Page 79 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Hey,” she says, walking over to give me a hug. “How are you?”
“Good,” I say. “You?”
“Nervous.”
“How many?”
“Fifty-six.”
“That’s good.”
“Every one counts.” She pulls back to give me a long look. “Where’s your friend Catherine?”
I hesitate and answer truthfully. “She’s no longer here.”
“Ah,” she says softly. And then, “I had the impression she might stay.”
“Would have been nice,” I admit.
“Did you ask her to?”
I attempt lightness even as I hear myself fail the attempt. “She has another life she had to get back to.”
“Umm, I had the feeling she was pretty taken with you, Anders. And you looked happy with her.”
“I could have been,” I admit.
Hannah takes my hand, leads me over to the trays where the baby turtles are waiting for their release. She bends over, picks one up. “Life is short, my friend. We have to make the most of our chances. We’re not so different from these little guys. Happiness is out there. But it’s not guaranteed, and we can’t wait for it to come to us.”
She sets the little guy down, and he starts out across the sand, heading for the ocean. We both kneel next to the tray of babies and gently lift them out, one at a time. They instantly set off after the first one, instinct telling them what to do.
Watching them, my heart tightens with hope for them all. And as the last few dip into the small waves at the edge of the beach, I understand clearly what I can learn from them.
Chapter Forty-six
“Yea, I shall return with the tide.”
?Khalil Gibran
Nicole
SHE SEES THE light and walks toward it. Thoughts flit through her mind, but she can’t grasp on to any of them. They are elusive like the lightning bugs she and Catherine used to try to catch on summer nights when they were little.
The light is so bright it hurts to look into it. She tries to open her eyes wider, but the glare hurts, and she squints against it. She wants to raise her hand to shield her eyes. The effort seems monumental, like dragging a sled full of rocks uphill. But she’s pretty sure she’s moved it a little so she keeps trying.
“Nicole.”
Catherine’s voice. She sounds both close and far away at the same time. Nicole attempts to answer but her lips won’t move.
“Nic! You moved your hand. Can you hear me?”
Her sister’s voice is frantic. She wants her to answer, and she so wants to do this for her.
Where am I?
The question screams through her mind as if she’s said it out loud, but she doesn’t think she has. It’s too muffled, trapped.
But then she feels her hand being held, squeezed. “Nicole.” Her sister’s voice. Her sister’s hand stroking her cheek.
