Page 50 of The Shell Collector
“I can understand that.”
“The ocean was the only friend I let in for a long time. The waves greeted me, and that was all I wanted. Even in hurricanes, I’d come out here. Selfishly, there were times when I was out here in extreme weather, praying the sea would grab me and sweep me away so I could be with him again.” The memory of that desperation washed over her. A tear slipped down her cheek. “I wanted to die so badly that I gave up, believing that if I lay in bed long enough, it would be over. I’m not sure how many days I lay there, still waking up each morning mad at the world.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t know you then.” Amanda’s hands were at her heart. “I’d have been there for you. My heart aches to think of you broken. You seem so resilient.”
“Broken is exactly how I felt. There was one night in particular. The full moon hung high in the sky, slashing across my face through the curtains. I was worn out, weak from not eating, but that light beckoned me. I walked out to the dock behind our house.” She lifted her hands. “I can still almost feel how shaky my limbs were. I made it to the edge of the dock and sat on those splintering boards. My feet dangled in the water. It was cold sloshing against my toes.” The icy memory made her shiver. “Two of Jarvis’s boats still sat tied up there, ready to go out. Two other boats sat in different states of repair. Out of the thin air on that moonlit night, I took action. I went back to the house and took a special shell down from the mantel, where it had been since we found it one weekend. I held it for a long time, reflecting on all the good times, tears streaming as fast as the memories came.”
Maeve took in a breath. “His foul-weather gear still hung there at the back door. I put it on.” She wiggled her fingers. “The sleeves dangled well past the tips of my fingers, but I marched out to his boat with that shell in my hand as if I were going to war.
“Over the years,” Maeve continued, “Jarvis delivered boats down to Florida or north as far as Massachusetts, and I loved riding with him out into the Gulf Stream. He never was one to putter along the intracoastal waterway. He loved the ocean.”
Amanda’s eyes shimmered. “You shared that love.”
“We did. That night, I boarded theAlmost Heavenand stood behind the wheel. The thirty-four-foot center console had been a good vessel for Jarvis. He’d made the money to remodel the house on side trips taking tourists out fishing on that boat.”
“You went out on the boat? At night?”
Maeve nodded with a snicker. “I did. Started it up and eased out into the sound under that full moon. I pushed the throttle forward and let the boat run free. I was crying, but I was going so fast the tears didn’t even hit my cheeks.” She blinked, as if reliving the moment.
“Oh my gosh. Maeve.”
“I know. It was a little crazy.”
“A lot!”
“I finally stopped the boat and drifted until morning when the sun rose. I’ll be honest, a hundred plans came together and fell apart over those hours. Eventually, I leaned over the side of the boat, holding that shell, then dropped it overboard.”
“For Jarvis.” Amanda’s sigh was almost a cry.
“The splash was followed by a gulping sound as the water filled the hollow of the shell and it sank to the depths. I watched it disappear. Gone. Like Jarvis.” Her pause hung with heavy sorrow. “I sat out for hours that day, but late that afternoon I motored back and docked the boat. I packed away the foul-weather gear, opened all the windows in the house, and cleaned it top to bottom. It’s the day I started over.”
“It’s so hard to go on.” Amanda brushed away a tear on her chin. “To know what to cling to, and what things are anchoring me to a past that—”
“Grief will tear you out of the frame if you let it, Amanda. Until I got my focus off of me and started looking for my purpose, I was a mess.” She’d almost forgotten she had the journal with her. “I brought you something. It was a gift to me when Jarvis passed. The ladies at the church gave it to me. It has my name on it, but I thought you might still like it.” She handed it to Amanda.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“It is. I never could bring myself to write in it. Isn’t that silly? I use twenty-five cent spiral notebooks instead, and I’ve kept that up. You should see the stack of cheap notebooks on my bookcase.”
“That’s funny.” Amanda pressed the journal between her palms.
“It inspired me to write down my thoughts, so it was probably the best gift I ever received. Sometimes you just have to get the words out into the world. Like talking to the wind, the sea, the sand. Anyway, I hope having it might bring you some inspiration to try that. It couldn’t hurt.”
“Thank you. This is such a thoughtful gift.” She set it aside, her hand resting on top of it as she looked down the beach. “Thank goodness I’ve got those two.” Her eyes seemed lasered in on the children covered in sand, smiling, making memories as if they didn’t have a care in the world. “I can’t figure out how to keep Jack’s death from lingering inside them their whole lives.”
“Be careful, Amanda. Just like my only life purpose wasn’t to be Jarvis’s wife, yours doesn’t stop at being a mother.”
Amanda straightened, a flash of hurt in her eyes.
“It’s a very important role,” Maeve added quickly, “but there’s more to your life. You have to share your gifts, and you’ll do some of that through your children, but we are meant to share them more broadly.”
“Gifts again? I don’t have time for anything but them.” She lifted her chin toward the kids. “I don’t have anything left. No gifts. No energy.”
“Quit looking like I’ve asked you to walk the plank. Seriously, everyone has gifts. We just don’t always see them in ourselves as easily.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve become friends, because if there’s a gift in here somewhere, you’re going to have to help me find it. It’s likely to be quite a treasure hunt.”
They laughed easily.
