Page 96 of The Otherworld

“And I’m ten years older than Orca. She’s still a teenager, for Christ’s sake. She’s Jack’s age. Second, her father is very protective of her. He made me promise not to contact her, and I respect that. I don’t want to come between them. I don’t want Orca to have to choose between her father and me, and have a broken heart either way. I know how important family is.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead with one hand. “And like I said, Jack seems to be interested in Orca himself. I already told him nothing had happened between us. If the truth came out now, he’d be angry with me for keeping it from him. Trust me, it’s better for everyone if I leave it alone.”

Mom thinks about this as I tap on the directional and turn down our dirt road. I can practically hear the gears spinning in her mind as she descends into the thoughtful silence of her mental war room. She’s trying to find a solution that makes everyone happy—but it doesn’t exist. Not this time.

“Mom. Seriously. At this point, the best thing to do is just… not talk about her. Please. And don’t tell Jack anything I said, either.”

“Of course. But, Adam… there must be a way—”

“No.” I shake my head decidedly. “There is no way for this to work. Now, I’d rather not talk about it anymore. Jack will forget about Orca soon enough. I’m sure he’ll meet plenty of hot girls in bikinis at the marina this summer.”

Mom huffs disapprovingly.

“And Orca will live with her father, undisturbed. Happily ever after.”

I pull into the driveway and park the truck. For a moment, we sit there, watching the raindrops race down the windshield.

“And you? What will you do?”

I stare straight ahead, an ache spreading through my chest as the rain intensifies. I swallow, my jaw tight, my voice steeled with resolve when I answer.

“I’ll move on. I have no other choice.”

31

Loneliness

ORCA

The days following Adam’s departure are some of the loneliest I’ve ever lived.

When I’m in the greenhouse, I think of him, and my heart aches that he’s not harvesting vegetables with me and telling me about his theories. When I’m in the kitchen, I think of him, and my heart aches that he’s not cooking supper with me while I sing. When I’m at the top of the lighthouse, I think of him, and my heart aches that he’s not watching the stars with me, holding my hand, kissing me.

It’s not just the fact that he is gone, and I miss him so desperately—it’s the animosity smoldering between me and Papa that has filled our house with a heavy silence neither of us can break. We feel like strangers. Ghosts of who we once were. A chasm has split open between us—a divide that may never be mended.

Papa of all people should understand what it’s like to love someone and then lose them. So how can he drive Adam away like this, when he knows how much it hurts me?

A senseless storm of feelings rages inside me, every unanswerable question crashing against my mind like tidewater onto the rocks. How can I carry on as if nothing ever happened? How can I go on living without Adam? We are two halves of the same soul.

I read his letter every night. In the soft golden light of my bedside lamp, I smooth my fingers over the pages, tracing the shapes of his words; I close my eyes and imagine that I’m feeling his skin.

Orca, I’ve fallen in love with you.

And I with you, Adam Stevenson.

And now, I never want to leave you.

Then why did you leave me?

I want to wake each morning to the sound of your voice.

I want to wake each morning to yours.

I want to be with you every day, every hour, every minute.

Then why did you leave me?

Every night, as I’m carried off to sleep, I imagine him coming back to the lighthouse. I imagine spotting his plane in the sky. Running down the beach to meet him. Feeling his arms around me. Kissing him. Hearing the smooth, deep timbre of his voice telling me that he loves me, that he won’t give me up, that he can’t.

But I know this will never happen.

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