Page 31 of When I Come Back
“I have an idea, follow me,” I say with a smile as I veer off the trail to the left, toward where I know the water is. The footpath is overgrown and clearly hasn’t been used in a long time, but it’s just as I remember when we first discovered it as kids. We walk single file, Thea following close behind me.
“Do you remember where this leads?” I ask, turning back to look at her. She looks around confused for just a second, and then her face lights up when it clicks.
“This leads down to our cove, right?” she asks. I smile at the word “our” while continuing to walk the path, not answering her question. After a few minutes, the path opens up to a small clearing that goes straight to the water. It’s just as I remember.
“Carina Cove,” I say quietly.
She rolls her eyes at me again. “I still think that’s a corny name.” The nostalgic smile on her face tells me she’s remembering all of our times here. We discovered this little private cove the summer before senior year, and it quickly turned into the place we’d come to do what all teens do when they get a bit of privacy: push boundaries and explore each other’s bodies.
“Remember when you made me try smoking a cigarette with you here?” I say with a laugh, nodding at the tree stump we had sat on.
“Made you?! You stole the pack from Brooks and practically begged me to do it with you. Then we spent the rest of the night coughing our lungs up,” she says, exasperated.
“That’s not how I remember it. Between the two of us, you were definitely the bad influence,” I say and shoot her a wink. She scoffs but laughs all the same.
We fall into a comfortable silence just watching the water lap at the bank. The trees surrounding the lake are an array of oranges and reds with the changing season. The image of them reflects back in the lake making the moment feel just as serene as I remember.
Being here brings back so many memories of the time right before we left South Carolina. Both good and bad.
13 Years Ago
(18 years old)
“Oh my God,” I whisper as my eyes scan the paper. “Holy shit.”
“Hey, language,” Mom says, not looking up from where she’s washing the dishes.
I read through the letter again. And once more for good measure to make sure I read it correctly.
“I got it,” I say incredulously, a big smile spreading over my face. “I got the scholarship.”
My mom pauses scrubbing and looks over at me. Dad also looks up from the paper he’s reading at the kitchen table. It’s a rare night in our house that all of us are home.
The diner is closed while a repair guy fixes the griddle that stopped working suddenly last night. We use it to cook pretty much everything, so it didn’t make sense to stay open to only serve coffee. Thankfully, he said it wouldn’t take longer than a day, and we can be operational again tomorrow. I know closing for even one day is stressful for my parents.
No one says anything for a long while when Brooks shuffles in and rifles through the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He drains it and only then notices the tension in the room.
He pulls the bottle from his lips, looking around the three of us and says, “What’s going on?”
“I got the scholarship,” I repeat.
There’s a pause and then a wide smile overtakes his usually sullen features. He pulls me in for a hug. “Fuck yeah. Congrats!”
I’ve been waiting for this letter for two months now. This was the last thing standing in my way of setting off for Seattle. Thea and I had been planning on leaving Indigo Hill for years, but when we actually sat down to plan how we’re going to do this, we quickly realized we didn’t have enough money. Seattle is expensive, as is tuition for culinary school.
Thea, with her straight A’s and ridiculous exam scores, had no trouble getting financial aid at the University of Washington. She received her early acceptance letter back in December.
I was planning on following her to Seattle whether or not my scholarship came through. I was going to find a job and work to pay for school, even if it meant taking only one or two courses at a time. But now that’s not an issue. I have enough to cover tuition and housing.
My mind is spinning with all the possibilities. I have to call Thea. I turn to run up to my room when my dad slams the newspaper down on the table.
“Well that’s just fucking great,” he says with none of the same excitement Brooks’ words held.
“Owen—” my mom starts.
“No,” he cuts her off. “We’ve sat back and entertained this idiotic idea long enough. I think it’s time he joins us in the real world.”
“Let’s not do this again, Dad,” I say. “I’ve told you already, Thea and I have this planned out. We’re going to Seattle regardless of how you feel about it. I’m going to be a chef. She’s going to head up some big marketing firm. We’re getting out of here.”
