hope is to have it up and running by winter.

In addition to Madison’s business and marketing prowess, Allie’s input on the creative side of things has been pivotal in these early stages. I plan to hire her next summer after she graduates with her English degree; she knows she’ll have a job with me if she wants it, as long as she promises to keep up with her own writing aspirations. So far we’ve worked through three drafts ofThe Faerie Huntresstogether, and she’s currently working on her second book. She fights the discouragement every writer battles when it comes to revisions, and the restraints of school and her part-time jobs weigh heavily on her at times, but there is something special about these books. I can feel it, the same way I could feel it with Cece’s early work.

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