Page 24 of All the Ways You Save Me
FOURTEEN
PRESENT DAY
Madeline
I’ve been bracing myself for the assault of memories for the entire drive across Pennsylvania and into New Jersey. But somehow, I’m still not prepared for the twist in my stomach when the faded wooden sign comes into view, its dancing lobsters and paint-peeling letters spelling out the wordsSandy Harbor Island, just like it has for decades. I roll down my window to let the wind hit my face, and the humid, salty sea air nearly has me driving off the road. My heart aches for the teenage girl I once was, roaming these beaches and splashing in the water, so full of joy and innocence. I had no idea about the pain to come.
I can’t believe I’m back here, especially under these circumstances, even though I have no idea what these circumstances actuallyare. The surfer’s face flashes in my mind. Is he here on this island? Will I recognize him if he is?
I can’t help wondering if Jason is right and I’m on a mad search for someone who doesn’t exist… not anymore. Did I really end my engagement to look for a man who everyone rational in my life agrees died a decade ago? But as much as it pains me to know how much I hurt Jason, I can’t bring myself to turn the car around. I need to know the truth or I’ll never be able to move on. I hope that after everything Jason and I have been through, he’ll be able to forgive me someday.
I steer the car onto Harbor Boulevard and find myself sitting in a line of traffic at the light. I packed the car last night and left at dawn this morning, forgetting that it’s Saturday, when most tourists leave the island and a new crop comes in. But I don’t mind the traffic; it gives me an opportunity to check out the businesses lining the sidewalks.
I spot a sign pointing toward the Harbor Country Club where Josie used to work. The Cracked Egg Diner still has a line of tourists out the door. But the milkshake shop where we used to go for every celebration is now selling tourist T-shirts and cheap beach umbrellas, and the record store is an Irish pub. I know I shouldn’t be disappointed to see that things have changed in the years since I left. But one of the advantages of never coming back was always that Sandy Harbor stayed perfectly preserved in my mind.
The traffic creeps forward, and eventually I pull up to a three-story motel with coral-colored siding, a line of balconies draped with colorful beach towels, and a swimming pool full of screaming kids. The Sunset Bay Beach Motel doesn’t seem to have changed a bit. My friends and I came here to use the pool as teenagers. I park the car and enter the reception office. A young woman who I don’t recognize sits behind the counter flipping through her phone. She’s probably a college student here for the summer. There were huge groups of them who used to come every year to work in the ice cream shops and restaurants. Once we got to high school, my friends and I always flirted with the lifeguards here from the university swim teams all over the East Coast, but those older guys never gave us the time of day.
The young woman looks up when the bell on the door jingles. She tosses her phone aside, moving over to the computer on the counter. “Reservation?” She clicks the mouse.
“Um, no.” After the way I left things with Jason, I packed up and left so quickly, I didn’t think to book a room ahead of time, but I probably should have. Judging by the traffic on the boulevard, there are a lot of tourists heading this way. I know the chances of wandering down to 76thStreet and immediately finding the surfer are pretty slim, and I had planned to stay for at least a couple of days. “Sorry. I forgot to book. Is there anything available for the next few days?”
The young woman brushes her pale hair off her shoulder and peers at the computer. “Normally, everything is booked up months in advance for this time of year. But you’re in luck. A woman had reserved a room for a week, but she called earlier and said she won’t be able to make it until Monday. So, I can give you two nights and then I won’t have to charge her.”
“I’ll take it.” I slap my card down on the counter and cringe when she tells me the cost of the room. Sandy Harbor isn’t cheap, especially on my teacher’s salary. I promise myself that if I don’t find the surfer by Monday, it will be my sign to go home and move on with my life.
The woman hands me a key card, and I grab my bag from my car and head to the room. It’s on the third floor, overlooking the pool, and once I set my bag down on the suitcase stand, I step out onto the balcony. Below me, kids splash around while their parents lounge on the chairs. The buildings surrounding the motel are only one or two stories, so I have an unobstructed view of the ocean.
Sandy Harbor is eighteen miles long but only about half a mile wide, so just a few blocks over, I can see a slice of the dunes that run the entire length of the island, protecting the communities along the water from the punishing waves and heavy winds of late-fall storms. My family’s old house was in a more residentialarea on the southern part of the island, so it wouldn’t be visible from here, and I’d have to go out of my way to find it. I’m not even sure it’s still there after Wendy, the hurricane that blew in a few years ago, flooding homes and knocking them off their foundations. I’m not sure I want to know.
Beyond the dunes, the water looks bluer, reflecting the sky, and I can see the ripples of the current pushing away from shore. It looks gentle from a distance, but when you’re in the clutches of those powerful swells, I know it’s a battle to break free.
Maybe it’s an apt metaphor for my mad search for the surfer who looks like Adam. As I packed my suitcase, loaded the trunk, and steered the car to the east, there were a dozen times when I considered abandoning this escapade and going back to Jason where I could apologize for hurting him. I gaze out at the ocean stretching out to the horizon, its vastness broken only by white caps and the occasional fishing boat. It’s still not too late to turn and swim with all my might back to shore where I’m safe and protected. But then I’ll never know what’s really out there.
Jason has been good to me, and we would have had a comfortable life. But maybe comfortable isn’t enough anymore, and we both deserve more.
The sound of my phone ringing draws my attention, and I head back into the motel room to dig it from my bag. Josie’s name slides across the screen, and I see that I’ve already missed two FaceTime calls from her. I completely forgot that we’d planned to talk today, so I quickly swipe to answer it.
“Sorry to miss your calls,” I blurt out when her face appears in front of me. Her reddish hair is pulled back into a bun, and she’s wearing workout clothes. It’s Saturday, so she’s probably just getting back from hiking with her dog, Benny, in the Berkeley Hills. Benny’s black nose appears on the screen, cartoonish in size as he sniffs around her phone camerato say hello.
“Are you ready to talk wedding fashion?” she asks, tugging Benny out of the frame. “I already started a Pinterest board. How do you feel about emerald green for bridesmaids?” Josie wrinkles her freckled nose. “I know you’d never force a fellow redhead to wear pink.”
Josie is my maid of honor, and we’d planned this call to look at dresses online. Or I guess shewasmy maid of honor… before I blew up my engagement and possibly my life.
“Well…” I hedge, sinking down on a chair covered in seashell fabric.
“If you’re not into green, there’s always navy blue. But I think that color choice depends on what date you end up choosing. Fall or winter?—”
“Josie,” I cut her off, my voice shaking as sudden tears prick my eyelids. “There aren’t going to be any bridesmaid dresses.”
“Oh. What’s going on?” She blinks. “Did you guys decide to keep the wedding more casual?”
I shake my head.
“Then what…?” Josie peers at me through the screen. “And whereareyou?”
In addition to the seashell chair, I realize the wall behind me is covered in a green and blue fish patterned paper, and a painting of a shark holding a margarita hangs over my right shoulder. “It’s kind of a long story.”
She leans back in her own chair, this one a subtle cream linen. “We planned this call for an hour, so I have time.”
