Page 147 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Bending down, I snatch up my dress from the floor and cover my body with it. “So, are you going to tell me what hap—” The stench of vomit hits my nose, and I blink profusely, hoping my fluttering eyelashes fan it away. “What’s that smell?”
He nods at my dress.
I tentatively lift it higher and take a whiff. “Is that… puke?”
“It is.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Tossing it aside, my eyes widen before finding his again. “Ohhh! Shit! I puked?”
“You did.”
“Were you with me when?—”
“I was.”
“Did I puke on y?—”
His eye twitches.
Feeling outright horrendous, I cover my mouth with my hands. “I’msosorry, Riley.”
He lays his palms on my shoulders, presses his lips to my forehead, turns me toward the bathroom, and gives me a gentle shove. “Go take a shower. You stink.”
Absolutely mortified, I trudge my walk of shame.
This day is going to be… hell.
Cradling Mom to my chest,the warm ocean breeze whispers across my face, the water calm, tranquil, and somewhat calling, as if it knows it will welcome an angel today. We journey through the Irish Sea tonight and dock in Dublin tomorrow morning, so it’s now or never to grant Mom her final wish, a wish I must grant because she deserves nothing less.
“They’re ready when you are, Riles,” Riley says as he sits beside me on a park-style bench out on deck.
I wipe a tear from my eye and nod. “I just need a couple more minutes.”
“Take as much time as you want.” He tenderly squeezes my knee and goes to stand.
I clasp his hand. “Please, stay.”
Lowering to sit again, he slides his arm behind my shoulders and hugs me to him, his warmth and presence a comfort I in no way fathomed I would desperately need. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to do what I’m about to do with a man I’ve known for less than two weeks. I do everything on my own; I pretty much always have. But Riley doesn’t feel like a sympathetic stranger, obliged or coerced to console a damsel in distress for her own selfish needs. And if he did, I certainly wouldn’t have asked him to join me today. I’m still trying to figure out how and why, but he feels like a part of me that’s been hiding deep within, waiting to surface and show me I’m not alone in the world.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my fingers gripping the urn.
“How’s your head?”
“Less pound cake.”
“Good.” He nods toward the horizon. “So your mom loved the ocean?”
“She did, but I didn’t realize how much until she explained her wishes. It was a shock. It still is. I mean, we took vacations to Florida, and many day trips to Long Island when I was younger, but she never truly expressed her fondness for the sea.” I pick at the seam of my dress. “And now I fear I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. Never paid the attention I should have.”
“I don’t think that’s the case, Riles,” he says, rubbing my shoulder, eyes trained dead ahead. “We all hold a truth for ourselves and only ourselves, but that doesn’t mean your mom didn’t love or trust you enough to share that truth with you, or that you were too preoccupied to see it. Perhaps her love of the ocean was simplyhertruth. That one precious thing she kept for herself.”
Shifting in my seat, I turn to him and simply stare, his explanation surprisingly sobering. “I… I suppose it was.”
“Seems that way,” he says, dragging his focus from the ocean to me.
Tears pool in my eyes as I recall one summer at Corey Beach.
“Look, Mom!”I squealed.
