Page 79 of Feels Like the First Time
Chapter 17
Ali sat on the stern of the boat, her legs dangling over the side as she watched the morning tide slowly eat away at the sand.
She rested her head against the railing and breathed in the brine of the sea air, hoping it would make breathing easier. It just burned her lungs.
The sun had yet to peek through the morning fog, and a light mist covered the deck and seeped through her jeans. She didn’t care. She was too drained, too empty to move.
She was supposed to swing by her dad’s house and pick up fresh clothes for his release, but Ali needed a moment to compose herself before she faced her family. So she’d come to the place she felt the most at peace.
Chasing Destiny.
That had been two hours ago. And instead of peaceful, all she felt was hollow. She ran a hand over the refinished teak railings and a sob welled up.
“Thank you, Hawk,” she whispered, welcoming the fresh batch of tears that had bubbled up.
It hurt to cry, but at this point she welcomed the pain. It felt better than the vast emptiness that had started in her chest when she’d watched her future walk out, and slowly eaten away at her until it had finally swallowed her whole.
But as the tears burned her throat and poured down her face, she realized that no matter how long she sat there, staring out at the ocean, she was never going to be free from the emptiness.
The tears would eventually dry up, and the crushing weight would eventually ease, but she was never going to experience love. Not the kind that had been possible with Hawk.
Allowing herself one last tear, she wiped her cheeks on her sleeve, then stood. When the world didn’t feel as if it was going to spin her right off, Ali made her way toward the house to pack a bag for Marty.
Her dad was excited about coming home, and she didn’t want him to be dressed in a hospital gown. But when she let herself in the back door, she found her mother at the kitchen table—holding a pair of her dad’s skivvies.
“What are you doing?”
Gail looked up, her hand pressed flat over the fly of a pair of dancing parrot boxers. “I’m folding Marty’s clean laundry. Sitting here waiting to hear about how he’s doing was driving me crazy.”
“So you decided to do laundry?” she asked, and Gail shrugged. “You don’t even do your own laundry.”
Gail glanced at the stacks of folded clothes. “Neither does your dad apparently. I went to find the sweatpants you texted Bridget about and the man didn’t have a clean pair in his drawers.”
Ali counted at least five loads of clothes. “How long have you been here?”
“I left last night when Bridget called me from the hospital. I figured you girls might need some help around here.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ve been so busy and…” Ali swallowed down the growing lump. “Just thanks.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I’m needed,” Gail said, folding another pair of boxers. This one had honey badgers on it.
“You’re needed,” Ali said, and she didn’t know why that made her throat go tight. She blamed it on the last few emotional days, but suddenly the grief was too much to contain. “I need you, Mom.”
Gail looked up and dropped the boxers. “Oh, sugar, what’s wrong?”
At the sound of her childhood nickname, Ali dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor and an ache so raw that it had a sound, pushed its way to the surface. It also had a taste and a feel. And a name.
Despair.
Before she could absorb the pain, another one rolled through her chest, and by the time the third one racked her body, her mom was there. Holding her on the floor and rocking her back and forth.
“I’ve got you, sugar,” Gail said, pressing her mouth to Ali’s head and placing little kisses on her forehead. “I’ve got you.”
She knew her mother wouldn’t have her forever; that wasn’t in Gail’s nature. But right now, Gail was there, so Ali poured herself into her mom, and let it all burst free.
Seconds, minutes, an hour? Ali had no idea how long they sat there, but when she opened her eyes, the sun was out and her head was in her mom’s lap. Gail was gently stroking her hair.
Ali had forgotten that about her mom. How when Ali had a nightmare, Gail would sit on her bed and stroke Ali’s hair until she fell asleep. Sometimes she’d even be there in the morning, her arms around Ali, holding her tight.
