Page 4 of Memories By the Shore
I close my eyes and pull my lips to the side, forming a half smile.Maybe I won’t have to pretend to be upset around her. It’s been a constant theater act since the accident, with me as the main character. Accepting heartfelt condolences from my parents’ employees, friends, and business partners, I played the part of the grieving daughter. I carefully constructed this cozy childhood filled with warmth and laughter, which could be further from the truth.
“Well, I’m going to let you be to get settled.” She glancesaround the room one more time. “This is all you brought?”
“Yeah, that’s all I brought,” I repeat her words, somewhat embarrassed by my lack of connection to the items I once owned.
Uncomfortable silence.
My parents’ lawyer organized the estate sale, which sold out in a weekend. All of my things were included. I had no desire to keep anything but my clothes and shoes—even those I dumped most of. I’ve never been attached to material items, and my parents never kept anything from childhood. Two properties, a boat, and their investments were all put into the trust, with me as the beneficiary. My mother’s precious jewelry and family heirlooms are now in a safe deposit box, along with other things I have no desire to access anytime soon.
“Okay, sweetie,” she says, changing the subject. “We have the cutest little downtown area with surf shops and stores. So, if you need anything, just let me know, and we can head into town whenever you want.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed.
“A couple of my girlfriends and I are going down to the beach for a little bonfire and dinner if you want to come. If not, I’ll bring food back here if you’re more comfortable.”
Hanging out with my aunt’s middle-aged friends is the last thing I want to do right now. I’m numb, yet a few tears still drizzle down my cheeks. I can’t quite figure out what they represent, though.
I want to be left alone.
“I think I’m just going to stay here tonight.” I force a weak smile. “Thanks, though.”
“Alright. We’ll be sitting outside in front of my friend Sherry’s cottage. She’s only two houses down to the right,” Helen explains, pointing behind her. “I’ll bring you back food in a bit.”
I give her a quick nod. Then she gently shuts the door and finally grants me the solitude I’ve been deprived of for over a month.
Falling back onto the thick down comforter, my body molds into the softness of the mattress. I stare at the ceiling without a thought in mind. Should I be worried if I’m not falling on the floor crying hysterically by losing my parents or if I were gutted by facing an unknown future without them, but I’m not.Is there something wrong with me?
I should be missing them, but I don’t. This situation feels no different than my life was before they got into their accident. I rarely spent time with my parents because they traveled often. As I grew up, I began to prefer it to be that way.
The humid sea air sticks my long hair to the sides of my damp cheeks.Why the hell doesn’t she have a ceiling fan here?I sigh and place a palm on my belly, still facing the low light blue ceiling of my aunt’s beach cottage—my home for the next four months until I head back to Arizona for college in the fall.
Rolling onto my side, I get a better view of the bedroom. It is cute, simple, but comforting at the same time. Even with the windows shut, I can still hear the faint sound of the waves outside. I inhale the salty sea air, and suddenly, a sense of warmth washes over me. It’s shockingly calming.
I pop off the bed and beeline right for the attached bathroom. My eyes bounce from one seashell decoration to another.I chuckle at the stereotypical beachy theme. I take in the individually painted shells lining the walls and breathe in the light scent of coconut—my favorite smell.
Bending over the sink, I let my head hang low.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. Then I turn on my faucet and splash cold water on my face. Glancing up, I barely recognize my solemn expression. My long, straight, dark hair fans my back and shoulders, and my hazel eyes look greener in the dim light. The few freckles on the bridge of my nose have become more visible as the little makeup I had on has since come off.
I need to get out of here.I suddenly feel claustrophobic.
I push off the sink, slide on my sandals, and leave the room. Heading down the hall, I see no sign of my aunt. She has probably already headed out to the beach with her friends. I notice the propped-open double-pocket doors when I enter the small living room.
Taking it as an invitation to walk outside, I step from the indoor rug and directly onto the wooden deck. The breeze whips through my hair. Pushing it aside, I capture the beauty of the water and the pastel-colored cottages that line up and down the beach for miles.
Two houses down, I spot Helen with a group of people sitting in lounge chairs. Her smile is wide, reminding me of my dad’s—the few times I witnessed it. They’re joyfully chatting under the orange hue of a sunset.
My stomach grumbling breaks me from my stare. I should walk over there and introduce myself to her friends and neighbors. Since I will stay here for the summer, I want to know who they all are.
I blow out an audible breath and head down the three steps onto the sand.
“Hi, sweetie,” Helen greets me as I approach the group. “Are you hungry?”
“I am,” I say, slightly nervous.
I watch as she drags an extra chair through the sand. “This is my niece, Avery, who I’ve been telling you about,” she introduces me to the group.
A short woman with bleach-blonde hair waves from her chair. “I’m Sandy.”
